on every 11:11, shooting star and birthday candle......
i see other people becoming Us and i am a tad little envious.
i want to become yours too,
in a permanent unquestionable way.
.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
heartaches and other nuisances
.
How do i go back to living with parents i haven't since the last 4 years who remember the 17-yr-old-me and not the 21-yr-old which are now two completely different people?
How do i go back to living with parents i haven't since the last 4 years who remember the 17-yr-old-me and not the 21-yr-old which are now two completely different people?
i will fall apart in pieces.
(among other things)
.
(among other things)
.
Friday, May 28, 2010
if only it would suffice to spew out precious nothings as odes in your wake, and to end the matter thus, confined to some dark forgotten corner in rust caked memory.
or to carve your name as a bronzen emblem on shivering bare blue skin.
were it sufficient if i was to seal your lips on an eternal canvas, paint color motes drawn from corals of sunsets, the pinky hues of tissue and flesh from petals of amaranth.
to end the matter thus and call this evidence of love. accolades of you reverberate in every miniscule second of waking consciousness, and be it enough of you.
never enough.
or to carve your name as a bronzen emblem on shivering bare blue skin.
were it sufficient if i was to seal your lips on an eternal canvas, paint color motes drawn from corals of sunsets, the pinky hues of tissue and flesh from petals of amaranth.
to end the matter thus and call this evidence of love. accolades of you reverberate in every miniscule second of waking consciousness, and be it enough of you.
never enough.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
I sit besides my lonely fire -
And pray for wisdom yet:
For calmness to remember -
Or courage to forget”
The many million loopholes in the plan; why didn't they exist in the comfort of childhood? barely held together by dreams and innocence and plastered with smiles as bandages... Hope, that
dont tell me you didn't have a master plan growing up; things you wanted to do, places you wanted to go, people you wanted to become... and what if all of that came true and it still did not give you what you want.
still something always infinitely lacking.
and no, i'm not one to complain.
it's just time to realize the plan was never finite, never set in stone, never fulfillable...
it's time to move-on and make new more cautious dreams
perhaps with heart more contained and eyes more on the road than in the blue skies...
but the best part is,
the dream isn't dead yet.
-eeda
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
She walks past the grape fields in silence. Purple vines intertwined like snakes on hollow wooden frames, hissing like tendrils of Medusa's hair. Fields upon endless fields of grapes.
She likes to spend time here, alone. Amongst each square tirelessly plowed, each mote of soil tilled and filtered and seeded, the aroma of him.
He had liked to come here often, stopping to pull out the extra weed, walk among the swans.
She tends to the fruit, the ducks and the cows with an odd dedication, like an over-protective mother. This is nearly all that is left of them, and she needs something to connect with him again.
No children, no golden band round the finger, no promises of forever. Just a last first kiss, and a long unending embrace.
'I like grapes best of all,' he had said.
She likes to spend time here, alone. Amongst each square tirelessly plowed, each mote of soil tilled and filtered and seeded, the aroma of him.
He had liked to come here often, stopping to pull out the extra weed, walk among the swans.
She tends to the fruit, the ducks and the cows with an odd dedication, like an over-protective mother. This is nearly all that is left of them, and she needs something to connect with him again.
No children, no golden band round the finger, no promises of forever. Just a last first kiss, and a long unending embrace.
'I like grapes best of all,' he had said.
Gypsy.
(reflections on diaspora)
I know a lot of people find my lifestyle rather... intriguing. The constant shuffle, the up-and-go, the ability to constantly experience the New; except perhaps that its a misnomer, its not an ability or a talent, more circumstantial . However the grass is always greener when your toes are safely tapering the other side. The instability has lead to this feeling of acute restlessness in-bred in me now; the thought that at anytime things get 'too much' I can run to a New place and build up everything from scratch again: new image, new social circle, new interests, new preferences, new hobbies, new who-I-am's.... a completely re-vamped lifestyle.
It's not half as exciting as it sounds.
More like a disease of sorts, if I could name it such; The build-up, the frustration, the final decision before the escape, the excitement, the anticipation, the hope this-time-things-will-be-different, the meticulous planning of the various components I will choose to include in the self.....and the subsequent failure. The depression. The laments. The mourning. And then the whole wretched cycle over again. Incurable.
