This is usually what I think when I meet you. But don't worry, its not because I know you are lusting after me, it is because I have become increasingly narcissistic. And it is not a disorder. I mean look at it objectively; I’d love to be my friend if I were not me. I’d love to talk to me if I were somebody else. So, just because I am me, why should I resort to hypocrisy? I personally feel, everyone ought to be in love with oneself. I mean, seriously, if you don’t like yourself, who would?
It is not that I consider myself superior or inferior to anyone, it’s just that I like me. I like me on the whole, and this is the way I feel about most things in life. We should remember that everything is relative. What we should do is that instead of having a dynamic frame of reference in the form of other people, our frame of reference should be our own standards. The constancy of it, itself changing with change in ourselves.
I feel so strongly about it because I am constantly criticized or appraised for my opinions, but, rarely are they shared. And this made me think about the fact that, we shouldn’t really bother with other peoples convictions, and have the guts to make our own.
Narcissism is usually thought of as something sinful. its always,love others, live for others, why? why do we have to omit ourselves from our services. "I", why is the word so hated? Would the existence of anything matter if we were to lose ourselves?
Without delving further into this topic, because self-love cannot be preached, i'd like to come back to where i began. I love myself, just like you.
p.s.:- The text intends no offence to you, in case you are offended, better introspect. Have a nice life.
A truly rare species, yet most dangerous. Specializing in the art of slow, third degree torture, he might bore you to death, no matter how wonderful the mall. He tries clothes that you wouldn’t ever look at, and buys clothes which are bad and expensive. All this is bearable. The trick is to do all this in the long span of a week, and each outing lasting at least 2 hours. Have you seen the insides of a male clothing store? All the clothes look old and boring and they scream “lack of style” yet.. no matter how expensive they are… people buy them. Of course there is good stuff too, but our male shopper is allergic to good paisa vasool clothes. He likes looking weird. The salesmen are like the Spider, come to my home screaming types. You try on a rag and they make you Mr. Universe, do you realize, that Mr. Universe is never an Indian. Yet the male shopper buys it. But, the process takes 2x7 hours, and long arguments with mummy. I don`t understand why the people who augur the growth of this species, i.e, male clothing salesmen, don’t bother having some good clothes in their stock. Why can’t the store have female clothing as well so that we don’t suffer. Why do they have so many similar looking shirts. Men are cruel, they like and propagate bad clothing. Women are patient, mummy still lets Shanky shop. But I will take a stand, I will not accompany this dangerous species to any of his further torture sprees and I will buy a new dress. Because I buy good clothes.
The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.
I recently had one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. Have you ever actually felt that your dream is even better in reality. A dream that could not be fulfilled. Generally it happens that you later on realise that what you missed isn’t as good as you had imagined it to be and you feel consoled. I felt the exact opposite, I saw that it was even more magnificent in reality and it felt really good that I got a chance to experience it. I sat alone waiting for my friend, looking at the building, at the three foot long letters, tears rolled down my cheeks but I was feeling so at peace then. It will be a moment I can never never forget. Its like those images which you capture on canvas or a camera, I sometimes wish I had one that day, but sometimes I feel it’s a day I want to store only in my mind. Any other place is not good enough.
Thank you, it wouldn’t have been possible and half as beautiful without you and thanks for the ride :)
Theme. I like this word a lot. It gives me asense of security and I find it shocking. I always thought of myself as a much disorganized person with ineptitude towards routine. I find being systematic restrictive, so till recent the word theme signified rules or restrictions for me. But just yesterday I read this word, and it struck me that it connotes something quite different. There must always be a theme to something; it gives us a sort of direction, a purpose. I mean whatever we do; whatever we spend our time and energies on must have some purpose. No matter how small or insignificant it may seem.
If I have to go to office tomorrow why don’t I make a big deal out of it? It’s my life. It should be a big deal. Everything that I do should be of importance, of relevance. After all if I can’t make a difference to me, who can? Being a tramp looks very attractive at first. Leading life without expectations or hopes sounds very alluring. But then, is that enough? When we have been made capable of feeling emotions, why make our self devoid of that? Why lead life without a purpose, a goal, a theme?
Looking at things from this perspective I realize that anything we do would be so much more fruitful, so much more satisfying. A central theme developing into a beautiful creation because of our focus, our efforts and our dreams. It would be so much more rewarding than just to lead life as a vagrant. All of us complain that things are so bad around us, that nobody makes a difference. True. That’s because most of the things we do don’t even make a difference to us, let alone others. What if we start doing things because we dream to achieve them, then we could make a difference. Each moment of our lives would be worth noting and worth cherishing. Then a moment wouldn’t just pass but it would be lived instead.
So now, after some contemplation I find the idea of my life revolving around a theme all the more glamorous, all the more satisfying and all the more alive. All that I do would revolve around a purpose, every moment of achievement would be a matter of celebration. I have even decided what theme my life would centre on, it would be a search for a purpose and the means to achieve it. So that I could win every time I try and celebrate every moment I live. The theme would be to learn to endeavor and have the tenacity to succeed.
