You didn't even have any idea whether you could have him or not. He knew there's a possibility that he can have you. I know I can never have you. Who's the best lover then?
I've always fallen for women I can never get.
Love isn't charity, that I should be happy with what you've given to me. It's like rights, either I have it completely, or I don't.
The moments we enjoy together are for both of us, but the pain that is there is only mine. You have no right to take it away from me.
Pain is the only thing that's personal.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Sunday, July 05, 2009
I'm-perfect?
Usually we all search for perfection. The perfect friend, the perfect home, the perfect lover, the perfect holiday.... and obviously the perfect life!
"Perfect"! huh!
And we all know, it's impossible! there is no such thing which is absolutely PERFECT.
Or is there? I mean, if there is nothing perfect, then these assumptions are too perfect to be true. What a paradox this life is!
Often in our search for the perfect, we fail and then console ourselves with make-shift arrangements, we manage...
But sometimes, just sometimes, we stumble upon something that's just the thing we want. We meet that perfect person, arrive at that perfect place, feel we just have that perfect life...
And we live happily.. just for a while...
Yes, just for a while. Because after that we begin to understand that perfection is not what we want. Perfection is not worth living. We, human beings are too fuzzy to be content with perfection. Perfection is mechanical, inhuman.
Once that feeling is starts brewing inside, we are no more the happy-with-perfection person. We are disturbed, we crib, we get depressed and finally we break open...
No, it does not happen with all of us, not in all cases. In fact, it doesn't happen with most of us, in most cases. Because in most cases, we manage. We console ourselves, then pity ourselves, but we are too afraid to break free. We are afraid that if we do that, we'll be left alone, we feel too insecure to be insecure.
But still it happens, slowly, silently... you try to stop it, mask it with all your acting skills, managing skills, being fully aware that you are just helpless. Some days you declare a cease-fire, some days you're bruised, torn apart. But you know you're not allowed to show it. In fact, you don't even know how to show it and you can't figure out what's happening to you, why is it?
On one of those days, when you are absolutely confused about yourself, you do something drastic, something desperate. Sometimes it affects you so badly that it changes your life.
In our search of perfection, we've found the imperfect.
Since imperfection is never absolute, we are certain that we can never be happy, but this time around, we know perfection isn't happy either. Better be swinging between moments of joy and sorrow than be too sad about your happiness? Better be the insecure, politically incorrect one than be the machine-like, inhuman existence?
We all make mistakes and we almost never ask for forgiveness.
If perfection is just an idea, then imperfection must be the multifarious, multifaceted, multidimensional truth we all seek.
I'm-perfect?
"Perfect"! huh!
And we all know, it's impossible! there is no such thing which is absolutely PERFECT.
Or is there? I mean, if there is nothing perfect, then these assumptions are too perfect to be true. What a paradox this life is!
Often in our search for the perfect, we fail and then console ourselves with make-shift arrangements, we manage...
But sometimes, just sometimes, we stumble upon something that's just the thing we want. We meet that perfect person, arrive at that perfect place, feel we just have that perfect life...
And we live happily.. just for a while...
Yes, just for a while. Because after that we begin to understand that perfection is not what we want. Perfection is not worth living. We, human beings are too fuzzy to be content with perfection. Perfection is mechanical, inhuman.
Once that feeling is starts brewing inside, we are no more the happy-with-perfection person. We are disturbed, we crib, we get depressed and finally we break open...
No, it does not happen with all of us, not in all cases. In fact, it doesn't happen with most of us, in most cases. Because in most cases, we manage. We console ourselves, then pity ourselves, but we are too afraid to break free. We are afraid that if we do that, we'll be left alone, we feel too insecure to be insecure.
But still it happens, slowly, silently... you try to stop it, mask it with all your acting skills, managing skills, being fully aware that you are just helpless. Some days you declare a cease-fire, some days you're bruised, torn apart. But you know you're not allowed to show it. In fact, you don't even know how to show it and you can't figure out what's happening to you, why is it?
On one of those days, when you are absolutely confused about yourself, you do something drastic, something desperate. Sometimes it affects you so badly that it changes your life.
In our search of perfection, we've found the imperfect.
Since imperfection is never absolute, we are certain that we can never be happy, but this time around, we know perfection isn't happy either. Better be swinging between moments of joy and sorrow than be too sad about your happiness? Better be the insecure, politically incorrect one than be the machine-like, inhuman existence?
We all make mistakes and we almost never ask for forgiveness.
If perfection is just an idea, then imperfection must be the multifarious, multifaceted, multidimensional truth we all seek.
I'm-perfect?
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