“Imagining Disenchantment” – that was the title of a poem I had written when I was trying my hand at poetry. This was several years ago. Poetry didn’t flow out of me, I wasn’t meant to be a poet. I wrote it before I realized that I could say everything I wanted to say in my own plodding and prosaic way. Needless to say, that poem invited some ridicule from a poet whose works I admire, you can guess who the poet might be. He wanted to know why someone would want to “imagine” disenchantment.
I thought he had a point and was convinced about the meaninglessness of my poem.
Here’s how the interaction went, starting with my juvenile attempt at poetry:
Have I ever really cared
or am I simply pretending?
Is this heartfelt sincerity
or am I expertly dissembling?
Is my extreme apathy
cloaked in sympathy?
Or have you struck chords-
could this be empathy?
Drowning in shallow depths,
Spouting meaningless sophistry,
Disguising my disinterest,
In cultivated airs of mystery,
Showing outrage and anger
at every disagreeing view:
utterances that barely linger,
outside of a moment or two.
No lasting impressions to leave,
none were ever left on me.
Just breathing, taking up space-
waiting, certain
it will all cease to be.
His response was:
This is entirely unnecessary
(and what I say is not profound):
why revel in imagined misery
when there's so much of the real thing around?
:))
Ever keen on having the last word, I added:
Imagined misery, an inherited gene,
Living in the moment, a distant dream.
A safety valve, more or less,
in anticipation of an unholy mess!
And after five years, to the day, this interaction is still memorable to me, revived after some recent events.
There were some tears that left a purple blotch where I was penning my prose. The purple blotch was reflective of rage, of humiliation, of a sense of failure. Even as the blotch grew angrier there was a saner voice inside that insisted on justifiably minimizing the strength of my emotions. It tried to comfort me with a firm hand, by underscoring how blessed I ought to feel relative to so many others. The voice was hard to ignore. Sometimes it resembled the voice of my mother and at others that of a warm and sensitive and increasingly dear friend. It insisted that I was simply imagining the disenchantment again; blaming it on some inherited gene, preparing myself for the dreadful event that I always do have the will to overcome.
I stopped writing in ink and shut the angry, purple blotch inside the covers of the notebook, put it away for good, traded it for the clinical and sterile whiteness of the computer screen. The words had to be said, the realization needed to be set in stone, in letters that didn’t bleed or drip with salt-stained inkiness.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Nothing:Part 18
Bad days are inevitable. In every life some bad days must fall, we just have to train ourselves to take them in our stride, stay unruffled, unworried, especially when we are sure of ourselves.
Had to close my ears to hubby's screams of frustation bright and early in the morning. He didn't think the snowfall was bad enough for me to ask him to drive me to my park and ride, especially when he had things to do and places to be. He made me appear selfish and inconsiderate and let out his frustrations by pounding on the steering wheel and screaming at the other drivers on the road. Funny how he kept asking if I wanted to be driven even further in order to catch up with the bus that I thought I might miss. Even funnier how people take such pleasure in mind games like this. The only reason he asked me if I wanted to be driven even further, was to test me, to see if I would say yes, so he could further underscore my selfishness and inconsideration. The question was repeated despite my being content with waiting in the falling snow for 30 minutes while I waited for the next bus.
So could I have driven myself to the bus stop today? Was the snowfall manageable? The answers are yes to both questions. I wanted to borrow his keys and drive myself in his All Wheel Drive car, my car tends not to do so well in icy conditions.
In my defense, I didn't start my morning with behavior that might be construed as burdensome to him. But when I asked for his keys he said that he needed to drop me off if it was snowing because he would need his car for his own drive. As it turned out the snow was light enough, the temperature was above freezing and we ended up taking my car instead of his, since his car was blocked by mine. So now it looked like:
The day got worse when the dodge ball that five bosses seem to be playing with one - employee - me - took on surreal proportions with the "direct line" boss saying that the other "dotted line" bosses had some concerns, the "dotted line" bosses denying everything and telling me that they've never once had an iota of concern! And me appearing like a defensive and reactive moron simply because I was trying to share my perspective on things.
I can't function well enough in a senseless world where my perspective doesn't count and my reasons for doing things a certain way, based on precedence, or prior arrangements don't count. I need direct dealing, and an environment that lacks political ramifications. I have never been adept at dodging the ball in dodgeball.
The family tragedy forms a baseline drone to everything, the headache grows to gargantuan proportions on the eve of vacation that I was looking forward to before but the thought of which fills me with nothing but the shrill noise of trepidation in my head.