“Ultimately, your theme will find you. You don't have to go looking for it.” -Richard Russo
I have heard this line many a times. Forgive me for my ignorance; I can’t remember who wrote it. Shakespeare, maybe. He generally wrote such things. Anyways, the author or his intentions are irrelevant. When I think of this phrase, it reminds me of the mental dilemma I constantly face. To be ordinary or not. On face value, this is a silly question; I mean who wants to be ordinary, right? Wrong. Look around you, most people aspire to be ordinary, they not only dream of oblivion but also advertise it. The people who think out of the box are categorized as fools, losers or plain obnoxious.
People find herd mentality safe. Superficially it is. But only superficially. I mean it’s like not climbing the stairs for the fear of falling. Not learning to dance as you may be laughed at. Not tasting the dish your mom invented because you may not like it. This is safety? No. This is giving up. Resigning to conventions usually serves only one purpose, making your failures and non-achievements more palatable. What I find strange is that why can’t we be secure about success? Why can’t we feel our struggles to achieve to be safe and satisfying? Why is it that only copying is considered safe?
We are taught from kindergarten that each child is special, each is unique. When we finally accept this and set out on making a life of our own, then suddenly out of nowhere, the same people who said this to us come up and say that life isn’t easy. Everybody cannot be Mahatma Gandhi, Albert Einstein, Mother Teresa. Fine, I buy that. But surely, I can be Priyanka Pandey. Why don’t you realize that? Why does it happen that the strife for protecting me ultimately results in suffocating me? Why am I taught to be unique yet expected to be ordinary?
I have noticed lately, that the need for independence is usually interpreted as rebellion. Weird. I want to learn from the difficulties of life, and I am kept away from them. They say its convenience. Its luxury. What if I don’t want it? A wheelchair may be a convenience for someone who is physically challenged, but for a person who is not it will remain a handicap.
I realize I have very strong opinions on this issue, they may even be biased. But still, these opinions I apply only to me. What I don’t understand is that why don’t others think the same. Why does it have to be, I did it this way, you do it too. How can opinions be right or wrong just by the age of the person holding them? Okay, I realize people elder to me are more experienced, but why should it stop me from learning on my own. Had they done things differently, would my life be different then? Why don’t people realize that the only absolute thing is the concept of relativity?
There are so many questions to be answered. Each time I ask them. I get the same reply. You are young. You don’t know. How? My six year old cousin, Pali, knows more about Pogo than I do. So? Do I tell her, no Pali, I am elder to you, I know Pink Panther series is only a movie. There is no such cartoon. Of course there is! I was just watching it with her before coming here to manufacture more torture for you!
So, I still continue to think, why am I being pushed into ordinariness, into being plain, into being one of the crowd. People say that it is so that I don’t get hurt. Well, if I comply with them, I know I won’t because I’ll become numb. No ambitions, no dreams, so definitely no scope of disappointment. Although it’s ok, I’ll bear some trouble, I have been given a life and I intend to live it. Not finish it by merely existing. Not waste it by just reaching some set destinations without experiencing the journey.
I am a very sincere learner. Very stubborn. Since I have been taught that I am unique. I intend to believe in it and fight for it.
Okay. So now I apologize for my previous mess of a post. Thank You so much all for your patience and comments. I admit I haven’t got down to learning writing as yet and I promise I’ll try to make this as less painful as possible.
The last post was written in complete chaos, due to various reasons, namely all that has been happening in my life and the fact that I have just started blogging. So I thought my second post could be a sort of pseudo-beginning to all the crap that I plan to post.
Well, I am Priyanka, a nineteen year old crazy angelic Satan. I have done practically nothing in life except for making a mess of things and making friends. Somehow that is the only way to describe the nineteen years of my life. I have recently started thinking a lot, mostly about me. I was trying to describe myself to one of my friends, trying to categorize me. Like we all try to in our orkut/facebook profiles. Well, it used to be pretty easy earlier. That day I just couldn’t. Earlier, it was easy to say… I am a very optimistic, happy go lucky sort of girl. I take life as it comes and like talking to people. I am beautiful, intelligent and blah blah. Now when I look at my orkut profile, it seems as If my six year old cousin has written it. No even she speaks better.
Recently, when I come to think of it, I don’t know what to say. So I have resigned to convenience as always, I now think of myself as this really unique person, impossible to put in any slot. Seriously, I really love myself *wicked grin*. I think I realize why CB accused me of narcissism. Anyways, I love you CB :)
I have just started blogging. Was thinking about it for the last couple of years or so. Many of my friends and many of my supposed friends hold the opinion that I speak well and should start writing. I used to think the same. But my last attempt showed me that it is really tough to pen down all that you feel. Now I think most of my friends had an ulterior motive in suggesting blogging. Most probably it was out of sheer frustration with my incessant outflow of emotions via the wonderful art of speaking that they decided to distract me. Its ok, I don’t mind. As I always maintain, I am too self-absorbed to care about what others think of me. Very few people’s opinion matters, and luckily, they tolerate all my crap, always. Thank you.
So, I plan to continue posting my ramblings here. On issues concerning usually me, and others, when I am in the mood of social service. I plan to put my views in text, because well, I like torturing people with them. I plan to write about everything that is important or useless, because: “Any idiot can face a crisis - its day to day living that wears you out. “ Okay, this brilliant line is not my creation; it is thanks to Anton Chekhov that I could put in one good line in this post.
Now, I’ll wait for something to talk about and for my eye infection to heal. It is really irritating me now. :)
