Reciprocity. It sustains the human soul, it gratifies the heart, it stirs a warmth within.
We crave to be reciprocated in every thought and action.
Yet often we give more than we receive... even when we believe we seek not equal measures.
We love more than we are loved... or so we think.
We hope more than what hope can give.
We imagine more than what reality constructs.
We expect more than what reason and rationality can provide.
And so we spend a lifetime waiting for the moments which we feel the exchange to be all worthwhile, and the gift which reciprocates in fullness. But more often than not, these moments rarely arrive. And with each fading hope, each failed attempt, each disappointment, each loss, we die a little inside.
Yet we convince ourselves that it is okay, that life moves on, and that there'd be future opportunities. Our youthful optimism is rekindled. We wander into imagination to hope further even when we know some things will never be. But we do so regardless.
This is the paradox of human nature - between memory and desire. We will always set ourselves up for a fall. We are addicted to pain and disappointment. Yet we are creatures of hope, desire and dreams. For without these hopes and aspirations, anticipations and expectations, life remains a meaningless monotony. Thrown into the throng of life we will always be struggling to accept reality or re-create it.
Which is the lesser of two evils?
I haven't found mine yet.
Regardless of all this, I know that I love you. I do.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Demons
We all have them.
They came in all shapes, sizes, forms, and manifestations. We call them skeletons in the closet; we call them the repressed; we call them desires; we call them vice; we call them greed. But a rose by any other name... We all have them.
Most of us have more than just skeletons. Within us are corporeal, carnal beasts of burden. At times they incestously breed; at others it is a mere solitary beast. But they are ever present, every waking moment, with every passing consciousness. They haunt existence itself.
It is the condition of life - to be constantly struggling against the beasts we lock deep within in the dark abyss that is our soul. Each day, from behind the dim-lit dungeon walls they seek to claw their way to consciousness, to action. They howl, they shriek in agony, they yearn to be fulfilled, to be satisfied, to be released from the grills that encage desire and instinct.
These are our inner demons, ever trying to break free of their imprisonment within us. We suppress them, yet they yearn to be unleashed. These are the more dangerous breed; demons that no one else sees nor knows of their existence, until they take us over. We fight valiantly against them, locking them inside their cages, hoping that we can throw the key away forever. Yet ethereal bars of steel cannot keep them in. At times, they take over, and at times we lose all control and succumb to the beast within us. We go on rampages, acting on all our deep subconscious desires, and especially that of our repressed fantasies. They tear down our defenses, changing us from Jekyll to Hyde, empowering and embodying us. We leave a trial of destruction in our wake, seeking that which feeds our darkest desires - of lust, of greed, of revenge.
Some of us pretend they don't exist for ignorance is indeed bliss. Some choose to admit defeat and succumb to the demonic devourings. Those who storm the battlefronts valiantly and vigilantly suffer the fate of battle scars and weariness.
But for us who do, each demon we confront and choose to banish is a moment of triumph, a growth for the inner child. At the end, we hope that in the twilight of our years we could return to the state we came - pure, untainted, beautiful... and good.
But if, and should, my inner demons take over, rest assured, once they are done with me, they'll come for you.
They came in all shapes, sizes, forms, and manifestations. We call them skeletons in the closet; we call them the repressed; we call them desires; we call them vice; we call them greed. But a rose by any other name... We all have them.
Most of us have more than just skeletons. Within us are corporeal, carnal beasts of burden. At times they incestously breed; at others it is a mere solitary beast. But they are ever present, every waking moment, with every passing consciousness. They haunt existence itself.
It is the condition of life - to be constantly struggling against the beasts we lock deep within in the dark abyss that is our soul. Each day, from behind the dim-lit dungeon walls they seek to claw their way to consciousness, to action. They howl, they shriek in agony, they yearn to be fulfilled, to be satisfied, to be released from the grills that encage desire and instinct.
These are our inner demons, ever trying to break free of their imprisonment within us. We suppress them, yet they yearn to be unleashed. These are the more dangerous breed; demons that no one else sees nor knows of their existence, until they take us over. We fight valiantly against them, locking them inside their cages, hoping that we can throw the key away forever. Yet ethereal bars of steel cannot keep them in. At times, they take over, and at times we lose all control and succumb to the beast within us. We go on rampages, acting on all our deep subconscious desires, and especially that of our repressed fantasies. They tear down our defenses, changing us from Jekyll to Hyde, empowering and embodying us. We leave a trial of destruction in our wake, seeking that which feeds our darkest desires - of lust, of greed, of revenge.