But in the grand scheme of things I am not a Chilean or a Haitian. My heart goes out to them, my one bad day is so meaningless in light of all their tragedies. I know my tomorrow will be different. I also know that there are many friends and well wishers out there who will read this bit of whining. They'll be alarmed, they'll be concerned about my well-being, my life, my reactions, my headache, my trepidations. Some will tell me this too shall pass, some will offer hugs, some might even say, "Oh get over yourself!"
Thank you all in advance for those reactions. I love you all for caring. But just know that I know my tomorrow will be different. So many other days in my life will be different. There will be happier moments, better circumstances, better days - filled with euphoria and a bounce in my step.
This day was just not one of them.
On the bright side, the hubby did send me a text saying he got to his meeting on time and that he is sorry for his "tude" this morning. I'll go home and tell him he was right he didn't need to drive me and that I need to stop being so afraid of the snow and more self sufficient on snowy days.
Or...better yet...make a decision to change my life; warmer climes, easier commutes, be less like a workhorse, be more devoted to my interests and passions than to circumstances that ceased bringing me any joy a long time ago.
Had to close my ears to hubby's screams of frustation bright and early in the morning. He didn't think the snowfall was bad enough for me to ask him to drive me to my park and ride, especially when he had things to do and places to be. He made me appear selfish and inconsiderate and let out his frustrations by pounding on the steering wheel and screaming at the other drivers on the road. Funny how he kept asking if I wanted to be driven even further in order to catch up with the bus that I thought I might miss. Even funnier how people take such pleasure in mind games like this. The only reason he asked me if I wanted to be driven even further, was to test me, to see if I would say yes, so he could further underscore my selfishness and inconsideration. The question was repeated despite my being content with waiting in the falling snow for 30 minutes while I waited for the next bus.
So could I have driven myself to the bus stop today? Was the snowfall manageable? The answers are yes to both questions. I wanted to borrow his keys and drive myself in his All Wheel Drive car, my car tends not to do so well in icy conditions.
In my defense, I didn't start my morning with behavior that might be construed as burdensome to him. But when I asked for his keys he said that he needed to drop me off if it was snowing because he would need his car for his own drive. As it turned out the snow was light enough, the temperature was above freezing and we ended up taking my car instead of his, since his car was blocked by mine. So now it looked like:
- the car we were driving was my inadequate one
- the weather was fine
- there was no reason for him to have chauffeuring duties
The day got worse when the dodge ball that five bosses seem to be playing with one - employee - me - took on surreal proportions with the "direct line" boss saying that the other "dotted line" bosses had some concerns, the "dotted line" bosses denying everything and telling me that they've never once had an iota of concern! And me appearing like a defensive and reactive moron simply because I was trying to share my perspective on things.
I can't function well enough in a senseless world where my perspective doesn't count and my reasons for doing things a certain way, based on precedence, or prior arrangements don't count. I need direct dealing, and an environment that lacks political ramifications. I have never been adept at dodging the ball in dodgeball.
The family tragedy forms a baseline drone to everything, the headache grows to gargantuan proportions on the eve of vacation that I was looking forward to before but the thought of which fills me with nothing but the shrill noise of trepidation in my head.
But in the grand scheme of things I am not a Chilean or a Haitian. My heart goes out to them, my one bad day is so meaningless in light of all their tragedies. I know my tomorrow will be different. I also know that there are many friends and well wishers out there who will read this bit of whining. They'll be alarmed, they'll be concerned about my well-being, my life, my reactions, my headache, my trepidations. Some will tell me this too shall pass, some will offer hugs, some might even say, "Oh get over yourself!"
Thank you all in advance for those reactions. I love you all for caring. But just know that I know my tomorrow will be different. So many other days in my life will be different. There will be happier moments, better circumstances, better days - filled with euphoria and a bounce in my step.
This day was just not one of them.
On the bright side, the hubby did send me a text saying he got to his meeting on time and that he is sorry for his "tude" this morning. I'll go home and tell him he was right he didn't need to drive me and that I need to stop being so afraid of the snow and more self sufficient on snowy days.
Or...better yet...make a decision to change my life; warmer climes, easier commutes, be less like a workhorse, be more devoted to my interests and passions than to circumstances that ceased bringing me any joy a long time ago.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Nothing...
I call these posts nothing. Sometimes they emerge coherent and appear to be about something. But they really are one vast stretch of nothingness in the grand scheme of things. I am reminded of the idea of "nothing" encore while reading bassist Victor Wooten's book called The Music Lesson where an interesting cast of characters make successive incursions into Mr Wooten's life and talk to him about rhythm, intonation, tone, dynamics and other aspects of music.
