If someone did something unexpected, it is not because he did something that is out of his character.
It is merely because you had misperceived him as not liable to doing it in the first place.
What is within his character to do, is the sum of all actions that is actualized and more, not less.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Hard
If love were easy, one probably wouldn't appreciate it.
If loving someone were easy, people probably wouldn't appreciate each other.
It would be infinitely simpler to simply not fall in love.
But we would then be missing out on a great deal in life.
If loving someone were easy, people probably wouldn't appreciate each other.
It would be infinitely simpler to simply not fall in love.
But we would then be missing out on a great deal in life.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
justice
The world isnt fair. There is no such thing as divine justice, or just retribution.
If you want justice, fairness or equality, you got to make it so yourself.
Those who pray for divine justice, are merely waiting for the freak chance of misfortune befalling the miscreant, then calling it "divine".
If you want justice, fairness or equality, you got to make it so yourself.
Those who pray for divine justice, are merely waiting for the freak chance of misfortune befalling the miscreant, then calling it "divine".
Saturday, February 25, 2006
previous blog
omg ... the old blog is irretrievable already, and the last time I did my own backup was last Oct. Most of my more important posts are after that period. this is bad...
So we are stuck with this blog. Hopefully I will find the energy to rewrite this blog's layout, and add something more interesting to the background.
So we are stuck with this blog. Hopefully I will find the energy to rewrite this blog's layout, and add something more interesting to the background.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Autumn
On my way home today, on a bus, at a window seat, I watched as the rain slashed away in sheets on the bare tar road.
Between one blink of the eye and another, suddenly there is a difference; it was as though I was transported to a countryside, in the midst of autumn. Red autumn leaves littered an entire portion of the road, glittering softly under the still falling rain.
I looked up, and saw the tree, standing amongst the other roadside trees; it wasnt particularly tall, or gnarled, or anything. It looked just like the other trees around it. But while the others are all green in their full vigor, this particular tree has red autumn leaves, like a rose peeking out from a bush of green.
The road near the tree was littered with its red leaves, a red gown that trails, and entralls the eye, till you follow it to the source, and behold the bride holding her little bunch of flowers.
Between one blink of the eye and another, suddenly there is a difference; it was as though I was transported to a countryside, in the midst of autumn. Red autumn leaves littered an entire portion of the road, glittering softly under the still falling rain.
I looked up, and saw the tree, standing amongst the other roadside trees; it wasnt particularly tall, or gnarled, or anything. It looked just like the other trees around it. But while the others are all green in their full vigor, this particular tree has red autumn leaves, like a rose peeking out from a bush of green.
The road near the tree was littered with its red leaves, a red gown that trails, and entralls the eye, till you follow it to the source, and behold the bride holding her little bunch of flowers.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
throw
I picked up a stone
in my mind
I called for it to fly
across the sea,
into the skyline.
But I felt its weight on my hand
the reluctance to fly
and I know I could not throw it
as far as it wants.
But in my mind's eye
it soars across the sky.
in my mind
I called for it to fly
across the sea,
into the skyline.
But I felt its weight on my hand
the reluctance to fly
and I know I could not throw it
as far as it wants.
But in my mind's eye
it soars across the sky.
And
And I love to use "and"
at the
beginning
of my posts, and paragraphs.
It speaks of continuity,
a continuous stream of life
that goes beyond these lines,
layers upon layers.
That what is spoken,
like life,
has no clear demarcation,
no break
between this and not-this
like none between sunset and night.
And the ungrammaticality of it,
and the apparent paradox
of not really beginning after a period
and linking with a capital;
the
artificial
separation of thoughts.
A writer lives beyond his words.
at the
beginning
of my posts, and paragraphs.
It speaks of continuity,
a continuous stream of life
that goes beyond these lines,
layers upon layers.
That what is spoken,
like life,
has no clear demarcation,
no break
between this and not-this
like none between sunset and night.
And the ungrammaticality of it,
and the apparent paradox
of not really beginning after a period
and linking with a capital;
the
artificial
separation of thoughts.
A writer lives beyond his words.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
being romantic
Since this is a new blog, and a new start naturally, let us begin by being a little romantic.
And there is something strange, and elusive, about being romantic. You can be romantic about a beautiful sunset, a sudden breeze in the park, a few grains of sand between your toes, but there is really nothing that is actually romantic in itself.
The sunset is just there, the breeze just so too; nothing particularly romantic about a few streaks of blue clouds.
Until there is a someone there, a romantic, who takes in the feel of the sunset, the feel of the breeze, of the grainy feel of the beach, and turn it all into a sort of beauty that perhaps only she can see.
Being a romantic could be a lonely kind of affair, or maybe not. In any case, it shouldnt matter. What matters most is that the sunsets, the cool breeze on your cheeks, the way the cold make you hug yourself, all these are no longer just what they are.
They are romanticised.
Because of you, the romantic, they are beautiful.
And there is something strange, and elusive, about being romantic. You can be romantic about a beautiful sunset, a sudden breeze in the park, a few grains of sand between your toes, but there is really nothing that is actually romantic in itself.
The sunset is just there, the breeze just so too; nothing particularly romantic about a few streaks of blue clouds.
Until there is a someone there, a romantic, who takes in the feel of the sunset, the feel of the breeze, of the grainy feel of the beach, and turn it all into a sort of beauty that perhaps only she can see.
Being a romantic could be a lonely kind of affair, or maybe not. In any case, it shouldnt matter. What matters most is that the sunsets, the cool breeze on your cheeks, the way the cold make you hug yourself, all these are no longer just what they are.
They are romanticised.
Because of you, the romantic, they are beautiful.
New blog
Since, as some of you might know, that my previous blog died, and I have possibly lost a lot of my important stuff there, I have set up another blog on blogspot.
This may, or may not be a permanent blog, since I am still waiting to see if the previous blog is retrievable after all.
The decision to set up another blog, or at least a temporary one, is prompted by the delay promised in retrieving the data by the old blog. In other words, I itched to blog, and here it is, the itch reliever.
Feel free to bookmark this blog address, and should I decide to reinstate the old blog, that decision too will be reflected here, and you will be redirected accordingly.
This may, or may not be a permanent blog, since I am still waiting to see if the previous blog is retrievable after all.
The decision to set up another blog, or at least a temporary one, is prompted by the delay promised in retrieving the data by the old blog. In other words, I itched to blog, and here it is, the itch reliever.
Feel free to bookmark this blog address, and should I decide to reinstate the old blog, that decision too will be reflected here, and you will be redirected accordingly.
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