Some of us pretend they don't exist for ignorance is indeed bliss. Some choose to admit defeat and succumb to the demonic devourings. Those who storm the battlefronts valiantly and vigilantly suffer the fate of battle scars and weariness.
But for us who do, each demon we confront and choose to banish is a moment of triumph, a growth for the inner child. At the end, we hope that in the twilight of our years we could return to the state we came - pure, untainted, beautiful... and good.
But if, and should, my inner demons take over, rest assured, once they are done with me, they'll come for you.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Accessorise
A recent shopping trip and the conversation that ensued brings me to this.
Is anything around us ever as simple as it seems? In almost everything around us today, there is a need to be more than normal; to stand out; to be different; to be noticed. The saying goes, "A rose is a rose is a rose," and indeed, a rose by any other name is a rose. Therefore, by applying that, if I wanted to get a bag, I should be able to just grab one off the shelf and use it. But that's not the case, is it? So many things today are more than what they were made to be; they need serve more than their basic purpose so they sell. We craft, design, innovate to make our products (be it material or ourselves) stand out from others.
A bag serves the purpose of a storage space, to take something along with us, yet at the same time, freeing our hands. But just look at the deviations today - harversacks, pouches, sling bags, sling bags with compartments specially meant to store laptops in, and so on. And within each subgroup lie even more variants. We have different colours, different sizes, different materials, but all for what purpose? More than to give the option of choice, it stems from the need to create identity - to be unique.
But the more pressing question has nothing to do with consumer goods and marketing strategies. It begs us to take an introspective approach and reflect upon how such culture has become a part of our lives. What has happened to the saying, "Just be yourself" ? Have we lost who we really are?
Why do we dress up (aside from wanting to look our best)? Why don't we just standardise what we wear and create a uniformity which many claim will bring stability? Why do we accessorise - the bracelets, chains, necklaces, earrings, bangles? Why have we come to the place of wanting to BE somebody, instead of embracing the fact that we ARE somebody? Why do we paint, refurbish and refurnish the rooms of our lives? We do so to look presentable to those who will step into ours, and hope to make that impression on them. And indeed, I see nothing wrong with doing so.
But who are we when we are bare; when we remove all that we put on to look good? Are we still presentable, or do we only look good wearing the facade that masks our scarred imperfection we try to hard to sweep under the rug? Who are we, really - masks and all aside?
I've realised I've painted my walls, brought in new furniture, desperately trying to make that impression. But like someone once asked me...
Is anything around us ever as simple as it seems? In almost everything around us today, there is a need to be more than normal; to stand out; to be different; to be noticed. The saying goes, "A rose is a rose is a rose," and indeed, a rose by any other name is a rose. Therefore, by applying that, if I wanted to get a bag, I should be able to just grab one off the shelf and use it. But that's not the case, is it? So many things today are more than what they were made to be; they need serve more than their basic purpose so they sell. We craft, design, innovate to make our products (be it material or ourselves) stand out from others.
A bag serves the purpose of a storage space, to take something along with us, yet at the same time, freeing our hands. But just look at the deviations today - harversacks, pouches, sling bags, sling bags with compartments specially meant to store laptops in, and so on. And within each subgroup lie even more variants. We have different colours, different sizes, different materials, but all for what purpose? More than to give the option of choice, it stems from the need to create identity - to be unique.
But the more pressing question has nothing to do with consumer goods and marketing strategies. It begs us to take an introspective approach and reflect upon how such culture has become a part of our lives. What has happened to the saying, "Just be yourself" ? Have we lost who we really are?
Why do we dress up (aside from wanting to look our best)? Why don't we just standardise what we wear and create a uniformity which many claim will bring stability? Why do we accessorise - the bracelets, chains, necklaces, earrings, bangles? Why have we come to the place of wanting to BE somebody, instead of embracing the fact that we ARE somebody? Why do we paint, refurbish and refurnish the rooms of our lives? We do so to look presentable to those who will step into ours, and hope to make that impression on them. And indeed, I see nothing wrong with doing so.
