Sunday, September 21, 2008

Being content

I've done quite a few things that I'm proud of. Yet, always, for me, happiness is something i keep deriving different meanings from. Hell i do feel good about myself sometimes, but nothing that i ever do gives me a kind of gratification that will keep me going for ever. (this is hard to put in words).
Yes i do have good memories from my past. My first PlayStation, and how i would never leave it's side. How I'd do absolutely anything to convince my dad to shell some cash for a new game. Or how I'd beg him to buy me a new board game for my birthday. And how much I'd yearn for the burger at Mc-Donalds ( i had the privilege of eating one every Friday back then:P) Then of course the stay overs. And how i would talk all night, play those silly kiddo games, scare ourselves to death with em ghost stories, have the liberty to get up late, skip those pain-staking sessions of omelet eating or oat-meal(yuck)(some i remember lasting an hour an a half:D), this of-course possible cause we threw some of it in the dustbin. How we'd ride our cycles in the evening, enjoying the cool breeze and sometimes the rain, whilst our mothers sat home and drank their teas in silence. And now, when i look back on how elated i was in the 'early days', a chilling thought dawns hard on me.... All this isn't a lasting experience. Happy experiences though they may be, and although I've been content with life sometimes, as one knows, the mind does wonder.....
My first PlayStation is at home, albeit covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs. The board games are too childish, it's just not fun anymore. A burger at mc-donalds is a rarity ( yearning i still do), stay overs we do have, although not as exciting as before. Some of my nights are spent wondering what this lesson on life really is about. Trying to define aptly the feeling of "being content" with myself, or what more should be done to come close to this...
I see lots of success around me, people who've done things that even the devil would be proud of.
I study this vtu course ( nil in the practicality department ) and often wonder where it's going to lead me. I know for sure it's not someplace I'll be "content". So then what am i doing this for?. It's that smile on my parents face when i tell them my result. ' amma result bantu-fcd and this smile with an acknowledgement'. So should i be content with myself now that i see that my parents are.? Is my being a millionaire going to be enough?.
Who's going to judge me and say- You've been a good person. You've done it all. Are these magical words contentment.
Bruce Dickinson of the iron maiden fame is a trained opera singer, a lovely writer, hell he flies planes, was selected for the British Olympic team, has his own show on BBC, and moreover has sold more than 80 million albums with maiden, has ownage when they play. Yet He says he isn't content. If all this isn't ravishing, then what is? what is?
Will the day ever come when i sit my grandchildren down for a chat and tell them---your old man did this---your old man did that, with them staring back in awe. Then I'll finally know for sure that i did what i was sent out to do. Only then will i have this solace that god can take me away. Do you agree?

P:S- How can i intimate all this to my most intimate friend.... The heart;)

Friday, September 5, 2008

The burning bridge

The burning bridge that nothing can rebuild;
is positively a foundation on which to build!
The re-birth of this artery is acutely sought;
Although the building blocks always fought.
Praying to god won't keep it alive;
The bridge will surely fall, sans revive.
wavy and swelly, while it still may be;
salvage it not, and you'll pay the fee.
Water in its en masse, clearly a winner;
Find none and it will surely simmer.
shaping from scratch may be the last resort;
Fail again and it will unerringly wrought.
Pry out the water and save the bridge;
Else you'll be snared to a friggin ridge.
But where is the water in this barren land;
surely its not concealed deep in the sand...

P.S- I'd like to think that this is the poetic version of my previous post-reality bites:P