It is not always a wonderland. The death of something you so preciously created, destruction of a work-of-art can be devastating,specially if its self-inflicted. They say there is method in the madness, and perhaps that is cliche but only too relevant and true in this case; or perhaps once was true... I am increasingly at a loss for defining what that method could possibly be? The opportunity for re-creation? Re-birth? What if you mess up over and over again?
Maybe life, and God, and fate and all those other mystical things are offering me a chance to re-write this story to perfection, except the kindness is anything but. At best a trial, which satisfies no one and least of all, me.
And of course, when you have an option to escape, your tolerance for what 'too much' is becomes increasingly small. Add to that the fact that I have been extraordinarily blessed with parents who engage in my sensitivities, and cater to my whimsical 'I-need-to-get-away's, this life is becoming a habit. A very bad habit; like a cigarette that will slowly murder me with the pleasure of evasion it offers.
I am not naive enough to not see the side-effects, but sadly cannot give this life up and settle. The unrest is deeply ingrained in me almost like DNA, and I fear it will become the hallmark of our family; my ancestors...and then my children. At nights, it wakes me up staring blankly outside at the open road, my skin can hear its call. Then the jitters, the desire to up and run, or float, or to constantly move, between Here and Here and Here. The markedly few hours of sleep I do get are poignantly woven with dreams of all the places I've lived, the people I've been, and always, always the constant chase of finding a one true Home.
It is an unfortunate realization that the dreaded/anticipated cycle will continue as long as a satisfactory Perfection continues to elude my fingertips... It entices me in kaleidoscopic dreams alone, until which time I wander hoping that somehow somewhere everyone and everything will finally click together and fulfill the restless tingling in each cell in my blood. Eventual, not defeat per se... perhaps relief.
Idealistic hopes. Perfection itself is as elusive a concept as stability in my life, and in my case at least, one cannot exist without the other.
But it will happen someday, the settling down, for more or less...or so I console myself. The much-awaited arrival of Toronto suns have yet to burn away this heart, yet to make it yearn the need to heal...elsewhere. I will not fool myself that this is my final destination; not by any means...But I hope I can fool myself long enough; enough to surrender for just this little bit.
Enough for now.
I know a lot of people find my lifestyle rather... intriguing. The constant shuffle, the up-and-go, the ability to constantly experience the New; except perhaps that its a misnomer, its not an ability or a talent, more circumstantial . However the grass is always greener when your toes are safely tapering the other side. The instability has lead to this feeling of acute restlessness in-bred in me now; the thought that at anytime things get 'too much' I can run to a New place and build up everything from scratch again: new image, new social circle, new interests, new preferences, new hobbies, new who-I-am's.... a completely re-vamped lifestyle.
It's not half as exciting as it sounds.
More like a disease of sorts, if I could name it such; The build-up, the frustration, the final decision before the escape, the excitement, the anticipation, the hope this-time-things-will-be-different, the meticulous planning of the various components I will choose to include in the self.....and the subsequent failure. The depression. The laments. The mourning. And then the whole wretched cycle over again. Incurable.
It is not always a wonderland. The death of something you so preciously created, destruction of a work-of-art can be devastating,specially if its self-inflicted. They say there is method in the madness, and perhaps that is cliche but only too relevant and true in this case; or perhaps once was true... I am increasingly at a loss for defining what that method could possibly be? The opportunity for re-creation? Re-birth? What if you mess up over and over again?
Maybe life, and God, and fate and all those other mystical things are offering me a chance to re-write this story to perfection, except the kindness is anything but. At best a trial, which satisfies no one and least of all, me.
And of course, when you have an option to escape, your tolerance for what 'too much' is becomes increasingly small. Add to that the fact that I have been extraordinarily blessed with parents who engage in my sensitivities, and cater to my whimsical 'I-need-to-get-away's, this life is becoming a habit. A very bad habit; like a cigarette that will slowly murder me with the pleasure of evasion it offers.
