Part 7 – Butterflies and Hurricanes

7 12 2007

The first drops of rain came as a blessing, soothing out the stress of a complicated day. The orange sky blurred the certitude of not being in a dream. A sky blistered through all the years of massive pollution produced by billion dollar industries still sucking on the last parcels of healthy atmosphere left. Somewhere all of us know this is just never going to stop. All this was merely the side effects of another highly polluting agent; money.

He gazed at the heavens and felt the few drops on his face, as a recognition of his understanding. His face was all wet but he couldn’t be sure if it was rain, or merely unstoppable tears. His hands tightened around the straps of his gig bag as he rushed past the busy metropolitan crowd. He has always dreamed of living in the city, among the concrete jungle where one can lose himself far from the daily torments of a tedious routine life. It was like living in a more unorganised version of an ant colony, where each member of the society is a mere peon, playing a trivial role in a cast of millions of actors. The feeling of being part of it all is utterly overwhelming. He felt alive amongst this pile of chaos.

The deafening sound of rushing vehicles lured him. This uncontrollable urge soon seemed to be pulling him harder towards the busiest crossroad, where thousands of vehicles swooped by nearly in a blur. The blur slowly turned into a tornado of mist and glowing colours, sucking him in. Out of nowhere, he was at a familiar bridge again, and the rushing water beneath made him feel dizzy. The darkness of the night seemed to enclose on him, pulling him deeper into a state of trance, he could feel the air gushing through his hair, and the water below came closing in. He tried to recall how he landed there, but it was like trying to look at your shadow through a smoke tinted glass. The scene began to change as if by enchantment, and he could feel being sucked upwards…

His sleep was disturbed by the powerful scent of a lady’s perfume. As the nurse entered the room propagating a scent triggering thousands of compelling emotions and memories. Recollections of childhood, of his mother, of thousand of nameless places he’s been. The fragrance was intensely mystifying, diffusing as the welcoming mist preceding the heavy monsoon rain. He would recognise that soft and yet so intense scent anywhere. It constituted one of the rare moments of pleasure he could be blessed with.

As the nurse gave him the usual daily injections, the only thing he felt was the soft touch of her hands on his bare skin. Her voice was still more mesmerising, defying that of the most enchanting mermaid. She used to talk to him, while meticulously repeating each steps of his daily massage. She could talk for hours, her voice only disturbed by the frequent rustle of her blue bracelet. And he found himself transported to her world fantasies, and her never ending “love experiences”. That term sounded a little out of context.

She was somewhat similar to many people he’s come across; beautiful, intelligent, charming and yet so naively fragile. The way she fell in love so easily was beyond his comprehension. Is it really love anyway? She would date a guy for a few weeks, be completely in love, tell him everyday how much she loves him, build her whole world around him, then one day, the guy would breakup simply because she was becoming too possessive, controlling and invasive. She would be completely broken for a few days. Then one day, she’s with another guy, probably saying the same things. The process starts all over again.

So can her feelings really be described as pure passionate love? He doubts so. Her ability to move on unhindered in such a short period of time itself is proof enough for the validity of what she felt. Sometimes he wonders how many out there really grasp the true meaning of love. In most cases it’s rather pure emotional and physical dependence misunderstood for love. That’s why people can move on so easily. ‘Cause what really matters is not who the person is, it’s how you feel when you are with that someone.

In a way, love is merely a wrecked raft striving to survive in an ocean of emotions. It’s all a matter of the heart, or of the brain rather. But it’s surely more poetic to follow the common rhetoric about the heart’s intrinsic link with emotions. Sometimes he would ponder on the question. Despite all that he could believe, or thought he knew, in a way things were preferably left unexplained. He could stress on the belief that love needed a reason to survive, but relationships need more than love. He often told friends that what they felt was far from being love, and the relationship would simply not work out, but in a way maybe what that individual needed was merely his own perception of love.

