Let's go dance under the streetlights

"Some people, its a pity,

They go all their lives and never know,

How to love or let love go"

- Rob Thomas, Streetcorner Symphony

That knowing when to let go stuff, it gets so complicated. 

When is something broken enough to leave before it is so completely shattered that it leaves little shards of itself embeded in you forever? 

Life can be so sweet, on the sunny side of the street

So during one of my Psyc labs this week, we had to fill out yet another tedious questionnaire about the meaning of life. Anyway, while trying to choose a number to represent how I felt about my search for meaning, it dawned on me that I'm no longer particularly fussed about having a purpose/ some driving force/ greater meaning to my life. I used to be quite horribly tormented by it, i.e. it would delay my sleep by sometimes an hour *gasp* - I jest, you know what I mean.

Doing horrible commerce subjects and walking out of classes with a far deeper understanding of Pink Floyd's brick in the wall analogy than I would wish on even people I dislike, there was a constant feeling of unease. This is back when everything was mapped out in with a large amount of certainty: internship -> part time job -> grad job -> career. All I had to do was plod along accordingly, which I was doing with a restlessness under the skin, between organs somewhere deeper than scratch-able depth.

Now, I haven't a clue where my life is headed, got a weeiiirrd combination of degrees that may or may not work out and may or may not be able to get me hired at the end, and I've never felt more secure about life in general and self in particular.

I haven't really found Purpose in my life, but I'm finding the present too enjoyably satisfying to be looking for it as such. It'll turn up one day when I least expect it and surprise me. Or maybe not turn up at all and that might actually be okay!

Neglect

Poor blog.

*pat pat*

It really is a bit like having a child and then ignoring it, however ridiculous it might be to allow a little particle of cyber space to make one feel guilty.

Not so organised chaos

Latest reason to clean room:

Keys got lost possibly on the floor somewhere, need to see floor to find aforementioned keys.

Culling

Walked into my room today and between sneezes realised how long overdue it is for a throw everything out day.. Groan. I am a minimalist, honestly, just easily distracted especially by brightly coloured things. Its just amazing the amount, shapes and sizes of completely unnecessary things that manage to accumulate over just a few months. Especially when exams require retail therapy. So yes, three garbage bags later, things are looking up. The challenge is to keep it that way. At the end of the day, all I really need to be happy are books, stationery, a few gadgets, and maybe two pairs of beautiful shoes. A few pretty clothes. It's tough being a girl. 

Where the heart is.

"It don't matter to me
'Cos all I wanted to be
Is a million miles from here
Somewhere more familiar

Oh my god I can't believe it
I've never been this far away from home"

Catchy, non-whiny song. Positively boppy to be honest, always liked it, even now when its taken on an entirely new meaning. Post exam blues settled in after the initial euphoria of being free. People are heading back to where they belong for the summer. Normally home-sickness is a foreign concept, but nearly one and a half years since experiencing that uniquely Sri Lankan cocktail of humidity, sweat, dust, petrol fumes and don't even want to know what else forming a protective shield over my skin, I admit it. There is a painful longing stubbornly refusing to go away.

All depends on what 'home' is, really. For me it is where my friends are. That unbeatable feeling of being able to let it all go - no need to smile if you don't feel like it, no need to be entertaining, or look good or say the right things. To have company without needing to say anything. Hugs. Belonging where I am just because I am me. People for whom love is unconditional, forgiving and log fire warm.   

Tonight, at this specific moment in time, I am emotionally further away from Home than I have ever been in my admittedly short life. I'll get over it, at some point in the next hour quit wallowing and get a life, but right now my mind is overwhelmed by the wish that the next month or so will go by quickly so that I can Just. Go. Home. Please.

Strange fruit - Abel Meeropol

Southern trees bear strange fruit,

Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.

------ Nina Simone sings a particularly hard hitting version

Open window

I have an obsession with knowing people's stories. Life stories, love stories, the happenings, the non-happenings, regrets, reflections. All the boys I date go through an ongoing grilling about what they were thinking or wanting at different moments in the initial fireworks stages. What did they think of me during the first conversation, first kiss? What did they want out of the situation? What did they think would happen later? What did they think of my reactions? It's like putting together a puzzle, fitting their reality with mine. Sometimes it doesn't quite fit - 'OMG I can't believe you thought I didn't like you' being one cliche classic - and the final painting ends up, I'd like to think, like a Matisse painting: bright colours, looks kinda like reality with an endearing quirkiness. It's the process that attracts me as well, you learn so much about a person by the hopes they clung to, the assumptions made, signs read or misread. That's why I invariably stay friends with these boys, the debriefing analysing is fascinating. Even when it all goes wrong, several years later you get to sit down and pull the mess apart, untangle, rewind it into a neater ball. Ideally. 

Had the perfect one night stand, by my definition of it at least. He talked to me for hours, was generally very considerate, made me laugh, an impossibly irreverent sense of humour reminding me of of good friends back home. Entirely non-seedy, only slightly alcoholic. It was spontaneous fun. 

But now I have to let it go, every rational part of me knows it. Saw the danger signs, he's likely to get emotional, its just not going to end well from any point further than this. But it's killing me to not know his story. What was he thinking? What had he wanted out of it? At what point did he realise I might be interested? What convinced him to make a move? Why? Is he also going to look back on it and laugh?

The thought of never knowing makes me ache, just a little. Bittersweet, because in a way the uncertain endings are sometimes just how its meant to be, but at the same time it's sad that I'll never get to see the full painting. I'll carry with me half the colours, half the brush strokes, and that will always look lonely.

Short and sweet

There has actually been insane amounts of things happening, mostly good, some goose-bump inducing-ly crazy, some that will take a while to digest. Loving the ride overall. Figuring out what one wants seems to be such a messy, interesting, frustrating and fulfilling process. Two steps forward, one step back. Life is all about experiences, and now, finally, I'm back on track having some crazy fun ones!  Right now, on zero hours of sleep in the last 24, I have two days to write two essays one of which was due a couple of days ago. 

Crap :D 

Also, apple and passionfruit martinis are a.m.a.z.i.n.g. 

Some men just want to watch the world burn.

I love psychological movies. Especially the tearing them apart and have long meaty conversations dissecting them for hours on end. The Dark Knight is also going to feature in my dreams for a possibly traumatic while, I can tell. Fiction is a slanted reflection of the real world after all, even though its not a reality common to all. Thank god, sometimes. Not everyone falls madly in love and insane serial killers are not as widespread as tv shows seem to reflect. 

How many Jokers exist out there? Frustratingly, and possibly deliberately there is no psychological assessment of this maniac - the more or less good guys, in this shades of grey movie are too busy fighting him to figure him out. He has no history and he seems to make stuff up. Abusive father? Lost love? Irrelevant?  

Thinking of burning the world on a large-ish scale, the obvious examples are the LTTE and maybe Al-Qaeda but both those have reasons. What they've done is awful, but waking up at 3am, there are rationalisations which soothe their conscience, even though it may not seem justified to others. Surely everyone has a price in a broader sense of the word: something they want, not necessarily money. So then the Joker wanted chaos? A world tearing itself violently apart satisfied some need for ugliness? For everything around him to be as scarred and freakish as he is? He's just 'a dog chasing a car', no rules, no plans, no 'end' as such just any means necessary. 

Can't think of anyone like him, yet. Can you?