I am what you might call deeply single. Not for me the pleasures of companionship, the joys of togetherness, the search for a soul mate, the quality time spent with family. For me, the best moments of my life are reserved for myself. So are my darkest hours. Nothing troubles me more than watching my personal space crumble; nothing that propels me into action more than the need to preserve the walls, I have around me.
In a world that is defined by social acts of association like dates, relationships and marriage, I find myself as an island- a silent bubble floating on a sea of noise. For a long time I thought that there is something compulsive and disorderly in the way I protect spaces, but no. I figure that there are a few people like me out there in the world, but then like me, they seek their solitude, while I cherish mine. I guess it is ok.
Another Friday night went by (a kiss-less one of course). I start blabbering something, and D asks me about the last woman I was really close to. And I begin to wonder. I have been in relationships- or to put it appropriately, I have succeeded in giving that impression to an impressive string of partners that I was with. But the fact remains, in the end game, I never quite really have shared spaces with anyone for any considerable period of time. Over time people have a way of figuring that out, and they move on. Sometimes quietly, sometimes belligerently.
I was told by this “last” person- “T.O. you don’t like people, you love only yourself. With the finite capacity to love that you’ve been given, it is difficult to be around you and not feel despondent.” I think it was towards end of what the world called a relationship. It is not entirely true.
It is not as if I don’t believe in love, in companionship, but for me it is not selfless. I believe that any act which is devoid of self-interest cannot be sustained over a period of time. I watch people around me, hear their stories of who they love and how much, and how they would do anything for that person. And how they think that their love for their object of affection is selfless, and I pity them. I feel bad for them because each act that they perceive to be selfless, makes their relationships a bit more mortal. I believe in destiny and I seek one momentous encounter. Chance ones. I draw my palm into my lap, stretch it out and see the lines which crisscross, and I hope that such a love will not pass me by. I close my fist, feel that sweat in it, curl up and rescind into my spaces. I have read that there exist laws of love, which define who is to be loved, by whom and how much.
And it is definitely not as if I am a social recluse. I am told I can carry a conversation well, that I have a sense for who likes what or needs to be told which word at what time. I go out with friends, with clients. I spend time with people, observing people. People give me thoughts, ideas. Make me feel superior, or inferior. They inspire, they disappoint. People make me human. And then I switch off. After a while, I crave for the periodic plunges into cold vats of solitude.
But in a year in which I turn thirty later, I recollect the moments in my life, I cherish the ones which came by immediately after reading a good book, watching a thought-provoking movie, listening to soulful music, a good drink, a long lonely walk in the woods. I guess a friend of mine summed it up really well, as he saw me sprawled on my bed, with essentials around me- and remarked that I looked really happy in my world of rectangles. A box of cigarettes, a matchbox. A few CDs, some DVDs. Three remotes. Books. A mobile phone, a Blackberry. That’s it.
In a world that is defined by social acts of association like dates, relationships and marriage, I find myself as an island- a silent bubble floating on a sea of noise. For a long time I thought that there is something compulsive and disorderly in the way I protect spaces, but no. I figure that there are a few people like me out there in the world, but then like me, they seek their solitude, while I cherish mine. I guess it is ok.
Another Friday night went by (a kiss-less one of course). I start blabbering something, and D asks me about the last woman I was really close to. And I begin to wonder. I have been in relationships- or to put it appropriately, I have succeeded in giving that impression to an impressive string of partners that I was with. But the fact remains, in the end game, I never quite really have shared spaces with anyone for any considerable period of time. Over time people have a way of figuring that out, and they move on. Sometimes quietly, sometimes belligerently.
I was told by this “last” person- “T.O. you don’t like people, you love only yourself. With the finite capacity to love that you’ve been given, it is difficult to be around you and not feel despondent.” I think it was towards end of what the world called a relationship. It is not entirely true.
It is not as if I don’t believe in love, in companionship, but for me it is not selfless. I believe that any act which is devoid of self-interest cannot be sustained over a period of time. I watch people around me, hear their stories of who they love and how much, and how they would do anything for that person. And how they think that their love for their object of affection is selfless, and I pity them. I feel bad for them because each act that they perceive to be selfless, makes their relationships a bit more mortal. I believe in destiny and I seek one momentous encounter. Chance ones. I draw my palm into my lap, stretch it out and see the lines which crisscross, and I hope that such a love will not pass me by. I close my fist, feel that sweat in it, curl up and rescind into my spaces. I have read that there exist laws of love, which define who is to be loved, by whom and how much.
And it is definitely not as if I am a social recluse. I am told I can carry a conversation well, that I have a sense for who likes what or needs to be told which word at what time. I go out with friends, with clients. I spend time with people, observing people. People give me thoughts, ideas. Make me feel superior, or inferior. They inspire, they disappoint. People make me human. And then I switch off. After a while, I crave for the periodic plunges into cold vats of solitude.
But in a year in which I turn thirty later, I recollect the moments in my life, I cherish the ones which came by immediately after reading a good book, watching a thought-provoking movie, listening to soulful music, a good drink, a long lonely walk in the woods. I guess a friend of mine summed it up really well, as he saw me sprawled on my bed, with essentials around me- and remarked that I looked really happy in my world of rectangles. A box of cigarettes, a matchbox. A few CDs, some DVDs. Three remotes. Books. A mobile phone, a Blackberry. That’s it.
And in response to D's question of last night- "What will you do to leave your mark in the world?" I replied: "I won't". Just love my life. The here and now of it.
"OSHO. Never Born, Never Died. Only Visited this Planet Earth between Dec 11 1931 - Jan 19 1990."
Epitaph of Osho Rajneesh
4 comments:
You sound just like you sound in the previous blog..i guess that is ok..coz that is you...
Thats what it is- the here and now of things. I am sure D&C will say the same.
i dont agree this time.
Is one's space an sharing one's life mutually exclusive?....i hope not.
knew someone once upon a time..who said..all relationships are fintie and dependent at any given point of time in space...but then life is not a point in space, its a continuum...
then knew someone in another life...who said he didnt want to leave his mark... yet left a scent of memories where he went....
I thought he was very scared of his own scent... or of the scent other people left on him.
Indelible marks.
i think negation stems from fear...
think about it :)
whoa, there are four comments on T.O.'s space before mine. That's new...
T.O., am tempted to just copy this post and paste it onto my blog...I can identify a lot with what you wrote here...can never write like this though.
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