I am not naive enough to not see the side-effects, but sadly cannot give this life up and settle. The unrest is deeply ingrained in me almost like DNA, and I fear it will become the hallmark of our family; my ancestors...and then my children. At nights, it wakes me up staring blankly outside at the open road, my skin can hear its call. Then the jitters, the desire to up and run, or float, or to constantly move, between Here and Here and Here. The markedly few hours of sleep I do get are poignantly woven with dreams of all the places I've lived, the people I've been, and always, always the constant chase of finding a one true Home.
It is an unfortunate realization that the dreaded/anticipated cycle will continue as long as a satisfactory Perfection continues to elude my fingertips... It entices me in kaleidoscopic dreams alone, until which time I wander hoping that somehow somewhere everyone and everything will finally click together and fulfill the restless tingling in each cell in my blood. Eventual, not defeat per se... perhaps relief.
Idealistic hopes. Perfection itself is as elusive a concept as stability in my life, and in my case at least, one cannot exist without the other.
But it will happen someday, the settling down, for more or less...or so I console myself. The much-awaited arrival of Toronto suns have yet to burn away this heart, yet to make it yearn the need to heal...elsewhere. I will not fool myself that this is my final destination; not by any means...But I hope I can fool myself long enough; enough to surrender for just this little bit.
Enough for now.
-eeda
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
i was going to write this post for you... tell you that i feel my soul is decaying rotten in pieces like the peeling moldy skin of Eden's fruit...i would ask you to rekindle it with lyric and song, paint it with lilac shades of romance, the deep crimson of lips bleeding in nervous anxiousness, the yellow of tiny daffodils littering my doorway.. sunshine, passion, want...all the familiar, forgotten.
cliches, baby....all cliches.
women find power by creating desire in men, and though this may be ethically and morally questionable, it is unfortunately true, or at least in the experiences I have seen. This is not to say women are nothing without men, or are entirely dependent on men in order to have strength, that is another debate. At best it is an acknowledgment that certain characteristics enable worthiness over other things, and worthiness creates desire, which becomes the source of strength.
Suffice it to say that this is little in my way of justification for dependency on you...and only you; that is a personal choice. But with you, i feel neglected, and hence..weak.
that for me is no reason to look elsewhere; i would rather feel weakened than be a whore.
the more i write this, the more i realize that the source of one's power cannot be external to oneself. the strength i find within you should come from within me, and that if i choose to find it within you, it is a choice. it is an ability I allow you, but that i need not do so. i need to realize i am master of my own soul.
yes you have told me this countless times... but love doesn't grant reason. love doesn't ask when certain rights you possess and hold dear become available to the other person. there are no permissions requested.
cliches, yes. but this is love, and that i cannot deny.
i find myself in a sticky situation where i cannot make the choice to either continue being weakened at the hands of your negligence, sometimes completely imagined by my over-anxious paranoid mind, or whether i can find the strength to step out of my comfort zone and assume responsibility of my own happiness...i have no idea how i would even begin going about doing so.
Pursuit of happyness they said, but only as long it is safe?
cliches, baby....all cliches.
women find power by creating desire in men, and though this may be ethically and morally questionable, it is unfortunately true, or at least in the experiences I have seen. This is not to say women are nothing without men, or are entirely dependent on men in order to have strength, that is another debate. At best it is an acknowledgment that certain characteristics enable worthiness over other things, and worthiness creates desire, which becomes the source of strength.
Suffice it to say that this is little in my way of justification for dependency on you...and only you; that is a personal choice. But with you, i feel neglected, and hence..weak.
that for me is no reason to look elsewhere; i would rather feel weakened than be a whore.
the more i write this, the more i realize that the source of one's power cannot be external to oneself. the strength i find within you should come from within me, and that if i choose to find it within you, it is a choice. it is an ability I allow you, but that i need not do so. i need to realize i am master of my own soul.
yes you have told me this countless times... but love doesn't grant reason. love doesn't ask when certain rights you possess and hold dear become available to the other person. there are no permissions requested.
cliches, yes. but this is love, and that i cannot deny.
i find myself in a sticky situation where i cannot make the choice to either continue being weakened at the hands of your negligence, sometimes completely imagined by my over-anxious paranoid mind, or whether i can find the strength to step out of my comfort zone and assume responsibility of my own happiness...i have no idea how i would even begin going about doing so.
Pursuit of happyness they said, but only as long it is safe?
Monday, May 10, 2010
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