Jibber Jabber

I leave next Monday for home, for my wedding arrangements and ceremony!

One of my friends says that we are changing and yet we keep wanting people to think about u,s as someone they remember, when they last met us, we prepare ourselves by reminding our minds about all those things from the past to meet these people, and yet we are far from it, frustratingly far.

Today I am trying to remind myself of things that I used to be, what I thought and what others thought of me, latter hasn't changed much but the former is incredibly changed. What I thought wasn't concrete and what am I thinking is still taking shape, so all is just fluid in space-time. Matter is flowing like a non-solid, unrecognizable entity like a half filled bottle with water, two materials co-existing in a container.

Mention of my travel plans in the first line of this writ is my telling you about the time I thought of writing my mixed feelings for this big event but I chose differently. I chose to gather bits of new thoughts today, shaping and completing another kind.

This is just jibber jabber of my present. I like to keep myself posted.

In other news, I have decided to do full time software development now, instead of beating about the bush for automation testing, I am going code wholeheartedly. I received a good suggestion that eventually both my past experience in testing and new learning in development is going to converge, which I think is good. Let's not abandon our past 4 years, we are already out of our time!

- Ciao!

Building Blocks

I am starting to figure out what my problem is, a problem which is stopping me to achieve something that has always been a dear goal. I see the buildings blocks later.

One moment there is a new thought in my head and I instantly think of the ending, yes, hurry is my problem. I am effervescent, fizzy. I don't write to make sense, I write to create the desired ending, a clear result of impatience. I study to become someone with the knowledge. With each step, I need to accomplish something important, something worth mentioning. I don't want to blame anyone for this, but still a part of my bringing up comes to mind. So much protection has spoiled me like this story of a poet in 'Life is Elsewhere'. I am not identifying with the character completely but yes I was to become my parents dream once, a product of their favorite destiny.

Habit of capturing the moment and then destroying it suddenly, is the only reason I wanna linger, linger more in present to relish it before it perishes. I want to build something from the foundation. I understand imagining the end is absolute necessity in order to attain a certain direction, but for me it doesn't favor. I must be, before I am not.

Few days just won't pass, then there is tomorrow too

On some days you feel okay-okay, some days as bright as sunflowers and on others you feel like you are sinking into the slumber. This is just one of these days.

It's hard to listen to your echoing thoughts when you're at the bottom of the sea. You feel your words won't matter, you are screaming but calling no one, you feel nothing is important and mostly, yourself. You don't know what hope means, you are disgusted with your being. Heartrendingly self deprecating you've become and this realization of futility of existence just won't leave you. All world's a stage and you stand there like an immovable subject of perish and mockery. Even the acknowledgement of your presence aches you in the head.

You imagine an end to this, this heaviness of life, like a gardener whose garden of dreams is destroyed by the reality. You're extremely sad.

What have you done? Or was not doing anything, your fault? You wanted to live once, completely and that desire now seems to be fuming away. You are ogling the mirror accidentally put in front of you and see nothing but sordidness. This body is pouring poison. You start learning about the irony of being. You are living and simultaneously you're dying.

Root of it all

I have wondered throughout my life why I feel so shallow when I have a huge thinking capacity, an ability to reason and give witty logic. Why the fuck is my writing seems so incoherent to the reader? Why i don't have answers to all these questions and what the fuck am I not doing?

Today, in a long discussion with beau, I realized something which was long due!

That I don't want to work.
That I don't want to put in any effort.
That I don't want anything at all, I am just a silly dreamer ever since I have been conscious and healthy.

Big fat fucking lie I have been telling myself about passion and intelligence! This isn't an imposter's syndrome (stop giving yourself excuses!), this is right in front of me, root of it all. My confusions, my distractions are countless and this agony like fire, burns me, makes me blind. I am posed as my own enemy now. Only effort and hard work is the solution, some discipline finally! There has been a lot of struggle already to live completely.

Who came first, hen or the eggs, I'd never know. I will let instinct guide me this time and it tells me that I need a direction first and only then the efforts will come in handy. I'll keep practicing hard work side by side.

I need to be sure this time (I am not panicking, I am just waiting). 

