Sunday, September 12, 2010

still alive...

“Don't know about lofty life-like love, Sam. Once knew and I am grateful it died. Love is not for idealising. If we can't live it, all we can do is just grit the teeth, heave a sigh or shrug and go on. Tough call, but that's life.” So says S, dearest of all my friend(s ??), my brother. Can't help but wish I could feel the same. I do, to some extent at least. Well, at the very least I do see the logic and the rationality, and the deep seated pain (one that has taken hold)- although this last one might very well be a pure imposition of my own psychological predicament- behind what the man must have meant by those brutally honest, painfully selfless, and forgiving words.

But, brother, how do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on? When deep in your heart you begin to understand, that you can't. There are some wounds that time can't heal, some that run too deep, that have taken hold. Time goes on. But it never fully heals. And perhaps I am to blame for that too. Perhaps, in a way, I don't really want it to heal. Why, did you ask? What is to be gained from this eternal lamentation?

I know you are concerned. And it troubles me to see you, another who cares, disturbed because of the turmoil in my mind. There is so much I have lost, brother. The things I gave up, when I was too young to know their worth. And there is so much more that I have ignored, consumed by the guilt of the earlier loss, and pre-occupied with grovelling self-pity and regrets. So busy I had become mourning the first pit I fell into, I forgot to look out for the ones ahead! And now I have strayed into this field, full of pits. And with each passing day I walk deeper inside. While the ones who care, stand helpless and watch my staggering footsteps carry me closer and closer to the edge. I want to cry out for help, reach out for the helping hand to guide me out of these snares of insanity, doubt and fear. But I'm too far in. May be not far enough, yet too far. Going back is not impossible. The beacons of hope are still lit. Every once in a while a voice carries through. Yet following it out of this abyss is so difficult. Giving in is much the easier. Why? Am I so lost? Am I the only one? People have lost before- love, friendship, trust, faith- bigger, stronger and better people. And I know I am not the last. Why then do I find it so difficult? Yes, it is difficult. But there is really no other way, as you, my brother, have pointed out so many times. I will have to take the same way out that brought me in. There is no short cut home. And help will always be there, in the forms of the ones who cared enough to care. Yet, some blackened pride still burns inside. The ego, that wants so desperately to claim that dark throne of blood and tears, reserved by the ancient Greeks for the tragic hero.

Is that it, then? Is it really about my own mistake, about my failure to hold on to what I wanted most? Am I just using the memory of one who is gone to dress up my own incompetence? I loved her. Yes, I did. And she did too. But, why then do I find it so difficult to acknowledge that I don't have to stop loving her, or deny my feelings or memories, to accept that she is gone. And where she is, I can't go.

There wouldn't be any ambivalence, if I could put my right hand over my heart and claim, without blinking, that this is all I want to be, a tragic hero. Lord knows, I can't, and I don't want to. There in lies the concern of the loved ones. And I guess that's what S meant; that we cannot always be torn in two. We have to be one, and whole... for the days to come, for the road yet to be travelled, the things left to be seen, the songs yet to be heard, the laughters yet to be laughed, the tears yet to be tasted... the life I still have to live.


"I have changed
I have changed
Just like you
Just like you

For how long
For how long
Must I wait
I know there's something wrong

Your concrete heart isn't beating
And I've tried to
Make it come alive

No shadows
Just red lights
Now I'm here to rescue you oh

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

So silent
No violence
But inside my head
So loud and clear

You're screaming
You're screaming



Covered up with a smile I've learned to fear

Just sunshine
And blue sky
Is this all we get
For living here

Come fire
Come fire
Let it burn and love come racing through

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no

I've learn to lose
I've learn to win
I've turned my face against the wind

I will move fast
I will move slow
Take me where I have to go

Oh I'm still alive
I'm still alive
But can not apologize, no... "

[ disclaimer: The lyrics of this wonderful song is by Lisa Miskovsky. I am just quoting her because I feel it suits the mood of what I have been trying to get at in the paragraphs above. Only the prose is mine. I HAVE NO CLAIMS, CREATIVE, ARTISTIC, OR OTHERWISE AS FAR AS THE LYRICS OF THE SONG QUOTED AT THE END ARE CONCERNED. If the owner has any copyright infringement issues I will immidiately remove any part(s) or the whole of the song.]

2 comments:

Uncle Srini said...

Sam,

As far as your posts are concerned, I think I will restrict myself to commenting on their general import rather than directly discuss your personal state of affairs, which we (can continue to) do anyway in other modes! :)

Thank you for taking a mad man's comments so seriously;). But I am sort of flattered that my quotes too get quoted! :D Jokes apart, I have never believed in a so-called quintessence of what I say/write: so long as my words are felicitous and take their own shape in different contexts, like water in vessels, I am happy...(again as long as the impact is not one of destruct!)

Just want to pick up one line: how to pick up the threads of an 'old' life? Sans getting into issues of interpretation regarding 'old', all I can say if brutally is the 'old' needs to be burned... no matter the cost. Sometimes, self-preservation is the only way out! :) It may seem rather odd coming from a sincere and tender (arguably even soft :D) individual like I, but I have done it recently too, goaded on by two wonderful women six years younger than myself! :) I feel a LOT better! I am not asking you to malign anybody else, for moving on is neither an insult to memory, the sacredness of love, yourself or her; but not (attempting - I am not saying you are not!) to do so is an insult to life! :)

Plus nobody is a paragon... We think someone is especially after we lose them. The typical knowing the value after losing a gem sort of thing extended too much! :) It is okay to miss people, for at a level it is subconscious, but if that phase stretches into a conscious need for any sort - then one needs to stop and reassess! :) Brutal as it may seem, memories do not earn you money, get you your bread or even give a perspective beyond a point; so have I realised!

The battle is without a doubt hard but no point giving up. For that is hara kiri worse than the hara kiri!

CONFESSIONS OF A HITMAN said...

Thanks bro! Takes one madman to take another seriously, won't you say? You are too modest. you may not want to say/write anything quintessential, but it's the way you say/write them, and perhaps the sheer way you approach things and deal with them, that they end up being just that. After all it is quintessential of water to take up any and every shape!