We are all guided but the basic instinct to reach for happiness, in whatever way or figure we could possibly fancy. We can’t possibly judge actions or inactions of individuals, simply because we are not them. It’s human nature to evolve, to adapt, on the other hand, it’s also human nature to refuse those changes…

He gazed at the hands of the wall clock ticking endlessly around the same axis, just like we revolve around our perception of life and reality, escaping crossroads we ourselves created.


Festival de la Mode

26 11 2007

Finally i made it through, I won the first prize for the Fotography contest !!! yey!!




And here is the winning pic:


Part 6 – Russian Roulette

29 10 2007

Life makes you take paths you were once totally oblivious to. The mere randomness of the chaotic order of events leaves you in disbelief, crushed into a fragment of yourself, trying to solve each piece of a puzzle whose outcome you don’t even know. Yet at each step you try to push it further, with the hope that maybe this time you won’t go wrong. Inevitably, the most predictable outcome results and you find yourself crawling back to the starting point. Situations may vary, but the context remains so depressingly similar. Each of us find ourselves trapped between different worlds, fate and chance, logic and emotions, reality and fantasy, love and apathy.

He drifted by each second, trying to find the right equilibrium, not in order to balance both sides, but only enough to cope with his own delusional mind. He always found himself evolving among those spheres, a wandering beacon shifting through the instability of his emotions. Somehow, the most unstable and disturbingly profound emotion he ever felt, was love or maybe all that follows.

Much too often, he felt like being imprisoned in a bouncing ball, trapped in the ups and downs of life, propelled by the malicious velocity of ever changing relationships. At each fall he braces himself for another collision, preparing for the emotional wreck he was about to encounter. His mind and heart raced so fast that time itself seems to slow down. Time, being a mere variable in the millions of emotional collisions that a single moment can generate. Each heart beat was another acute rush of pain mixed with an amalgam of insecurity, despair, perdition and loneliness. He could live that moment a thousand times, yet he seems to never be getting used to the profound deception it conveyed.

Experience is supposed to make someone more mature, sharp and accustomed to the process. Still, he lived each encounter as a whole new experience. The beauty of the beginning finds itself lost in the dark trauma of the ending.

Love for him was the forbidden fruit that would bring the demons rushing in, triggering a reaction that will finally lead the annihilation of his whole being. Strangely, despite all the miserable outcomes, this feeling was bizarrely still so fascinatingly attractive. What is so compelling about it that drives the mind to lose grip on the handle of rationality?

It all starts like a splendid fairy tale, till one day everything swirls into an abyss widely undermining the most sordid of your nightmares. The worst part, is despite all the pain, we sometimes still hold on, hoping that things would get better on their own. That maybe one day all of this would be over and we’ll get over it. But some seem to forget that life is not fairy tale. The truth is far cruder than that and unfortunately, things don’t really go the way we would want them to be.

Ah… love… that wonderful emotion that can propel one’s soul to the highest peaks or to the deepest abyss in a single breath. The mysteries of a lifetime enclosed in a four letter word. Four letters which have been the subject of considerable debate, enduring speculation, and thoughtful introspection. Some still try to find a rational approach, but most are convinced that love is everything but rational.

Love is the best thing that can ever happen to you, he often heard some say. But is it really? Some say love hurts… or maybe they took something else for being love. Everybody has to go through it one day, but are we ready to face it? We all have a friend who was completely broken by a heartbreak… maybe we were ourselves… but strangely enough, very few can genuinely justify the integrity of their emotions. He was often laughed at while he tried in vain to explain that love, like any other emotion, needs to have a reason. More than often he would ask a friend why he loves that particular girl, his response would be “I don’t know why… I just love her… I can’t live without her…”. That deeply intrigued him. He always thought loving someone was not when two people cannot leave without each other, its when two people choose to be together.

For him, love is a choice, not something being imposed on you. If it is, then you become enslaved to the emotion you nourish. You become dependent on that feeling, on the person you “love”… And dependency kills your individuality. You start to change, sometimes into something you yourself cannot decipher. You become a prisoner in your own prison. It’s one thing to be genuinely in love and another to be only emotionally dependent.

