DIARY OF AN INSOMNIAC

The unparalleled beauty of loss holds its notions in the human insecurity regarding loneliness. However, loss is a teacher; in fact loss can teach more than any university can teach oneself as far as the soul is concerned. The beauty of anguish and the anxiety of loss are coupled with the human desire to love and to experience.
What makes us question our losses and think that they were preventable in the first place? The dictum of honor, friendship and love seem like hazy references to a past era compared to what is rampant these days in the guise of competition. These again lead us to question the importance of loss in our lives. Are we really so hollow that we need losses to wake up from our deep slumber? Or are we too engrossed in the mundane enjoyments of life that we don’t really open our eyes and see the world?
The ability to absorb pain forms the basis for various art forms in my opinion. Pain acts as a lens that enables us to see things in a clearer perspective, without the distortions caused by tranquility. However, learning only via pain has its limitations and thus we should act in a more proactive manner and learn to shield ourselves from factors that may end up hurting us unnecessarily.
Yet this is easier said than done, for the human heart is a different entity altogether, it seems it has a life of its own. Thus acting according to the heart may cause us pain or we may suffer loss but it surely does make life worth living. Because we may suffer in the end, but the anticipation and the hope that things will turn out in a positive way do enchant us and make us willing to delve into the mysteries of the heart just once more.

ooz

HER

The mysticism of hate baffled me to a point that I was forced to reconsider my decisions and standings in life and was forced to meet her. There she was a form of perception unimaginable to my fickle and ever changing thoughts. Confusion was the right word to describe my thoughts not lust. The methodical delusional perspectives of my so called understanding of the world faded into temporary oblivion, obviously returning back in the most unfavorable of times to bug my conscious mind again! And then in this temporary phase of utter inner silence I experienced serenity. A feeling so serene, that I never knew such a state of mind existed. This phenomenon led me to question various myths about love and other emotional turmoil. Who was she? How did she render me absolutely vulnerable like a wounded soldier in the heat of battle? In short I was forced to question the fundamentals: what, why, where and how? The smell of her long hair still lingers in my senses, a smell so addictive one can never get enough of it. The aura of her oozing confidence inspired me to do great things in life. Yet I never met her, never got a chance to know her, in a way I used her. She was no more than a figment of my impure imagination. A person conjured up out of wild thoughts and dreams. A persona created to help me out of my bad times and keep me entertained in the good ones. Her long flowery grey and black shawls act as a drape over my consciousness. What have I turned into, a monster or a cold spineless man? One who could be substituted for a human, on purely physical terms? Devoid of feelings, this eternal sense of numbness has overpowered my entire being making me weak to the point that strength doesn’t matter, for in my crumbling bit by bit lies my strength. The strength characterized by freedom. Freedom of thought is the most important aspect of my life. Yet the perception of her still lingers. When the thoughts stop she comes, the point where one surrenders. Everything comes back, her hair, her touch, the anger and hatred. The absurdity of the matter is where is the existence? Why the thoughts, the delusions, the hallucinations the misty eyed, husky voice beckoning me to come back. Why is that so? Have I grown up to get rid of my delusionary perspectives? I don’t think so; maybe I can still hang on to them for a little while more, maybe just maybe for a lifetime.

THE BEAUTY OF WHAT?

What is love? Is it a complex writhing of emotions that are misrepresented to the factual connotations of affection? Well the answer lies in this question: what is hate? The sensation of hating is a diametrical opposite to the sensation of loving or is it one and the same thing, like two sides of the coin?
For even in this complex questioning environment one cannot ignore a human’s basic desires. So in my opinion the investment in hate is in the currency of love. Hating also requires immense emotional turmoil, one that causes us to reach to the lowest ebb of humanity. On the contrary, love makes us reach an emotional high. But is the emotional high enough, is it the solution to life. Or is there something bigger than these human perspectives that require a consolidated vision of the truth.
Hence, I am forced to question again, is love the absence of hate or hate is the absence of love? Or are they both present at the same time and require subconscious decision making? For one surely cannot hate something or someone he is not emotionally attached to. Yet the point I do emphasize is that both hating and loving are forms of a perceptional disorder which plagues us so that we can find an easy way out in our lives.
Perceptions are not emotions. Thus in summary, we love or hate our perceptions, thus we don’t grasp the truth at all. Am I too wrong and scared to accept that when I let go of my perceptions I will become an animal? Perhaps that is the case of writing this pointless argument in this pointless imperialist world…..

