Trials and Tribulations in a Nut Shell

Solitude

Why its sometimes comfortable to be lonely and at other times too lonely to be comfortable

Drinking

Why its at times too much fun to be unhealthy and at other times too unhealthy to be fun

Socialising

Why is at times rewarding to be not indulged in and at other times too draining to be indulging in

Compassion

Why at times is it absolutely cruel to not be kind and at other times a bit too patronising to be too kind

Fun

Why at many times it seems never too enough but shortly after it mostly seems too excessive

Moderation

Why at any time there are no two ways about moderation but equally every time it is too boring to be moderate

And the big question is where and how does happiness fit into all this??? 

Thinking of

topics, titles, complications, boredom.

Thinking of

why the world takes itself and others so seriously? Surely if Trump is the president, the world can’t be a serious place? 

Thinking of

what happened to that spirited confused cynic without a mission who became the spirited non confused non cynic with a mission who has now ended up being a confused, cynic with a mission but not spirited any more? 

Thinking of

the book that was written, in the thoughts and the mind with exact scenarios and words and ideas and concepts, but not recorded. How would that book have contained all the disjointed thoughts of slash, unrequited love, intense friendships and passion and dreams that didn’t quite come together into a story or novel, which disjointed on its own were actually quite exciting (even if I say so myself)

Thinking of

the lesson quite shockingly I learnt about myself that ultimately - I am a passionate person despite not having a singular passion in life. I am an ambitious person, despite not sticking to the norms of ambition. I am determined person, despite always seemingly giving up. I am an innovative person, despite innovation being limited to finding crazy ways of having fun, wait, that I think I always have been. I am an adaptable person, errr…no that I am still not.

Thinking of

Of why there is so many whys, whats, whens in my life? Why have I lost the fun loving child in me, what do I really want in life, when did life become so boring and grown up.

Thinking of 

getting back to my writing. The distinctive writing showing the immature, crazy, funny (not necessarily witty) side .

2010

With 30 approaching me with rapid speed my life has suddenly become more confusing than it ever was. well, ok, it is in one way the same and yet in other ways different.

I am beginning to become my old self after being a recluse for almost a decade. okay, not a decade but for at least half of it. But its a constant tug of war now, my recluse self holding a strong grip on me, whilst my old, not particularly extroverted but a more sociable self, raising its not so ugly head every now and then. But then again it could just be the time of the year when everyone is jolly. You want to seek the warmth from any and every quarter considering the weather is not so. Infact is quite the contrary.

I am beginning to lose my old idealistic self, the self that believes in ideals that aren't particularly utilitarian (well, thats why they are called ideals aren't they?) nor necessarily idealistic enough to hold on to. But curiously I am finding that the 'ugly' practical self is not so non idealistic afterall. I mean did any one ever say they have to be mutually exclusive.

I am beginning to see my age in others. When i think of myself in isolation i don't feel 30. I don't feel 20 or 10 or 50. I just don't feel any age. But when I see these 20 somethings at work and here and there and the 30 somethings and the 50 somethings, I begin to see my age. I really do. I feel young, younger, old and older. Not necessarily in any particular pattern. But even so, in as much as age is a matter of mind, age belongs to a generation as well.

I am also beginning to see the futility in certain things I sought. say for instance, search for passion, as i'd liked to call it. That, that is the biggest farce, is my current opinion. There is no such thing as passion. If you choose it to be, anything can be your 'passion' and if you don't nothing will ever be. I never thought my work would ever be my passion, but the last year it has been. It may not be this year and I don't particularly want it to be, but it was truly satisfying to know that passion is what you work for, not what makes you work. To know that there is nothing special waiting for you to chance upon, nothing that you were meant to do specially is for me a difficult thing to deal with. To understand this is liberating yet extremely painful. Well, 2010 maybe different. I might in a couple of months start looking for my passion, but hell, I can only think what I think now!

(Written in 2010 posted in 2017, don't know why!)