Tuesday, May 24, 2011

 My anger overwhelmed me yesterday, the city was ugly, fast, speedy, lusty, loud, poor, rich, full of problems bubbling forth and ignored and suppressed out of insensitivity, or ignorance or speed. Could it ever change? 
It made me restless. And i wished i could get in my running clothes, wear my shoes and run and get rid of the heaviness i felt in my heart. I couldn't. I was in the city, with work to be done. Restlessness often makes you explore, push things to their limits, search desperately...for peace? for self realization? It makes me want to reach out to the ones i love, tell them that they mean everything to me, it makes me want to act, to write, to run, to play music, to read, to live...it makes me want to jump on a trampoline a hundred times. It makes me want to breathe fresh air, unpolluted, wafting from a trembling green jungle or a clean snowy and misty mountain. 
All these desires, haha, when i am sitting in a green and white government bus in the window seat, bearing silently the heat the sun is pouring down and the sweat and a thick lack of sleep in the eyes...
and the news of my dear friend's loss. 

it's better to take refuge in simple pleasures, i realized. and chose to be happy about the fragrance of jasmine flowers that the girl next to me wore in her hair. and the clouds moving silently in the hot sunny sky. and the love in my heart. and the sight of an old man lazing under a blackberry tree flossing his teeth with a small twig. and a mother concentrating on cleaning her daughters hair off lice, separating every strand of hair and looking for the tiny bug. 

it's all still unsolved. do we really find peace? or do we choose it? no matter what, every peaceful moment in surrounded by a lot of chaotic restlessness. and vice-versa. or is it all the same and we change perspectives about that one thing, calling it peace and restlessness? i don't know where this is going...

so i stop. (proves my point exactly) sigh. 

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." 
— Oscar Wilde

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