Sometimes you find yourself trapped with a missing piece in the puzzle and the resonating sound of a trigger behind your back…

Part 5 – Lost In The Dragon’s Lair…

8 05 2007

The early rays of sunshine caressed the walls around him like a soothing melody of a 12-string guitar, furnishing the room with a soft tint of yellow. A new day, a whole new boulevard to explore, a second chance… but not for him. “Have faith…” he often overheard doctors tell his rare visitors. Faith… Hope… Like a promising dream megaphoned by megalomaniac, egocentric politicians who care less for your well being than that of their ever thirsty pockets. It’s easy to be compassionate and sympathetic, it’s easy to toss a coin to a starving beggar while driving away in a brand new Mercedes. But, holding a lupus patient by the hand just to bring a little comfort, is a completely different story.

To care for someone is more than formalities, a set of procedures encountered to procure an illusion of being sensitive to what others feel. It’s more concerned with feeling what others are going through. But in a world made of plastic ideas and commercial beliefs, “concern” is simply another word used to please the mind and the heart of the distraught stranger. The more avid minds sought relief in dreams more than from others.

Somehow, the acrimony and bitterness faded. He knows this feeling. He’s been through this before, there was only a minor difference. LSD. This enchanting remedy synthetised the most powerful dreams he could ever imagine. Man found himself chased by the villainous predator he himself created. Those who like to flirt with the realm and limits of the human mind, rarely bothered about the precariousness of the condition. Sure, drugs was something he never ever imagined being involved into. Somehow this word was a resonating sting to his ears. It made things look only worse.

Dextroamphetamine, Methylphenidate, Pemoline, Methamphetamine, LSD, cough syrup, weed, coke… He would have taken vitamin C if it would made him numb. Understandably, these were mere alternatives to flee the reality he found increasingly weighty. This whole perspective is generally thought to be more of an easy way out; a substitute for those who don’t have the courage to keep up with the vicissitudes of the ever evolving topology of life. It’s so easy to say that when you are not the least aware of all that can go through a human mind in a time of complete abandonment. He had heard countless speeches on that issue; presumably highly responsible individuals stressing on the horrifying consequences of drug consumption, but never had he heard anything on the outcome of living in a brainless society. He does not deny the dreadful implications of the former, but the consequences of the latter could be far more disastrous.

Drugs are only the symptoms of a sick society. Curing symptoms wont ever help to get rid of a disease. As the infection always persists at the root. The only proper solution would logically be to treat the source and the core of the illness. That would never happen anyway, simply because society is so used to seeing deprivation that even the thought of perfectness would seem utterly surrealistic. We need a minute dosage of discrepancy around us to subvert the feeling of our own inferiority. In a way, that is what is so appealing with violence on TV. It’s the amount of self-induced illusion of relative well being it procures. Seeing a head decapitation footage undoubtedly unleashes thousands of thundering questions in one’s mind, on the other hand, it’s the most widely consumed drug ever created.

He could feel his mind atrophied with uncertainty. Faith induced more doubts in his brain than the puzzling talks of his room mate. Doubts… Doubts are seeds sown in our own minds by none but ourselves. Others might influence it slightly, like rocks might sway the course of rivers. But as a captain in charge of his ship, we are the sole manager of our mind.

He was nothing more than a pile of confused junk, tied with a string of faith, waiting for the clock to tick the right way.

A new morning… a whole new day to explore… a second chance?

Part 4 – Silent Whispers Under A Crimson Sky…

27 03 2007

Dreams and illusions are mere states of the mind; a cellular exchange of electrical signals and chemical substances. For some, dreams are often thought to pertain to the realm of the supernatural, revealing a sequence of forthcoming events; a window between what is and what will be. Or is it just a crude reflection of one’s sub conscience? Either way, dreams are what they are: An alternate reality generated by the brain. What for?

The question was further more appealing than the quest for an answer. For him, dreams were the only way to escape this reality he now found himself trapped into. He was prisoner of his own body, a slave of his own mind.

He stayed there looking at the ceiling for long hours, dreaming he was somewhere else. Searching for a refuge in his own memories. But the tedious mechanical disturbances around would drag him back, slamming his imagination against the four sterilised walls around him. He then realised what loneliness really means. The frequent visits of his shattered parents only made it worse.

