January 28, 2004


I laughed for the first time in so many days today. Now, you might wonder what is there so much to be written about a guy laughing. You might even wonder if it is one of those "I bathed my dog today after 25 days" blog entries. But, but, but, what you cannot be is to be me and understand the value of that laughter, how precious it is to find that after god-knows-how-long spent in trying to figure out what the hell is the whole point to your existence. You can call it alcohol-induced, you can call it lunatic, you can call it any damn thing you want, but you cannot understand how much this laughter means to me.

To understand it better, you need to be in a position where you want to cry your heart away, for no reason. Well, there are reasons, but for convenience's sake we won't get into all that. And even then you cannot cry. Why? Because if you break down, you want to break down where you'd be taken care of, for an instant, for a few instances, for a few minutes, for any measure of time. Now, that luxury not being there, and there being bills to pay, pretences to keep up, what you are left with is laughter, not the sardonic, sadistic, self-mutilating laughter, but one where the simplest of things defeat you, where the most complicated of approaches don't even leave a scratch.

To understand it better, you need to know the value of the proverbial last straw, you should know how much value a stranger's unwarranted smile encapsulates, when there is not a single, not a single fucking goddamn reason to live. That is when you retrace your steps, that is when you start being grateful, being grateful for the tiniest littlest things. Things like you can still remember who you are, what your name is and what you should be doing in a day. Now, you cannot understand that, can you? I am sure I must have hit at least 7 your Richter scale of insanity. Did I break the previous mark? Haanh, haanh?

If there is anything that has stood by me through all these years, it is work. Hell, no one can complain if you work too much. You want to work on your off days too? Great! The lad is hard worker. The lad is a go-getter. No one will tell anyone that the lad is fucking loser and that this is the only thing that makes sense for him. Work is a low-maintenance spouse. Imagine getting paid for keeping a wife. No, we are not talking dowry here. But yeah, I owe it a damn lot and it has stood by me when nothing else would. Progression of the career path is inversely related to the progress in the personal life. Strange ain't it? Not really, it is just a case of two prostitutes making out and later paying each other. A case of equal opportunity costs.

But why? We all start from the same lovelorn look on two people's faces and end in the same pot of ash, gutter or even under that bit of earth, if we are lucky. Well, I do not know. Sue me, but I just have no fucking idea. Not that you have a lot to gain from suing me, but I honestly do not know. What stops me from being a conformist? Pride? Ego? I just do not know, there is not a lot of either left within me, it is only, actually, a feeling of deja vu. If macro does not make sense, the micro should? Nopes, it does not, that is when you run of of space to run. Where to, when, why?

That, is when you start picking at each thread in the fabric of life. To see what each thread means. Lucky you, you did find at least a few hundred meters of worthy yarn there. Me? I am still searching for mine. The past has different shades, textures and feel depending on the person you talk to. The present is a tangled mess and the future is where one needle steadfastly refuses to dance with the other. What if the present is really abstract? What if it is picture-perfect and I lied to you? What if I knitted a nice sweater and showed you what was left of the yarn? A tangled mess.

Fooled ya! I fooled ya'all! There is nothing there. My life is just a set of constructs that belong a number of people I have no definite count of. I exist only as an entity of opinion in a few peoples' mind, beyond that there is nothing. In them I search for myself and when I cannot find it, I get lost. And this is one of those times where I cannot find myself. I cannot find the answers for what I am supposed to feel, know and realise. I roughly know what it should all be with relation to another. But just for myself? I have no idea. Can you imagine that? Well, you really can't. That degree of idiocy is really very singular.

I am tired of bracing, the oft-repeated drills leading towards survival. Hello, it was not meant to be this way. Where did it all go wrong? Or is it that I am the only one right, in a world of wrong. Wake up! Who am I trying to kid? It is not possible. The world is right, I am wrong. Where do we discuss the terms of surrender? Where do we sign the terms of submission? How many of my beliefs would you leave unharmed, how many would you slaughter? At the end of the day, it was all rather uneventful, not much was said about it and the only pre-condition was that someone please make Madonna stop walking in her music videos!