Month: February, 2014


Maybe pictures coalesce into existence when maniacal photons travel around in undefined directions at blistering speeds till they collide haphazardly onto a light-sensitive surface, collapsing abruptly into their graves. Kind of like an suspecting insect flying straight into a spider wed. Except, I wonder, if photons were ever alive?

Pictures are beguiling. Pictures are probably best described as failed attempts at preserving moments we want to cherish. But it only manages to capture the visual elements, and fails to catch its grip on other elements such as emotions, sounds, smells, taste and touch. Like clasping your fingers over a handful of sand, only to watch the grains slip away with nonchalant ease, only to leave remnants, fragments, parts of what was once a whole piece. Or like trying to capture a waft of smell, by freezing and storing it in a glass vault.

What I find even more enigmatic is, however, the very act of taking a photo.

Because, shouldn’t the invaluable moments, the ones we tenderly lock away in a safe hidden in the deepest places, be remembered with our hearts, and not our eyes?

Sound of Silence

Silence, pregnant with a multitude of thoughts,emotions and words; unspoken words that may even be louder than those spoken. A multi-faceted prism, iridescent, but yet seems to lie so flatly, so thinly, it is capable of existing in only one dimension, one which is obscure to us. Its profoundness, however, manages to find a way to percolate into our quotidian lives, passing through the wall separating the two realms, and assimilates unobtrusively with every cell of our being.

Silence is understanding, when two persons sitting over an arbitrary cup of coffee, can exchange thoughts and feelings, without using their mouths.

Silence is anxiety, when you walk down a foreign hallway of a new school, and you feel the glare of strangers burn into your back.

Silence is an absence of life, when you cry out to a loved one, now nothing more than a mere mortal casing, but was convulsing in agony with bloodshot eyes, the darkest shade of crimson you’ve ever seen, seconds before.

Silence is loneliness, when the places you are able to visit within yourself, seem vaster than anywhere else on this Earth.

Silence is so loud it can hurt your ears, it’s being turned up a notch, as if someone is adjusting the volume knob on the radio. It is confusion when your thoughts battle inside your head with the swords of confliction, with the edges so sharp, they leave behind indelible scars.

Silence is peace, in a room overwhelmed with people whom I have no desire to make social contact with; the bridge of communication held by the support of palavering, the bridge I have no intention of crossing. It is a state of pure tranquillity, segregation and individualism.

A place, but with no walls, draped in the white of clouds on a clear day, a white so bright it hurts my eyes. It is a place within me I have exclusive access to, a place I can enter or exit at will, passing in and out with the lithe gait of a ballerina.

Silence is a mystery to those who can’t hear it.

Why I Dislike Pop Culture

Pop culture is superfluous.  The media is marred  with news about the ostentatious/controversial lifestyles of pop stars instead of highlighting the real problems around the world.  Yes I am referring to Justin Bieber taking a piss in a bucket. Bringing me to my next point.

Pop culture drives a subliminal message that being famous is all that matters. Once a celebrity acquires fame, it is as if he/she is automatically inducted into a class of higher society, receiving a cornucopia of privileges otherwise unknown to commoners. Thus, by extension of logic…

Pop culture stampedes on morals. The concept of gaining global recognition dwarves basic morality. This happens when artists/artistes conform to the demand of the public and produce work that is appealing but not necessarily honest to the ideals of the creator. This is especially glaring in the context of current pop music; where sensationalistic lyrics are written to seduce the public or music videos are filled with scantily clad females to garner more views. 

Thus, pop culture emboldens superficiality. When the notion of public approval reels in, an individual becomes starkly self-conscious, and what’s on the outside becomes more important than what’s on the inside.

Final Goodbyes

Nightfall stands between the present and the future. A thin wall, dissolved with the blink of an eye. A veil preventing you from peering into the darkness ahead, only allowing you to look back at the past, which was once the present.  Nightfall only allows movement in one direction; only forwards, never backwards.

A new chapter of our lives unfolds, and the pages of our journeys are awaiting to be written with the ink of our experiences. The days we once spent clowning in class, only to exasperate all our teachers, are but now a stream of intangible fabric in our memories. We will never be able to return to our previous lives or prolong the moments long enough for us not to miss them. But moments inevitably turn into memories, and memories untenable against the current of time.

As I bid a wistful goodbye to the brothers I’ve shared countless invaluable times with, I wonder if the train that whisks away the faces of the people close to me, with it robbing the smiles and laughters, will ever be able to bring back the same people or experiences once again.

Where Are We Headed Towards?

Are we just going to chase after grades, acquire degrees, have jobs, start a family, earn man-made currency to fly ourselves away from our workplace for which we worked the early halves of our lives to land in? Maybe indulge in crazed and fanatic consumerism to butter/soothe our infected souls while we return to toil in our office 9-5 daily only to realise at the dusk of our time that we have not really done anything at all?