One of his lessons is about nothingness. The teacher who teaches him about the importance of nothing, of nothing being the base (or bass - an instrument that forms a base). She highlights for him how the addition of zero or nothing to any number multiplies it by ten.
When nothingness is all pervasive we start to sense the things that matter, the things that count.
Death brings us face to face with nothingness. It settles in like several zeroes stacking up behind the living, mutiplying their grief tenfold several times over, as hopes and dreams crash, as wave upon wave of memories crash over us, splintering into several pieces that can never be glued together again. And words...words can never express how we feel.
My dear cousin, only 19 years of age, is no more. He lost his life on the first day of March, 2010 leaving us all in tears, unable to make sense of it all. I did not know him well. I had only seen him on a couple of occasions, once when he was very young, four or five years old. I remember him moving around the house, never without his notebook and pencil, looking like the little scholar he grew up to be. I met him again a few years ago. This time he was a lovable teenager doing justice to his name - Anurag (love). He spent several fun filled hours with my daughter who was four at the time.
Now he's gone. I never had a chance to get to know him well. His mom is my mausi (my mom's youngest sister). The age difference between her and my mom is immense and my parents have loved her as though she's another daughter. I have always been close to her and since hearing the news all I can think of are my memories of her, of how much I enjoyed her company while growing up. She was always smiling, always cheerful, very giving and fiercely protective of every family member. She made every summer vacation spent in her company memorable for my brother and I. I could never imagine a grief of such immense proportions ever crossing her angelic countenance.
I am stunned and speechless at the unfairness and senselessness of it all. Every word sounds trite, every feeling inadequate and yet one reaches, one tries to order the events, attribute a cause, find someone or something to blame, wondering why if there's a God would he allow such a thing to happen to someone who should never have experienced such grief, seen such tragedy.
And when all wondering hits a grim brick wall one sinks to the ground in utter hopelessness, the meaninglessness of it all.
The sea of nothingness appears like the only reality with no lessons to offer, no takeaways, no morals to the story. That's when the things that count emerge in sharp focus; the people around us, the need to never take anyone we love for granted, to live every moment like it's our last, to dance on the beaches that surround the inky waters of nothingness.
One of his lessons is about nothingness. The teacher who teaches him about the importance of nothing, of nothing being the base (or bass - an instrument that forms a base). She highlights for him how the addition of zero or nothing to any number multiplies it by ten.
When nothingness is all pervasive we start to sense the things that matter, the things that count.
Death brings us face to face with nothingness. It settles in like several zeroes stacking up behind the living, mutiplying their grief tenfold several times over, as hopes and dreams crash, as wave upon wave of memories crash over us, splintering into several pieces that can never be glued together again. And words...words can never express how we feel.
My dear cousin, only 19 years of age, is no more. He lost his life on the first day of March, 2010 leaving us all in tears, unable to make sense of it all. I did not know him well. I had only seen him on a couple of occasions, once when he was very young, four or five years old. I remember him moving around the house, never without his notebook and pencil, looking like the little scholar he grew up to be. I met him again a few years ago. This time he was a lovable teenager doing justice to his name - Anurag (love). He spent several fun filled hours with my daughter who was four at the time.
Now he's gone. I never had a chance to get to know him well. His mom is my mausi (my mom's youngest sister). The age difference between her and my mom is immense and my parents have loved her as though she's another daughter. I have always been close to her and since hearing the news all I can think of are my memories of her, of how much I enjoyed her company while growing up. She was always smiling, always cheerful, very giving and fiercely protective of every family member. She made every summer vacation spent in her company memorable for my brother and I. I could never imagine a grief of such immense proportions ever crossing her angelic countenance.
I am stunned and speechless at the unfairness and senselessness of it all. Every word sounds trite, every feeling inadequate and yet one reaches, one tries to order the events, attribute a cause, find someone or something to blame, wondering why if there's a God would he allow such a thing to happen to someone who should never have experienced such grief, seen such tragedy.
And when all wondering hits a grim brick wall one sinks to the ground in utter hopelessness, the meaninglessness of it all.
The sea of nothingness appears like the only reality with no lessons to offer, no takeaways, no morals to the story. That's when the things that count emerge in sharp focus; the people around us, the need to never take anyone we love for granted, to live every moment like it's our last, to dance on the beaches that surround the inky waters of nothingness.
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