It’s in these moments of dementia that you ask yourself whether it was all worthwhile. Does it have to be this way? Or was it all just a glimpse of your imagination? No matter where you are in the universe, the truth, even the most imperceivable part of it, cannot be denied, as it is what constitutes the reason of your being here. The reason why it all started. The reason that pushed you through the door and made you pickup that chainsaw to cut off all that was dear to you.

Memories are like butterflies trapped in a jar exposed to a disease; some can escape, some survive, and others just fade away, simply because they are too weak. That’s all he could do; fighting to preserve all that was left. It’s been days since he was there, half dead. In a way, the truth was much worse than that. He would have laughed if he could… at the irony of his own fate.

Ah fate! The escape goat of all lazy, desperate, depressive neurosis victims. What’s more easy than putting the blame on destiny? More than once you hear people blaming their nature on their fate. Maybe they should try to see things the other way round. Destiny can be viewed as an immense puzzle which can have different possible outcomes depending on the choices you make. Even the most unimportant event can cast ripples through the immense web of destiny. He could hear Coldplay playing in his head “… we never change, do we?”. Ironically, what makes all the beauty of human nature, is its ability to change, to remodel itself according to circumstances and evolving environments.

He kept thinking about those who won’t stop complaining about the misery of their pointless lives, but won’t ever dare to change something. Maybe they were used to grumble, ’cause it’s so much easier than actually admitting that they were the sole responsible for their failure. It’s easy to put the blame on others, on fate. But when it comes to admit one’s faults, it’s a completely different story. It’s all about games people play… All these contributed to the reasons why he always felt alone. He never seemed to understand the vanity of human nature.

He had made some friends though. The nurse who always wore a blue bracelet, the cleaner with headphones and the patient next to him: a 70 year old retired school teacher. They would talk to him, sharing their experiences, their lives. We always need someone to talk to. It seems that many psychological instabilities and social problems is due to the lack of communication. All that people need, is a friend who can share their pain, someone they can confide in. And who is better suited than someone in his state? It might seem a bit creepy at first. But come to think of it, the coma made him the perfect person for that.

He would not say anything, never interrupt. He would not be able to anyway. Sometimes he had the impression they thought he could not hear them. That made things easier in a way, at least for them. It’s always easier to talk when you know no one is going to judge you.

Days were flying by like cheap ink from a mad writer’s pen. All this looked too much like a distorted sequence from a gloomy soap opera. He just hoped all this would end one day.

Part 3 – One Last Lullaby…

22 03 2007

The white light was blinding. It was invading each and every part of his whole being. He felt so safe, as if floating on a bed made of the finest hand plucked cotton. Muffled voices resonated around like a sweet soft serenade welcoming his arrival. Was it finally it? He still had trouble to focus but the first impression was so tender to his senses that he let himself be carried away. There was no pain… nothing… just pure harmony. Funny, he thought; he felt drowsy, somewhat like he was high, under the effect of a powerful hallucinogen. It all seemed so perfect… till…

Beep. He woke up from his trance with a violent blow on his ear drums, each sequence of that repetitive sound resonating like a million bells inside his head. He tried to scream but couldn’t… he tried to move, in vain… Was it another nightmare? His eyes strained to fathom the blurred outline of the moving objects above. They finally came into focus. Someone had just shone a flashlight into his eyes and was noting something down. The scene seemed strangely familiar. Then it all came to him. The voices, people moving around, the repetitive sounds…

Truths can hurt. And this one did. He tried to recollect how he landed there, but his mind was a mere pile of random scraps of memory. However hard he tried to rearrange all the junk inside, it made no difference. The more he tried to remember, the less he could put his finger on. Contradictory? It seemed that his whole world revolved around that concept. Paradoxical thoughts.

Few could really understand him, and even those who did, were far from holding the answer to the complexity of his thoughts. The world is made of conflicting opinions and paradoxes. People just never bother to get to the depth of things, they never try to analyse all the nuances, taking everything for granted. And in a way, that’s how they interacted with him. He was often thought to be contradicting himself, giving the impression he never really knew what he was doing. But in fact, they never really bothered to understand the extent of his actions. Maybe in a way, they never really could.

