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The writer does not intend to but tends to make silly remarks that make others laugh. Sometimes she enjoys this unintentional trait of hers, and sometimes she detests it. But nevertheless, she loves to laugh at silly things, both good and bad, mostly little silly things, because she finds that life is too short to spend it sulking away. She also tends to be sarcastic with her words because the subtlety of dry humour makes her laugh even more and lightheartedly at those who "just don't get it."
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Escape
Friday, December 16, 2005
What is the most powerful impulse of human beings in the face of night, of danger, of the unknown? - It is to run away; to avert the eyes and flee; to pretend the menace is not loping towards them in seven-league boots. It is the will to ignorance, the iron folly with which we excise from consciousness whatever consciousness cannot bear. No need to invoke the ostrich to give this impulse symbolic form; humanity is more wilfully blind than any flightless bird.
~
Shame. Salman Rushdie.
The time will arrive when one has to open the door to his past and face his demons, his ghosts long ago repressed by his foolish will to escape in order to gain temporary comfort. This time has come for me. Concerned calls, sympathetic looks, bewildered expressions which evoke the emotions of those who feel for me, perhaps not quite as much as my own but for which I am grateful. Support in the form of love; love calls me from my deep sleep and beckons my soul into the real world. It is time to do what's hardest for all humans: to stop running away. For most of my conscious life, as far as I can remember, I've been playing the game of pretending. In fact, I've become so good at it, I've may even have forgotten who I originally was. My childhood days were spent imagining and hoping I could be someone extraordinary like the superheros in books and cartoons, and later, even as I grew up and realised that such people didn't exist in reality, I secretly continued to desire at the bottom of my heart that they did, and that I could be, if I pretended, someone more than what others saw. So in this hankering after being someone I wanted to be, I had completely forgotten the real me, or did I? Perhaps there is still a part of me waiting to be uncovered that belongs rightly to me.
The door to the past is one I bitterly remember and desperately want to forget, but it is also one in which beautiful memories lie beyond - the other side of me that I want to keep. Therefore to live in hatred of the door to the past is to forgo everything good associated with it, which would pretty much mean a life of emptiness for me. Unfortunately for me, I like to live in a stage of limbo, where decisions are left unmade and the door to the past is temporarily forgotten, yet the fear of what lies beyond the door increases steadily. And when I finally unlock that door, I imagine my ghosts will eagerly push their way out to get to me, so that all feelings of guilt, fear and anguish will be simultaneously regurgitated. This process will repeat itself from time to time when the door to the past unlocks, thus the simplest and easiest way for me is to escape, to ensure that the door remains locked. However, this effort seems to be futile throughout the years, for the door gently and gradually creaks open, unconscious to the self. Even if the self is aware of this opening, it refuses to acknowledge it, for in all its wilfulness, it stubbornly remains adamant about staying blind. This is why even after the door to the past has been opened and closed, the reluctance to reopen a second or third or fourth time continues to dwell in the heart. The fear of it is a result of self-defence. Everytime the door is opened and closed, the mind pretends it is getting closer to its freedom but the heart retreats further from the door so that the next time round, it has to climb more arduously towards its next opening.
This is the weakness of man: as an ostrich claims to be a bird but know not how to why, man claims to be human but does not have the courage to face his demons.
4:01 pm
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