When do we start valuing things? Only when they’re gone? But, what if, they aren’t supposed to not be there? How do we then realize their value? Or do we realize it at all?

When do we start realizing things? When we come across their existence too many times? Or too little? Do we need a catalyst for the thinking process to tick off? Or should there be absolutely nothing in the head for us to think things through?

When do we start having a clear head? Is it when we have nothing to do? Or when we have so much on our minds that a deliberate effort needs to be made to wipe the slate clean?

Has your heart ever raced so fast that your breath stops? Have your insides shivered so much that you lose all sense of speech? Has your head swirled so dangerously that you fall to the floor? Has your mouth been so dry that your throat begins to ache? Have your eyes cried themselves dry?

What spawns such supernatural (for lack of a better word) bodily responses? Is it us or is it the situations we are merely a character of? Who designs these situations? Our own actions or the actions of others? Do we even have a role to play in our own life? I am of the school of thought that says we are not. That even an attempt to break away from what one may ascribe as destiny, to me, is an orchestrated attempt of destiny itself.

I am destined to fall in love. So I shan’t come close to a soul. But what if I am destined to not come close to a soul? Am I then delivering the steps of my destiny or breaking from its shackles?

But what might be bounding for me – might be liberating for someone else. Then, why is it binding for me at all? Why can I not be the boss of what happens in my life? It is MY life after all. Or is it?

I can sit and ponder over how I will take charge of my life – and take it to a direction “I” want it to go. But, will it really? Where will I muster enough courage to pull it off. Black. Black. Black. It all looks so dark.

Friends. The thought itself brings such a warm feeling to the fore. But, why no face? I have plenty of friends. Ones that you meet at parties, to those whom you organize parties with, to those whom you meet day in and day out to those whose voices you listen to before turning in to those who know you like no one else ever can. But still no face. What does that mean? Are they mere phases? Mere bursts in my life? Then why do I attribute such great value to them currently?

And there I mentioned value. What a freaking carousel this is! Do I in actuality value them? Or am I that parasite who values the exchange from the host more than the host itself? Can I derive what I currently do from a separate set of people? Will it be wrong? Not morally. I couldn’t give a damn about morality. But, spiritually. Will I be able to sleep peacefully knowing I might’ve wronged. But is it really wrong?

You are born into this world alone. You are buried alone. Then what is the essence of having so many relationships in the middle? Why can we not be self-reliant? Is being anti-social actually a bad thing? Or is it a virtue above any other. The fact that one is better of by himself/herself. How many people can do that? Can even come close!? Does that mean, that the one with more friends is actually a weak person? Because, he/she is not satiated by just himself/herself. Or is the anti-social one depraved? For he writhes in such selfishness!

Often I hear self determined individuals say, “I decide what happens in my life. I may chose X today and do Y tomorrow. And, I will be happy with that!”

And then there’s this other set that apparently ‘lives for today!’ But does one really?! How many times have we not succumbed to temptation KNOWING it’s future ramifications? Is that really living in the present? What palpable measure constricts time? Who assumed such responsibility to define time to begin with? We might notionally regard time to be of cardinal importance. But, is this importance ascribed because it needs to be, or because we, in all measures realize its importance?

Self. Self. Self. That’s all that matters really. Others are just means to an end. An end none of us can see right now. Because, either we are the ones prescribing ourselves myopic vision correction to facilitate living in the present or the ones who are too busy in the future to realize what is going down right now! In this moment.

What must an engine go through a second after a burnout? Is it gloating in self-pride of pulling such magnificence off? Or is it impoverished to the core for having spent it all – in one go?

The metal is shivering. The wind is blowing cold. The grass cuts through. The sand smells foul. The sky eats everything in its reach. BLACK BLACK BLACK.

There is nothing around. We seek warmth from ourselves. Oh what a beautiful being. We rub our palms and experience comfort like no other. Blow into our cupped arms. And breathe a sigh of relief. We are so alone.

I need food. I need water. I need love. I need friendship. I need belongingness. I need a title. I need praise. I need a roof. I need my parents. I need slippers. I need a warm jacket. I need coffee. I need brownies. I need the television. I need ESPN. I need my iPod. I need confidence. I need something to stand by. I need someone to stand by me. I need maple syrup. I need butter chicken. I need books. I need movies. I need sad stories. I need peace. I need war. I need banners. I need art. I need order. I need anarchy. I need myself. I need skin. I need a neck. I need a touch. I need to be embraced. I need to be kissed. I need to be bitten. I need money. I need cigars. I need my Vodka.

Representational of so many voices. Not just mine. Yet there will be proud hands going up owing to the fact that they need coffee. That they need art. That they need butter chicken. That they need cigars. That they need peace. And there will be the nervous ones going up on the need for touch. The need for skin.

Just like you need your chocolate. Or your favorite boxers. Or your favorite lip balm. Or your favorite heels. Or your favorite beer.

As humans, we like to box things. Categorize them. Organize them in our head. Clinically speaking, stereotype them. But we fall prey to the demon of all demons; groupthink. The act of making decisions in such a way that individual creativity and individual responsibility is thwarted. When was the last time you took responsibility for something that went wrong? (Take your time!)

I say sorry to escape things – not to resolve them. I say sorry to avoid things. To continue with what was operating before. It’s safe you know. Saves me from the yelling. The arguing. Saves what existed before. Ah! What magic this world entails. 5 random letters stringed together to arrive at a concept more sacred than the bond of maternity itself. But, it’s interesting to think about it slightly. When I say sorry, I submit to the other person and/or the situation. In other words, I subordinate myself. Not too many people like subordination. They like to be on top. At their job. At home. In relationships. In fights. While making decisions. Everywhere. So, the one who gladly accepts the “lower position” is seen as the one who gave up. But is it really him who is the loser? Or is it the one who doesn’t have the ability to lower himself the real sucker? The one who cannot yield his pedestal because he is impotent, in that regard? The one who hath not muster enough courage, for he lacks it to begin with!

Which brings me to the last musing. Karma. But that needs some thought. I believe in Karma very strongly, but my faith in it has started to flounder. I guess everyone goes through this phase when their life seems to suck ass. I’d like to believe I am not there (yet!) – but where does karma fit into all of this? Are my actions of today in cognizance of what I might receive in future? Are my acts of charity and nobility in lieu for something supremely awesome in future? Do they then hold validity at all? Because their very purpose is defeated. They reek of selfishness through and through.

But then again, isn’t this life just about me? Who will die with me? I have to depart alone. So why think of anyone else? Fact is there isn’t anyone by your side. They’re by their own sides. Seeking some utility of you. Sick jerks. Not that you’re an angel. You’re caught in the ugly rat race yourself.

Welcome to Life!