Goals


“What do you want in life?”

“Where do you see yourself in 10 years?”

“What do you want to achieve?”

“What is your goal?”

Silly questions encountered far too often. 

Of course, one has to prepare oneself for the future, but that doesn’t necessarily warrant having a ‘goal’ or a final point one must reach. 
I don’t have a goal; doesn’t mean I’m aimless. I shall continue to do whatever I like doing. I’m in control of my life. 

Whatever happened to YOLO and living in the present?

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Baggage

Ever wanted a break from yourself?
Be someone else but still be you, but devoid of the baggage you bear?

No.

The baggage you carry is part of who you are and it made you to be who you are.

So if you’re without your baggage, you can’t be you.

Wear your cuts and bruises with the bravery of a soldier, the grace of an athlete and the beauty of a ballet dancer.

For, without them, the word ‘you’ denotes but mere space. Where your identity used to be. 

Who are you?

It is a question a lot of people, including yourself, ask you. What do you say?

Your name. Where you’re from. What you’ve studied. Where you work. And so on. 

While this might suffice as an answer to the average nature of said question, none of it is explanatory of your core identity. I.e., your roots- who you are.

Seldom, for short moments of time, you feel like you belong. To the people around you. To the place where you are. To the world. To yourself.

It has nothing to do with where you are from, what religion you follow or what your parents do. It is much more abstract than that. Much less explainable. 

It is when you are in touch with your roots.

It is when you are you. 

When you are truly fulfilled in every sense. 

The wandering nomad

I am but a wandering nomad

Travelling from corner to corner

Of this hallowed Earth

Much trodden upon

In seeking contentment.

 

I am but a clueless soul

Skipping from dream to dream

Of the expansive mind

Much thoughts thought

In searching truth.

 

I am but a lost being

Stammering from phrase to phrase

Of this oft-used tongue

Much words spoken

In finding meaning.

Having been a jack

But never a master

I be ready and steady

To not run further

To stay and be;

 

Till I find a haven

A place of welcome

Unto where I shall bask

In glory and power

Forever.

Wounds 


“Time heals” I was told.

No it doesn’t. It may provide temporary distractions. But it will never have you forget what you loved and lost. 

Maybe you’re not meant to. Maybe you’re supposed to remember. 

After all, memories of them are what you have left. 

Painful, aren’t they?

Just wake me up when it’s all over. 

Belief


They say God is almighty. They say God is all powerful. They say he runs the universe. 

I say God is a figment of belief. As are several other things. 

These things exist for you simply because you believe in them. 

If you believe in God, there is God. If you believe in karma, there is Karma. If you believe in love, there is love. 

You are the giver. The enabler. It is your belief that lets entities arise. 

In essence, you are God. And that’s why things go wrong sometimes. 

Overthinking


Two friends talking to each other. 

The replies are usually late- they both have lives, after all.

But each conversation has a ‘sorry’ and a ‘thank you’ tagging along. Does it mean they are not really very close?

No. Quite the opposite. They care too much about bothering one another. But why?

Maybe life is simple. Maybe we are all just paying too much attention to the littlest things. 

Maybe we’re just overthinking it. 

To endings and beginnings

And so, it ended. 14 days of pure euphoria. 

Barriers broken, places explored, people met, friendships-for-life made; mind opened.

Endings are always sad. But they go on to show just how much you cared. For the people you met, the places you went, the food you ate and the life you lived. 

And that is priceless. And that is how endings lead you on to new beginnings of stories you never thought you would tell. 

Cheers to endings.

Homesick

I left home. Everything I knew. Everyone I loved. Feeling homesick. 

To a strange place. Of strange sights. And strange people. 

My first hours mired with problems. 

But then, the strange people, like the soft light after a storm, stepped in.

To guide me, to help me. 

Two weeks I was here. Waking up on the same bed. Having breakfast at the same bakery. Taking the same bus with the same people. 

And so, the strange sights became familiar. The strange people became friends. 

But then came the time to leave. To leave everything I came to know. Everyone I came to love. Feeling homesick.