Thursday, May 29, 2003
What if, what if.
Watching an old friend - old! I suppose it has come to that; time has passed, inexorably - whirl like a dervish last night with this most indescribable expression of pure and simple joy on her face. A rare moment of catharsis, which seems so strange, so impersonal and out of place for me to coldly write about now in the light of dawn, sunlight streaming through my window. In a short while, I shall have to make the long, dreary trek to work, and life will have returned to its mundane, nondescript state of drudgery. For a single instant, a rather attractive girl became attractive, to me. And I realised what it is that I seek out in, and seek to protect in, other people. I used to imagine, using Her as my yardstick that it was - I didn't know - what, humour, intellect? wit, humility, good-naturedness. I see now its that which filters through when the guards are down, the concerns hurled to the wind, the bitterness forgotten, intoxicated, simple, unadulterated joy. For life, for the living. Embodied in that one thing one loves more than anything else. Dark, brooding Alice last night had it, startlingly; an aura of light nearly glowing around someone I'd gotten used to seeing in muted tones - although, as time has passed, those muted tones have altered drastically into - dare I say it, almost pastel :) An elf I once knew has it, in a slightly manic and almost frightening way for bastardised music most other people leave lying on the shelf. Beaming, beaming, beaming - but also baring, at the same time. And She had it once - in almost everything she did. Even foraging for breakfast on a lazy saturday morning, within her refrigerator; that sense of wonder, and exuberence. Almost all the time - it was, for the onlooker, like being the proverbial hare trapped in the headlamps of an ongoing car. I'm told I, too have it myself, behind the mask, both literal and figurative. But ironically, I must don a mask, to shed my mask. And how transient, how fleeting, and how utterly dependent on so many circumstances they are. And how infinitely harder it is to remove that mask, after having it nailed firmly on in the last fort-year, fastened securely by other people's criticism and superior put-downs. I used to pride myself in not caring about public perception; almost, almost being a rebel. I'm older now and realise I can't help but care about perception, from the people around me. Isn't it funny, how the people who *are* in the position to offer you support and lavish compliments - the people who shouldn't have the weak excuse of fear of being misinterpreted and receiving unwanted attention or affection in return - rarely do? But criticise and cut-down instead, or fail to buffer and buttress you from the incessant hackings of their friends and family? A fortyear later, I feel more lost than ever, more battered than ever. Less... joyful. Three morals to be derived from this ramble; the first being that it doesn't matter how good at something you are, but how happy you are at doing it - the ex was good at many things for the simple time and effort she expended on them; but she did them to win the admiration or affection of others, rarely, for herself. The second, harder to derive from these words, that although so often we feel lost in this life, (does it matter?) in the words of a mysterious veiled woman-in-black, everything will turn out all right, in the end. Even if that end is another 60 years down the line. And lastly, that thanks to the advent of the internet and easy access to public perception, anyone can be an armchair philosopher. Even me!
Thank you, Alice.
Watching an old friend - old! I suppose it has come to that; time has passed, inexorably - whirl like a dervish last night with this most indescribable expression of pure and simple joy on her face. A rare moment of catharsis, which seems so strange, so impersonal and out of place for me to coldly write about now in the light of dawn, sunlight streaming through my window. In a short while, I shall have to make the long, dreary trek to work, and life will have returned to its mundane, nondescript state of drudgery. For a single instant, a rather attractive girl became attractive, to me. And I realised what it is that I seek out in, and seek to protect in, other people. I used to imagine, using Her as my yardstick that it was - I didn't know - what, humour, intellect? wit, humility, good-naturedness. I see now its that which filters through when the guards are down, the concerns hurled to the wind, the bitterness forgotten, intoxicated, simple, unadulterated joy. For life, for the living. Embodied in that one thing one loves more than anything else. Dark, brooding Alice last night had it, startlingly; an aura of light nearly glowing around someone I'd gotten used to seeing in muted tones - although, as time has passed, those muted tones have altered drastically into - dare I say it, almost pastel :) An elf I once knew has it, in a slightly manic and almost frightening way for bastardised music most other people leave lying on the shelf. Beaming, beaming, beaming - but also baring, at the same time. And She had it once - in almost everything she did. Even foraging for breakfast on a lazy saturday morning, within her refrigerator; that sense of wonder, and exuberence. Almost all the time - it was, for the onlooker, like being the proverbial hare trapped in the headlamps of an ongoing car. I'm told I, too have it myself, behind the mask, both literal and figurative. But ironically, I must don a mask, to shed my mask. And how transient, how fleeting, and how utterly dependent on so many circumstances they are. And how infinitely harder it is to remove that mask, after having it nailed firmly on in the last fort-year, fastened securely by other people's criticism and superior put-downs. I used to pride myself in not caring about public perception; almost, almost being a rebel. I'm older now and realise I can't help but care about perception, from the people around me. Isn't it funny, how the people who *are* in the position to offer you support and lavish compliments - the people who shouldn't have the weak excuse of fear of being misinterpreted and receiving unwanted attention or affection in return - rarely do? But criticise and cut-down instead, or fail to buffer and buttress you from the incessant hackings of their friends and family? A fortyear later, I feel more lost than ever, more battered than ever. Less... joyful. Three morals to be derived from this ramble; the first being that it doesn't matter how good at something you are, but how happy you are at doing it - the ex was good at many things for the simple time and effort she expended on them; but she did them to win the admiration or affection of others, rarely, for herself. The second, harder to derive from these words, that although so often we feel lost in this life, (does it matter?) in the words of a mysterious veiled woman-in-black, everything will turn out all right, in the end. Even if that end is another 60 years down the line. And lastly, that thanks to the advent of the internet and easy access to public perception, anyone can be an armchair philosopher. Even me!
Thank you, Alice.
