Someone's story

From where I am, I currently see this scene of Navy Pier in Chicago. And I am reminded of the story of the first man in Mitch Albom's 'Five People You will meet in Heaven'.
And while this reminds of someone's story, I know someone's story lies here too. 

when words become truth

At what point does numbness set in? Or even rebel?
When you do decide to let it go? Or take it in your hands?

How do you gauge enough of something? Never regretting about acting too soon. Not giving it a chance.

Why has science not progressed to give us an absolute threshold value of this? When we are just another element of this big scheme of universe, why cant we have absolute measures and characteristic like other elements?
Maybe we are not unique after all. Maybe we are exactly like each other.

Sometimes perspective is just a word. A shallow, meaningless one. For we are more alike than we'd like.  

The sand people

Always amazed at how there are these few people in life who are just there, effortlessly but willingly. With no compulsions and obligations. They are always quietly present on the whatsapp contact list, facebook feed, gtalk, a few emails in the inbox, wrapped in memories and stored in photographs, sometimes even encrypted in certain words, sometimes as rhythm of that song, sometimes as a doodle in a greeting card, sometimes as names scribbled on the last pages.

With them, it is not about the quantity of hours but quality. It is not about quantity of conversation but quality. Sometimes I find myself greedy for more of this quality time and conversation with them. It is exhilarating! Soon I wish having it always. And at times I know I try too hard. The rationale always is 'who knows. It might work' but it does not.

It is like that sand in palm story. Not everything precious needs to be protected. Sometimes its beauty lies in just letting it be. Just hearing those songs, looking at those pictures, re-reading those emails,smiling at the names :)

Two men

It is about where you stand
And what you seek
Two men standing on the bridge
One yearn for the skies and the other for the seas
Who is better
How do we tell?
Why do we tell?

Choice is all what we have

In this world or that? After all, it is always about 'making a choice', isn't it?

Like a heritage building being reinstalled

There are some lessons and some realizations you know you need in life but then you somehow always wait for it to catch you than embracing it the first time. Like how as a child we always did something repeatedly even when asked not to, and test mom's patience with it. But one day she loses it and holds your tightly by the shoulders and stares at you. It is discomforting but that is probably when you really understand something. That tight grip, that holding down, that strange sort of feeling, somewhat like passing through the furnace.

I feel that again, only this time it is life tightly gripping me, making me uncomfortable and trying to teach me a lesson that I have always refused to accept - that happiness is internal, that your best friend is you, that solitude can be beautiful, that trust is precious and should be wisely given to people, that patience is indispensable, that you can smile to yourself in the mirror, not to check how beautiful you are without but within, that not everyone deserves the best of you but there are a select few that always do, that success is not social but personal.

These are tough lessons. So many questions arise and the complicated answers to them give rise to more questions. Right now, I am caught up there. In this circle of questions and answers. I am not sure if I am to accept these lessons gracefully or critically but I realize I need to accept them anyways. 

I know one lesson that i have learnt - writing is a good way to become friends with yourself and this is the friend you will always need. 

Living in metaphors

Living in metaphors
Of life 'will be' and 'was'

Standing in the queue
For a ticket to happiness
For a journey of smiles
Coloured with love.

Re-reading an old diary
Of young dreams and virgin heart
Inked in bold words
With droll doodles in the margins