Knowing not knowing

I started somewhere between I know and I want to know. I have mostly been like this, hence the enigma or some may perceive as stupidity or even as severe lack of words.
Some days I think I am those perceptions and others I think I don't belong anywhere.
I float above my head and that's how I am accustomed to be.
People had approached me for answers, there were never good questions. What should one ask if one wants to know the right answer? The whole world is a big pile of paradox. To be or not to be, how can both be in the same sentence? Why we have such convenience with language and awkwardness in the absence of it? I just might know.

Era part 2

So here I am. I live alone and walk alone. I am starting a new phase of life, and feel hopeful too that I will learn what I wanna learn, I'm breaking the shackles of slavery of the IT world, of bourgeois. I am realizing the sweet taste of risk that I so happily took. It's rewarding. It will take further time for me to adjust but it's fine.

>>>Let's code.

Back to square one.five

Well, I thought i'd share stuff, publicly like this about my day to day life and experiences..you know, become a socializing freak or something, 'interaction is the key' and all that sorts of things, but I couldn't. I am a tough one for myself, it could have been good, my followers are few and it wouldn't harm much to tell a thing or two. I will try.
Kundera says that it is not the author's life that interests a reader but the book and its art, author's personal life is a distraction, its a folly, cumbersome curiosity that even reader don't understand. He talks only about art and his novels and other novels he had read. I love him.

In a nut-sack, I bought a telescope to observe sky, I learned to clean my face with CTM(cleanser, toner, moisturizer), and other methods of personal hygiene, I am interacting with people more than my capacity and letting them know that i'm cool with it, I am indifferent to much of it. Yesterday I confessed that i'm unusually upbeat which should be alright, but its not now.
I keep thinking about wanting to get lost in music, wanderlust grows and tinkles strange places.

I am sorry, I am lost now, I am sinking..  

Only this can save me.

Long gone are the calm days and nights, its all panicky around here, howsoever I try, numbness crawls in and chaos in the background. I am as much aware of the world as the world is aware of me. If I speak, I am no one to, if I don't, I cannot. Each moment I spend, is costing me a moment I can't have back, I am not living, I am not moving ahead, everything is moving around me, its changing and aging. I don't know what to trust and whom to trust, if people wish to stay, they can but if they don't then whats to fear. Bloodied I feel from inside, that's a different kind of existence than blood in veins and muscles in the right places. I find myself melting and solidifying in a totally uncontrolled manner, every time I let something out which I certainly want to, I feel ashamed. Words are a misfit in this world, they are unpardonably limited. I am beginning to feel disgusted now, like it would keep happening to me. Am I going to live this utterly confused life, where I will never understand my fucked up self and where words like "right path" or "amazing" or "great" or "love" will continue to butcher me and rest of the words. Only this can save me, this out let, this disgusting form of defecating.

-knightesS

My views on invasion of imagination and other things

What invades my imagination is called modesty, in the most simplest manner.

I feel as if I am a failed writer, which i, so obviously am construed by many of friends and foes. I feel failure in articulating my vivid imagination, putting it in right words in a tight and meaningful way. I feel lack. I don't understand it, I only try to. Modesty lacks right words, it's  a short pause against long pauses of imagination, it's awkward and ridiculous of all. Modesty stems out of lies which we so firmly swore to abide to. It is moral, and imagination is overuse. I kept thinking, I took long pauses, for minutes and then for few hours. I spoke and spoke nothing of what mattered to me, I was being modest. I should have run. I should not have spoken. I should not have heard. I was misconstrued once again for a patient listener, which I am not, I am too moody to share, I was being modest. 

I took a long walk home, I was so distinctively able to see me and her as separate entities. I could see, I am no gender, caste or religion, I am unperishable. I am unharmed, I am unborn. She was something else, and I was other things that mattered. 

Peril

My mind is wandering, and wondering if words are real? I am wondering if anything is real? If truth, belief, trust, love are just words, with uncanny emotions attached with them. I wonder and wander in no direction. 

Everything at once seem stupid and idiotic. Everyone claims to be someone else. 

How can I be sure of anything at all? Human beings are the most untrustworthy of all, they can change in split seconds, they can be something else before you conclude. 

I have a feeling of disgust, I am rejected and objected.