The Other Blog

Black easel. Nineteen-inch canvas. Ten paintbrushes and twenty-six primary colours. I’ll mix them up and play with them. I promise to create magic…

Now the morning comes, dark and gloomy. The lovely grey clouds of promise have turned ominous black. It’s the calm before a storm. In the stillness, I can feel the tension about to explode this silence. Fingers have stopped moving, but thoughts are running faster than ever. Brows begin to furrow. I jab hard at the backspace key. A line gets wiped out. Yet again, fingers come to rest. Yet again, thoughts run faster and more furiously. Brows furrow tighter, meeting in the middle - wrinkled skin. A final thought…

The storm announces its arrival with an explosion of thunder! With an angry shout of frustration, I pick up my sentence and smash it into the ground, words and letters going flying about - the result of a perfect thought and an imperfect expression. I stare into a semi-completed piece of art, in progress for days on end, and slowly get up and walk away for now.

I boldly go forward, restricted to only take one step at a time. Black and white battlefield is all my world has ever been. I only look straight ahead, to strike or be struck down, such is the game of my life. Duty-bound, I’m a soldier marching forward… one step at a time.

I wonder if she knows me. I wonder if she can tell me apart from the other 7 just like me. I wonder if she even cares about my existence. I know she keeps company of those higher up the order. I wonder if she knows I’m falling in love with her.

The battle starts, and I make the first move.

Two steps forward, awaiting the sword that might strike me down, making me the first sacrifice. Now that I’ve cleared her path, she sweeps forward, dancing elegantly back and forth on the battlefield, striking down those who threaten our sovereignty.

One step forward, I now come face to face with the enemy. With diagonal slash of my sword, I win this battle, and can live on for a few more moves, if only to see her. I am unafraid to die, but my only sadness is that I would give my life to defend her, but she would give hers to defend him.

I just feel I can be anything
That I might ever wish to be

I’m on my way!
Out on my own again
I’m on my way
Out on the road again!

7.45 PM on a chilly winter evening. Zipping through the streets on my bike; earphones plugged deep inside my ears. All I hear is the music in my ears. Like the conductor of a symphony, I direct the traffic to my will. Together as one - ride and rider. Together we dance through the maze of cars and bikes. I pass faceless people, all insignificant in comparison to the beauty of this feeling of freedom. The wind in my face is my only traffic signal, and it’s light is currently mirthful green.

* * *

Lyrics by Iron Maiden - “Wildest Dreams”

Often, I’ve thought that I don’t give a tiny rat’s ass about what people think of me or of the things I do or why I do them, as long as my own conscience is clear, and as long as the people who matter to me have the right idea. But lately, I’ve come across people, who I think ought to have mattered, and they’ve seriously misunderstood me or have the wrong idea of certain things about me, and I’ve given up, more or less, trying to convince them otherwise. It’s like I don’t give an even tinier rat’s ass about what people of me anymore, and scarily, this includes people I wish would know the real me, and like me, and think good things about me… so, what’s going on?

1. I can’t be arsed to try to convince them of certain things. I do it anyway to a certain limit, but people believe what they want to believe anyway.
2. People should have a right of opinion, and unless someone’s asking me to justify myself or someone wants to know my side of the story, it’s not really worth pushing it onto them in the hope that they’ll believe me.
3. I’m getting to grips with the fact that perhaps no one will really completely understand me. The girl I dream about has no face, and that’s probably because the looks don’t matter to me, but I always assumed that she’d be a perfect match for me because of how well she’d be able to know me… I think I’m also beginning to accept the idea that I might never find her.

The more you close your mind to what you don’t want to hear, the more satisfied you get. However, this comes at a terrible price. When you close your mind to what you think you don’t want to hear, you’re inadvertently closing your mind to new ideas. At the same time, this presents a paradox. It’s quite easy to keep your mind open to everything, at least to become aware of other perspectives, and then change your beliefs about certain things or develop new ones based on the new perspectives you see. Sometimes, these new thoughts, opinions or ideologies may vary greatly (and in some cases, oppose completely) your “original” beliefs. Then you ask yourself what the hell is going on? You never thought you’d change your mind about something, and here you are, seriously considering an alternative. What happened to you? How could you have changed so easily? If you can change your beliefs so quickly, then isn’t it possible that you do not have the fortitude to preserve yourself?

1. Unless you keep your mind open to new ideas, you will never have the courage to accept that your current beliefs could be wrong, and you will never be able to improve on them.
2. No one was made what they are. There is no one, unchangeable you. There is no real YOU that you ought to be looking for. You are what you are now. You are your constantly evolving psyche.

Basically, what I’m saying is that it’s important to keep an open mind, even at the risk of losing what you assume is your identity.

Thanks to Sanjana for helping me find a word that I didn’t recollect at first.