Winds of Change: Do people remain the same over the years?

Most people do not change. Even over long periods of time. Many people I met decades ago still remained the same person with the same liking, the same laughter, and the same fears; whereas a few went total transformation and it was like I never knew them in the first place. Of these two kinds of people, I like the former, because I can connect with them with known familiarity we share, where as with the latter it is a struggle to understand this new person they have become, and I always ask this question to myself: what percentage of the person I knew is part of the new person they have become?

So, what portion of a person makes that person that person? 

On letting go

I was wrong: letting go gets easier with practice.

There are three levels of letting go:

First level of letting go: When you can let go of anything when you want to; at the blink of an eye you can get detached from anything.

Second level of letting go: When you no longer need to let go, as nothing comes in, nothing gets attached, and you are as free as the Wind.

Third and final level of letting go: When you are in peace with the world, you are one with the world: everything belongs to you and nothing belongs to you.

Practice. Practice. Practice until you achieve perfection.

True love's first kiss

True love's first kiss. The stuff of  fairytales. I would have never believe that it is such a powerful force, and would have said it is only stuff of make believes.

But I know now it is for real. Very much real. Like the Moon and the Sun is real kind of real. The potency, the lingering effect, and the promise it holds for the future hits you so hard on your psyche, that you begin to believe that it can break anything, evil curses included. Sometimes it hits you so hard it is harder to recover from them.

I can't tell you how it feels like; any comparison would be meaningless. I can't explain to you how the first rain on a virgin desert is like or how the breath you take after 'True love's first kiss' feels exactly like the first breath of a newborn child: uncomfortable but necessary.

And no, this is not a sudden realization on my part. I have come to know about it from practice: sometimes, it takes multiple 'True love's first kiss' to make you fully realise how truly potent they are. They are like x-rays. You don't know their effect on you unless you have been exposed to it multiple times. Both of them can be cancerous, though the act was for a noble cause.

How foolish and weak humans are, to be affected so much by such small and simple things. To be always haunted by "True love's first kiss" each waking and dreaming moments, to be always filled with the memory of that feeling of soft skin pressed onto another, and to have sparks in our heads whenever the scene replays in our mind each time...

Love dies. But the memory of that 'True love's first kiss' lingers on. And if tilt your head towards the first rain of the year, and when the rain drops touch your lips, it feels almost like 'True love's first kiss'.

Three Things

Of three things I am absolutely sure of

1. Work is secondary, having a life is more important. I will not let my job define me.
2. Money can't buy happiness for me, I need to look elsewhere. Maybe money can get me some of those things that makes me happy, but so far, it has been disappointing.
3. Love conquers all. I won't stop loving even if it kills me.

Loveless

Each day I spend without you is a day without meaning.

Do you remember those days we were not together? those days we were never close? It still continues.

The sun will shine tomorrow, for the rest of the world, but for me, the black moon rises each day to eclipse you.

When yesterdays have rejected me with crashing loneliness, tomorrow's sunless dawn fails to give comfort.

But tonight, my tears will fall freely to water the grass of tomorrow.

((This is not a poem))

Friendless

I have always thought that it is only my skeptic and envious mind that refuse to believe that I have few(no?) friends. I was mildly surprised when I looked around me, and saw no one. There are few things which we do not accept readily about ourselves: like the fact that we are ugly, or stupid or poor. Likewise, we never want to admit that we are friendless. But, as humans, we must go through the cycle of grief when we realize such harsh truths of life. First, Denial came and told me coldly that I am not friendless, I have so many people who calls me as their friend, and I them. I spend my weekends with them, go shopping with them, and have fun times with them. How can I be called friendless?

As soon, Anger followed with his wrath-some voice asking why don’t I have friends? What do I lack that people finds me so terminally foreign and alien? Why do I have these people who pretend to be friends? Why don’t they act the way friends do?

Then I pleaded, can I not have just one friend who stands by me through and through? A true friend?

At this Depression gently answered, coaxing me to fall deeply into darkness, what is your purpose of life if you have no reason to live, and no friends to die with? Gently she told me, everything does not need to be this way, only a little slash at the wrist, or a rope trick will solve all my problems away.

But Reason came, and in her harsh tone, she said why do I need friends, I should learn to accept that there will be none for me. She further counsels that when fortunes have forsaken me, all friends will forget me. When needs are direst, friends will be the farthest. But to become stronger one must learn how to not need anyone. I must be enough for myself.

Yes, I must be enough for myself. 

Bubbles of Thought

I had this sudden Compulsion, of changing my blog name from "Life is Beautiful" to "Bubbles of Thought". Conscience wrestled with Compulsion, long and hard, and in the end, Conscience bested and threw Compulsion down the dirty slough. Victorious, I emerged, and the blog is safe. For now.

Each time I come to this site, I always come with the intention of writing something, but at rare times, it is the other way round: when I visit this blog, sometimes I feel an impulse of writing. But I have always held to the idea that just because someone have told you to write, because you write good, that is no reason to write. One whould write when one feels like writing; the true beauty of words will come out only when it comes from the inside, when phrases unfurls from the mind, like a butterfly from a pupae, and to take on the world on its wings, to fly towards the sky... and beyond!

(I always liked a bit of drama in my writings, I wonder if my readers do too)