But who are we when we are bare; when we remove all that we put on to look good? Are we still presentable, or do we only look good wearing the facade that masks our scarred imperfection we try to hard to sweep under the rug? Who are we, really - masks and all aside?
I've realised I've painted my walls, brought in new furniture, desperately trying to make that impression. But like someone once asked me...
what really matters?
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Hourglass
A draft I never did have the time to publish last year, so here it is.
We mark yet again the end of a year, the trace of history, the passing of time. And it is that time we set new resolutions, project futures, emplace hopes and dreams for the coming year.
Yet why do we celebrate the end of a cycle and desire a new one? Why do we rejoice in what is merely an arbitrary concept of entities passing through, flowing, and 'moving' somewhere. Why do we exult in what is perhaps a mental measure of our ageing process.
Time (as it is so commonly touted) the very essence.
But what is time? Its definition is, perhaps like all linguistic signifiers, elusive and dislocated for one can only explain time in the discourse of signifiers. We never can explain time without gesturing to other signifiers. Time has always been, is and always will be defined in terms of its manifestations, of other sign systems.
For many, time is a concept known as minutes and seconds, the ticking of the clock, the digital turn on the screen, the ripening of years, the succession of generations, the passing of moments, the setting of milestones, wealth and profit, the rising and going-down of the sun, daylight and darkness, revolutions of the earth, distance, duration, memory, deja vu, the beginning and the end, the past, present and future, life, death, and eternity.
However we choose to define it, time cannot be defined. It is always already the impossible. Yet it dictates social structures and convention, manipulates our routines, cripples the mind with fears of mortality, establishes culture and cultural beliefs, tradition and action, entraps with transcience. And when we ponder on how mankind celebrates somewhat significant and cherised moments such as a birthday, the passing of a year, and the enterprise of festivals and festivities, we ask of ourselves why.
Everything is built on the unchallenged dogma that time passes and is therefore precious, invaluable and real...
But Time is the very construct of man. It is artifice itself.
Devised by the Sumerian civilisation in 2000BC, refined by the Greeks and Romans, mechanised by the English, adopted by the world, time is, for all its worth, a construct, perhaps an illusion. And so are all facets and the many faces of time - the lunar, solar, gregorian calendars, dates, months, years.
So here's to a Happy New Year. There is indeed much to celebrate when we realise how we have become victims of our own device / devise.
We mark yet again the end of a year, the trace of history, the passing of time. And it is that time we set new resolutions, project futures, emplace hopes and dreams for the coming year.
Yet why do we celebrate the end of a cycle and desire a new one? Why do we rejoice in what is merely an arbitrary concept of entities passing through, flowing, and 'moving' somewhere. Why do we exult in what is perhaps a mental measure of our ageing process.
Time (as it is so commonly touted) the very essence.
But what is time? Its definition is, perhaps like all linguistic signifiers, elusive and dislocated for one can only explain time in the discourse of signifiers. We never can explain time without gesturing to other signifiers. Time has always been, is and always will be defined in terms of its manifestations, of other sign systems.
For many, time is a concept known as minutes and seconds, the ticking of the clock, the digital turn on the screen, the ripening of years, the succession of generations, the passing of moments, the setting of milestones, wealth and profit, the rising and going-down of the sun, daylight and darkness, revolutions of the earth, distance, duration, memory, deja vu, the beginning and the end, the past, present and future, life, death, and eternity.
However we choose to define it, time cannot be defined. It is always already the impossible. Yet it dictates social structures and convention, manipulates our routines, cripples the mind with fears of mortality, establishes culture and cultural beliefs, tradition and action, entraps with transcience. And when we ponder on how mankind celebrates somewhat significant and cherised moments such as a birthday, the passing of a year, and the enterprise of festivals and festivities, we ask of ourselves why.
Everything is built on the unchallenged dogma that time passes and is therefore precious, invaluable and real...
But Time is the very construct of man. It is artifice itself.
Devised by the Sumerian civilisation in 2000BC, refined by the Greeks and Romans, mechanised by the English, adopted by the world, time is, for all its worth, a construct, perhaps an illusion. And so are all facets and the many faces of time - the lunar, solar, gregorian calendars, dates, months, years.
So here's to a Happy New Year. There is indeed much to celebrate when we realise how we have become victims of our own device / devise.
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