FUTILITY AND MADNESS

The exploration of the incoherence of normality and the quest for the metaphysical aspects often leads one to delve into one’s own self. The consequent delving into oneself is not necessarily enough until and unless it is accompanied by suitable environmental influences. The suitability of environmental influences once again is a subjective matter and varies contextually as well as chronologically, because nobody’s environment is exactly same and it is not static and varies with time.
In my opinion the “right” perception is very important, for it aids in filtering out those influences that may be a hindrance and consequently enables one to focus on the necessary aspects of exploration. Human beings are born with the capacity to absorb infinite amounts of information. What they do with it, well that is a different matter, for one can blind himself from the atrocities and inequalities present in our world today or he has a choice to make a change. It is this aspect of getting the “right”, unadulterated perceptions that matters the most in being a revolutionary.
As for the aspect of delving into one’s own self that employs a forceful yet required exercise of reconciliation with one’s emotions and thoughts. All revolutions are based (in my opinion) on a balance of emotions and intellectual reasoning. It is this aspect of delving into one self that scares many people, because when one realizes that most problems lie within then he gets the “vision”. Hence, emotions can serve in this conquest as a two edged sword, its effectiveness use depending on the ability of the swordsman. Again what one must strive for is the primary human emotion: love.
In my opinion all things emanate from it. And it is this sorry paradoxical existence of the state of the loveless world that most revolutionaries seek to correct. For without true love for humanity, one cannot work unselfishly. This aspect brings another dilemma to mind, how to use love? Can it be used in the best manner to help the world or is it just a Utopian notion?
I guess, the answers to all these questions lie in standing up and taking stands of our own, because no one else will. Moreover, some questions have to be experienced so as to have them answered! For being a rebel is not bad if it is not directed towards injustices which an individual has faced owing to specific flaws in the system. One should rise up above himself to seek an all encompassing vision to help in achieving a true revolution.
Let us rise against the intolerance and the inhumane conditions which we observe on a daily basis and try to contribute our little parts which we can in bringing about a change. For I have hope that one day the world will change for the better and the proverbial silver linings will actually be seen and felt by the masses.
Let the revolution reverberate through us all, for the true revolution lies in each and everyone of you.
OOZ…….

“I?`”

What is it about us that make us so special? Individuality and the proverbial expressions of uniqueness are clichéd to death nowadays by the media. Youngsters are spotted a dime a dozen wearing rebel T shirts and chanting slogans about life. In my opinion the definition of self discovery has itself lost its essence. Repetition and being verbal about such personal expressionism inadvertently leads us to believe that such expressions are monotonous and boring or represent psychotic behavior or lunacy that doesn’t conform to norms and cultures.

The biggest dilemma that confronts me is the ninth letter of the English language “I”. What does “I” represent? Is it a roadmap towards a seemingly endless journey of self awareness or is it just a part of English grammar and nothing else……
Iqbal has stressed on “KHUDI” or “self-awareness” and he rightly said:
“Khudi ko kar buland itna k har taqdeer say pehlay Khuda banday say khud poochay bata teri raza kya hai”
The above expression by the great Iqbal is probably one of the most famous of all times, yet one of the most difficult to fathom! Moreover as I said earlier this expression is so clichéd that every teenager knows it (without understanding it’s meaning of course!) owing to a great rendition by one of the most famous bands of the subcontinent “JUNOON”.

What are we collectively? I guess the answer that pops up in most minds is another cliché, society. Well then tell me who am I? Reliance on philosophical arguments by sages about self discovery is next to impossible for me now. The following are some famous quotes or clichés (i.e. depending on whether one likes to see the glass as half full or half empty!):
“Where there is a will, there is always a way”
“Dare to dream, no goal will be distant neither any star will be too high”
The above examples refer to various avenues of self discovery which most of us have heard since we were in kindergarten! Yet this question of “What am I” leads me to rethink. Have all of us stopped thinking and involved ourselves in the monotony of successful or aspiring lives that we forgot what we are? I still get baffled by ants that can pick up loads a lot more than their own bodyweight! Don’t these insects tell us how lost we are in monetary and social satisfaction, if ants can do so much the why cant we? Don’t we miss the psychedelic highs and self satisfaction which we obtain by giving time to ourselves?
All in all I guess “I” remains a riddle and will continue to do so because the person writing this is as engrossed in materialism as those who will read this. We still remain a mystery which is unsolved by clichés, philosophies and what not. Let’s figure out our own reflections which we see in the morning and then worry about the six billion other mysteries that live under a wafer-thin ozone layer.
Ooz out

the connectivity is killing me

Would you even like me for that long?

