Hmmm, today I determined to scribble down or rather type something. Ironically could never really get the time or rather no topic clicked well to key in. Still, I had to break the sabbatical too. I don't know if I should be felicitously happy or if I should be dejectedly depressed since my birthday is fast approaching and I'm getting older. I remember those sweet childhood days when birthdays meant new clothes, ice-cream and lots of toys. I loved becoming the "birthday day" boy and since my birthday falls every year on Gandhi Jayanti (Oct 2) - a holiday, and so that meant no school and all play. My Mom (God bless her parted soul) very dedicatedly crawled onto my bed in the morning, kissed and hug me as she sang, "Happy Birthday." She then oiled me up, had a tussle with me if I should bathe myself or she should soap me up and then dressed me and sent me off to invite all my friends for the evening cake cutting and the party. Oh, I miss her and those days and tears well up as the clock work of memories cloud my thoughts every year this time of the year!
Inevitably the stupid time passed us all by. Things changed in a snap. Some slipped into the dark holes around me. Time never hesitated; moment by moment, life changed.
And now my life here, at the fullest is so formed up and hectic that, hesitating as I move forward at such a noticeable milepost in the path as this great birthday which I fathom it to be, I supposedly want to glance back on the things that never were, as naturally and full as critically as on the things that have been and are long gone, or have been and still are? Possible? If it is a good reason to be so, and so it dares and seems to be, must I naively come to the sordid ratiocination that this stupid life is little better than a dream, and little worth the loves and strains that we crowd into?
Anyway I struggle my way nearer to by birth date in search of new beginnings and yet often wary some. A very isolated part of me wishes that I should jump with joy on cue as I age and someone will wake me with hugs and kisses. But, no, I fear that I'm not actor enough for that. And again as I announce my birth date to the world, I'll smile. What I can do I'll do. And, who knows? Perhaps what I can do will surely be enough.
Inevitably the stupid time passed us all by. Things changed in a snap. Some slipped into the dark holes around me. Time never hesitated; moment by moment, life changed.
And now my life here, at the fullest is so formed up and hectic that, hesitating as I move forward at such a noticeable milepost in the path as this great birthday which I fathom it to be, I supposedly want to glance back on the things that never were, as naturally and full as critically as on the things that have been and are long gone, or have been and still are? Possible? If it is a good reason to be so, and so it dares and seems to be, must I naively come to the sordid ratiocination that this stupid life is little better than a dream, and little worth the loves and strains that we crowd into?
Anyway I struggle my way nearer to by birth date in search of new beginnings and yet often wary some. A very isolated part of me wishes that I should jump with joy on cue as I age and someone will wake me with hugs and kisses. But, no, I fear that I'm not actor enough for that. And again as I announce my birth date to the world, I'll smile. What I can do I'll do. And, who knows? Perhaps what I can do will surely be enough.
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