Skip to main content

Choices.


“Choices “ is a smaller word than destination, but “ choices” can ruin or make your destiny.

 They took Robert frost to a la la land he kind of hoped for and feebly wanted to be on, but left a forgotten road not taken. It made that aubade, sung by a solitary reaper, well known but left a dying ardent desire in Wordsworth to ask whether the song was for her lover or her solidarity. Choices that made W.E. Henley stand Invictus; made him the master of his soul while everyone was busy conquering the world. .Choices that made the brook to go on forever. Choices that made Sylvia commit suicide even after she saw that clinquant, tinsel-like depth in a simple mirror. Choices that led to the heart wrecking ephemeral of Antony and Cleopatra or the Romeo Juliet. A choice to choose one thought over another that made Wordsworth think he was as lonely as a cloud in the belt of dancing daffodils.

 I have also made certain choices; we all make them. The trick of life isn’t in making the right choices; it’s in accepting the wrong ones.  Hurting and redamancy are on one side of the coin and in the other is death. No one tosses it every time as we all assume it to. No one has to wait for this coin to toss to make a choice, we all choose consistently, regularly, and constantly.

Till the time we are alive, we only get the one side; the hurting that follows love, a love that follows hurt. And after the coin is flipped; it remains flipped. After a choice made it’s made. After a petal fell, it remains fallen.
A hurt once done is done forever.

Even I have got hurt when a friend I trusted with everything backstabbed me.  
I have got hurt when a girl who is extremely thoughtful (at times) used an unthinkable adjective before my asset.
I have got hurt when I needed to timely, remind a friend of mine what my kind of friendship is.
When someone I shared my secrets with couldn’t take a stand for them.
When people said they don’t care about my opinions; but were kind enough to give theirs, “I am hurt”.
When I lost a friend over a pity argument.
I was hurt when I had to stand up and shout on someone, mocking my problems, with eyes full of tears and a breaking, choked voice, “If you don’t know about me, shut up.”
I was hurt because there were my three pearls, friends, sitting in that vicinity who didn’t bother to speak up.
I was hurt because F.R.I.E.N.D.S made me laugh not “friends”.
Hurt because someone I cared for said, “I don’t care.”


Life isn’t a choice you make, but maybe your choice is the life you make. You don’t get to chose if you get hurt in this world or not, but you do have a say in who gets to hurt you.

And I love my choices.


Love all of those who have hurt me. Even the ones who didn’t care because now their cursing is an elegy for me; their monody a euphonious song to me; their personal grievance is a reminder of a special bond I had with them. Because my grudges are dissipated and they left me, an excellent raconteur, to tell you stories from your perspective. Yes, yours.

Because Romeo and Juliet thought they had tragic lives; Shakespeare thought their tragedy was worth writing and we, the audience, we put an adjective before their tragedy, before Shakespeare’s work that their story was “emotionally sad.”

Epics are meant to be written. Fortunately, a worthy story will find a worthy writer to sculpt it into a masterpiece, and unfortunately, a worthy story will also find audiences who never watched the full movie but are out to give remarks after watching the first 10 seconds of its trailer; audiences like the adjective extenders, the “I don’t care”-ers, the plagiarists, the one who vandalized that sculpture, the Brutus’.
But I had some people in the audience who understood the cracks, the scratches, the wounds, and a quiescent itching on the hands of the sculpture while he/she was sculpting this masterpiece. I had my adjective justifiers, the “I’ll care”-ers, the trademarked assets, the protectors, the Mark Antony kind of friends too.

And so I love my choices.

I don’t regret meeting them or losing them. Maybe they do.

 Some of them thankful to have met me. Some of them embracing that they’re still with me, some of them trying to block memories of me by listening to songs I never liked, few of them forgetting this nightmare like a usual dream and few sticking to the fact that they don’t care and they actually don’t; while all of them forgetting me and their choices.

But again, I like my choices;
And I will like my choices, even if they don’t like theirs.

Because “a” life is not defined by the choices you make individually, it’s all mutual choices of yours, of theirs and choices of everyone. Because the life of Romeo & Juliet is remembered not because of the main choices they made but the tiny choices the fate made, choices their parents made and a smaller choice of Shakespeare to write about them.

Because “your life”, only yours, is a consequence of your individual choice, maybe.









Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Trash

You are everything but invisible.  I can see you wide and clear, I can hear you loud and easy. I can touch you all and cold. I can hold you warm and cozy. You are everything but invisible. You are not amazing; you have your flaws. I didn’t expect you to be amazing and flawless at all. You are a mess, a big mess. But not invisible. Can you believe that? can you believe that I can love you and see you? I can see you. I don’t choose to ignore you.  A giant pile of mess. Two days old orange peels, your clipped nails, your plants’ dried leaves, your crumbled paper with your attempt to write something meaningful, your period pads, your tears-soaked napkins, A huge rotting piece of mess. That is foul and rotting away. Smells like rotten eggs. That is what you are but not invisible. You are not invisible. Don’t try to slit your wrists, stage your own death, lay on the floor for me to notice you. I already do.   I see you. You are not invisible.  Can you understand that? ...
Post a Comment
Read more

life taking me

  I was too afraid (or maybe too conscious) to take my life, so I let life take me, piece by piece, part by part. Now this may sound totally a hypothetical emotional philosophy but if u know me , like if u ‘know’ know me for more than few years now and you know exactly how much the significance of thought spiral is then you know it’s not just a bleak philosophy , it has physical practical causes : ) And I will never share the pain because I don’t feel it anymore; I feel it’s absorbed around my walls and that this   pain is all mine not yours, maybe suffering is mutually ours. I read it somewhere people who suppress pain and anger are more prone to diseases because by suppressing it they train the body to hide their symptoms too, which I feel is quite true. And the inverse is also true. When you don’t hide away your pain , when you get angry, get sad more often than your body also starts showing the same pathetic courage, of being brave in being sad , as you do.   Yo...
Read more

Whelve

Whelve to bury something deep inside; to hide. the 'He'  (once wanted to say)   "I wish I wrote the way I thought; Obsessively, Incessantly, With maddening hunger.                                                              I'd write myself into nervous breakdowns, Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. And I'd write about you a lot more than I should."   I'd write to the point of  suffocation.  -Benedict Smith,        "l want to be a mystery, yet be known I want to be together, yet alone Is it too much to ask, to be famous yet unknown? To be a wanderer, yet have a home?" -Kara Douglas "they say lavender softens anxiety  and i wonder whether i can plant a garden   so dense in your mind that the knots in your chest unravel  and never tighten aga...
Post a Comment
Read more