The disparity of that question still hits me. What, why, when; these questions still drag me towards accepting the fate of everyone, acceptance. When will I ever be able to do that? I’m embroiled in conflicts in my cerebrum. Why do I still find it hard to accept that I’ve met a contrasting yet a reflective part of myself?
Her voice mutates me, I try to figure out why then I give up. I remain engrossed in this battle to deflect my real thoughts and feelings; the feeling that I love her.
Emotions redefine our lives; they strike the reasons for our existence. Yet confusion still racks us deeply engrossing in our own quest for monetary freedom. We get blinded by the notions that money will sort our lives out whereas the people who do end up making our lives beautiful are already there. Yet we remain ambivalent of that fact so that we can live inside our own space vanishing into its realms when the going gets tough. The problem being that the going gets tougher and tougher day by day.
Karachi is not a city, it’s a feeling. When you live in karachi you don’t breathe the air, you breathe the city; its sights and sounds become a part of you till you cant separate yourself from what you were and what you are and what you will be. I perceive I live, if I don’t I merely exist. Who am I, what is the thing that makes me perceive as I do? One way or the other the answer that comes is, Karachi. Feelings of love, disparity, helplessness, happiness, success and failure all boil down to a single cup of Afghani tea.
It is odd to note that like the river finds its own path and ends up in the sea; similarly in this gargantuan city one can still find his heart and people to supplement his emotions. This endless hub of people creates a cacophony of noises that can be perceived as music by musicians and people whose soul is unbounded. Moreover, this city gives a subculture, a subculture of thought, feelings and confusions.

DREAMER DECEIVER

The following words follow no coherent sequence because they were taken at very different ends of my perception spectrum:

Perception 1:
Sitting in my office seat I feel the need for freedom. Liberation and freedom of my mind now feel like ideas of the past. Archaic thoughts I think when I look back at them! Nowadays, my thoughts are perceived by my peers as notions of an immature mind. Sometimes the pain gets too much and then its time to reflect again and again and again……

The whirring of my extension awakes me from my psychedelic self analyzing stupor. I suddenly start concentrating on my work as fear of corporate stigma fills me with apprehension. My thin fingers glide briskly along the now pale discolored keyboard.
A calorie-rich lunch of scrumptious biryani later I start staring into my screen again and continue to type and work. An occasional text message or a phone call disturbs me but I still carry on till the great clock strikes five thirty.

Twisting and turning through the vast Karachi metropolis I reach home and rejoice that its time to get liberated yet get constricted simply because I’m a woman. Chit chatting on the airwaves makes me wonder about my source of satisfaction and the reason for my internal rebellion.

Voila! Before I know it another day has passed by yet I remain the same. Painstakingly monotonous yet vibrant, such polarity doesn’t even come close to describing a single facet of my personality.

Perception 2:
Yet I hide trying to erase previous memories. Memories of my past, things I left behind and blamed them on my excuse for being different from everyone else. I guess I personify the expression SOLITARY CONFINEMENT. Confused as I am, I cannot run away from him for long. I know that some twisted fate of luck would leave me right there again with him, from where I ran away.

One fine day when sanity prevails over him, maybe I will go to him, till then I shall hide as much as I can. That’s what I am and that’s how he described me by dedicating a song titled “DREAMER DECEIVER” by a band called JUDAS PRIEST. Till then I shall continue to punish myself for being special………………………….

Ooz

PEEKABOO I DONT SEE YOU!

I hide easily. I choose to hide, to hide what I am, what made me and the illogical perception of what I would be. Hidden behind these illusory perspectives is a man, a man who touches, feels, eats, sleeps, breathes, loves, hates, frowns and occasionally laughs. The modes of my hiding vary from being outspoken and rebellious to adopting outright silence. However, all of these behavioral fluctuations serve one simple irrelevant quest of mine, and that is to hide. My mind creates differing perspectives each suited to what I want, simply so that I can hide. Hiding like the sun at night or the moon in the day, my true self still is ever present all the time. Even in my hideouts, it stares at me and mocks at my faulty resilience against it. I know it exists, I can feel it like I feel the warm breeze in the afternoon or the wet feeling of holding a chilled soft drink bottle. Strangulation of my feelings aids in my existence of a normal acceptable life. A life which I am taught to believe is the only way to live, which in my opinion is another form of hiding. I sometimes wonder how long this game of hide and seek is going to take, as I’ve only hid till now but I cannot seek. Neither has anyone ever tried to seek me. Thus I question the purpose of my hiding as nobody is willing to play. So is my hiding a toy for people to play with? But didn’t I hide just because I wouldn’t be played with again? Why am I unable to answer all of these questions? Yet another question springs up as an answer to a previous question. I guess that is why my love for hiding is paradoxical and cynical. However, I must question this too, that whether hiding is worth loving or not, for at least the act of hiding doesn’t let my love go to waste.

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