He often saw himself like a Rubix cube; with 6 different faces, each with a distinct pattern and colour. You see only what you want to see, one face at a time. Few would try to examine several faces simultaneously. And further less would try to understand the cube as a whole. The more you try to solve it, the more complicated it got. It’s easy to get one segment right, but that would only increase the complexity of the problem. ’cause its never about getting one right at a time, its about solving the entire dilemma as one single piece. That’s where the problems kick in.

For some, life is only a single straight line. They would never bother to look around, to understand their environment, or try to explore the surroundings. That would mean they would have to bear with too many implications. It’s the same thing when it comes to understanding others. He often heard his “friends” claiming that no one could understand him more than he/she did. That would always make him smile. Just because you’ve been hanging around with someone for some time, irrespective of the duration, would that really mean you know him?

Now, he seemed to have lost himself among all these erratic bits of memory. He just kept staring blankly at the ceiling. Those walking around him in white robes seemed to be paying little attention to what he was doing, or to the repetitive hackneyed beeping of machines. That would be futile anyway. He couldn’t really be doing anything. The morphine was meant to take care of that.

They didn’t even notice the small glistening droplets on his cheeks…

Part 2 – Blood Stains In The Moonlight…

21 03 2007

Pain. The remedy of extreme happiness. Happiness can be addictive, even more than ecstasy, usurping all sense of logicality; Overwhelming one’s mind till the utter destruction of the rationale. Pessimistic you might say? Maybe. Just try to compare happiness with a drug… any drug… He always used to ponder on that question till late past his bedtime, confessing his deepest sins to the moon. And the moonlight never questioned his thoughts. On the contrary, the heavens seem to be the most sincere ally he could ever find.

Pain, it might seem, only exists to reveal the importance of those small moments of pleasure. But now it had opened a whole new dimension as he laid there amongst the pebbles and stones, the cold blistering water washing away all that was left of him. It was not the end. Not yet… and the pain pounding inside his head only made him realise his failure. He held his eyes closed, fearing what he might see. Fear and pain. The worst combination ever.

Seconds drifted by like hours. They say that death makes you see images of a lifetime. He could see the same never ending panorama rushing in his mind… Was it his impending doom, or merely a self preserving mechanism to forget the excruciating pain? Somewhere he knew that the moon was high above, like a faithful friend, radiating him with its light as if to soothe out the pain. As weird as it might seem, he could feel the moonlight, he could feel its warmth… like on those long nights he spent crying on his rooftop, seeking shelter beneath the stars.

He would stay there for long hours, looking helplessly at the dark sky, hoping that somewhere, up there, amongst the stars, was his guardian angel, looking after him. He would talk to him, share his hopes and dreams, and that would always make him feel better. Some would say its just because he’s still a child deep inside.

He liked being the way he was. He saw many things others never dared to see, and yet he found refuge in his inner child. He knew, for some, he would always be like a child who would never grow up. Someone who lives in a world of his own. Part of it might be true. But he would rather say that others don’t see the true side of life.

He could see through others and yet preferred to feign ignorance. People always despise those who can see their true identity. ‘Cause each of them try to recreate an envelop for which they want to be known. Its like the game we used to play at the age of 5. Most of those games exist only to prove one single thing: “mine is better than yours”. And although the rules and platform might be different, people all around him still play games everyday. So in what way are they superior?

They believed he was just another ignorant, immature, kid. And he preferred things to remain that way… Cause the more you pretend to be blind, the more others open up to you. Thats one among the many reasons why he felt better off alone. In a paradoxical way, he felt less lonely, when he was there, all by himself, looking at the heavens.

Pain added to all the confusion and havoc in his mind, leaving him in a hallucinative state. He wished that he would awake from this nightmare that sucked him in and was pulling him deeper. Then gradually… he felt nothing… no pain… no confusion… he just drifted away to somewhere he yet had to discover.

Pleasure and pain… Is that what all life is ?