Standing Alone is a difficult task. It is a frightening experience which can alter our absolute outlook of life. It is un-relinquishing struggle that consumes our fortitude to succeed. I have stood within the abyss of my soul; Panicking as I face my worst fears, often contemplating measures which would exhibit my inner frailty rather than valor.
Suicide is an act of cowardice. Twice the thought came to my mind. First, when I betrayed a friend of course remorse inevitably followed but the damage was done and a True friend lost. Second, when a friend betrayed me and I eternally lingered for an apology which never came instead I was greeted with additional misery and ridicule of mislaid trust.
How low do we have to sink to realize that no one will assist our emergence?
Who do you turn to when you are disregarded by those you deemed closest?
How do you pacify the turbulence within your essence, a turmoil that has no earthly purpose but is simply an incarnation of your insane thoughts?
My Mantra: Patience, Silence, Tranquility & Contentment.
Patience in escalating commotion breeds a comprehensive state of Silence.
Silence leads to Tranquility.
Tranquility persists to reward True Contentment.
Life is not as complicated as how we perceive it. The trick is to realize this soon.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Sunday, August 13, 2006
From the heart..
I wish i could have been there to witness this joyous occasion...
To My Best Friend on his wedding...
Mustafa & Fatima,
Best Wishes
on Your Marriage
Though time can change
so many things,
May this one thing be true...
That time
will never change the love
Between the both of you.
Happiness Always
in Your New Life Together
In the fairy tale of life...
...may this be
your happily-ever-after.
Congratulations once again
on Your Marriage
To My Best Friend on his wedding...
Mustafa & Fatima,
Best Wishes
on Your Marriage
Though time can change
so many things,
May this one thing be true...
That time
will never change the love
Between the both of you.
Happiness Always
in Your New Life Together
In the fairy tale of life...
...may this be
your happily-ever-after.
Congratulations once again
on Your Marriage
I Recommend : Dear Frankie
Frankie is a nine-year-old boy (Jack McElhone) with one great joy in his life: corresponding with his father, a naval petty officer. The letters have defined and improved his life. Deaf, he barely speaks. In his letters he reads in a gentle, confident Scottish brogue. He devours books on marine life; a large map of his father’s travels dominates his bedroom; and he declines fish with his chips. Though he’s sick of moving, this town is different. It’s by the sea.
In truth, Frankie’s father is in Scotland, gravely ill. His life at sea was concocted by Frankie’s mother, Lizzie (Emily Mortimer), to keep the real, landlocked father out of their lives. We don’t know much about Frankie’s dad, only that he caused the boy’s deafness and is so despicable that Lizzie, her mother, and Frankie raise stakes frequently to maintain their distance.
Lizzie’s web of lies is meant to comfort her, as well as Frankie. “It’s the only time I get to hear his voice,” Lizzie says of Frankie’s letters, every one of which she answers. The facade looks certain to crumble when Frankie’s father’ s alleged ship -- Lizzie chose the boat from a stamp -- actually makes a visit to their town. Desperate to keep the dream alive for her son, Lizzie finds a rugged stranger (Gerard Butler) to play the role of Frankie’s dad for a weekend.
It's hard to imagine this story actually happening, but it's also hard to imagine it being told with such sensitivity and lack of mawkishness, thanks to director Shona Auberbach. Yes, she does lard the soundtrack with too many marginal pop songs, but she gets tender, sometimes surprising performances out of her leads. The pretty Mortimer and the rough, yet tender Butler navigate their character's shaky waters. Questions of why this stranger would accept such an odd job is answered not by the eventual revealing of his identity, but by Butler 's dewy charm, as if he enjoys having a son, even for one day. Mortimer gives us a mother who is doing the best she can under less-than-ideal parental circumstances, so not only don't we blame her, we sympathize with what she's awkwardly trying to achieve. Even when the real father briefly enters the picture, at an extremely schematic moment, we still buy it. In fact, despite the overly plotted nature of the entire story, we buy all of it. Because it's told with intelligence, humor and tenderness. Dear Frankie , a winner at the Los Angeles Film Festival, avoids big, Hollywood emotions and tells its small tale in a small way. It's a poignant film well worth a look.
Rating : 8/10
Running Time: 100 mins
Trailer Link: Dear Frankie
In truth, Frankie’s father is in Scotland, gravely ill. His life at sea was concocted by Frankie’s mother, Lizzie (Emily Mortimer), to keep the real, landlocked father out of their lives. We don’t know much about Frankie’s dad, only that he caused the boy’s deafness and is so despicable that Lizzie, her mother, and Frankie raise stakes frequently to maintain their distance.
Lizzie’s web of lies is meant to comfort her, as well as Frankie. “It’s the only time I get to hear his voice,” Lizzie says of Frankie’s letters, every one of which she answers. The facade looks certain to crumble when Frankie’s father’ s alleged ship -- Lizzie chose the boat from a stamp -- actually makes a visit to their town. Desperate to keep the dream alive for her son, Lizzie finds a rugged stranger (Gerard Butler) to play the role of Frankie’s dad for a weekend.
It's hard to imagine this story actually happening, but it's also hard to imagine it being told with such sensitivity and lack of mawkishness, thanks to director Shona Auberbach. Yes, she does lard the soundtrack with too many marginal pop songs, but she gets tender, sometimes surprising performances out of her leads. The pretty Mortimer and the rough, yet tender Butler navigate their character's shaky waters. Questions of why this stranger would accept such an odd job is answered not by the eventual revealing of his identity, but by Butler 's dewy charm, as if he enjoys having a son, even for one day. Mortimer gives us a mother who is doing the best she can under less-than-ideal parental circumstances, so not only don't we blame her, we sympathize with what she's awkwardly trying to achieve. Even when the real father briefly enters the picture, at an extremely schematic moment, we still buy it. In fact, despite the overly plotted nature of the entire story, we buy all of it. Because it's told with intelligence, humor and tenderness. Dear Frankie , a winner at the Los Angeles Film Festival, avoids big, Hollywood emotions and tells its small tale in a small way. It's a poignant film well worth a look.
Rating : 8/10
Running Time: 100 mins
Trailer Link: Dear Frankie
Saturday, August 12, 2006
A Gem by Emily..
I MEASURE every grief I meet
With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.
I wonder if they bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.
I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.
I wonder if when years have piled—
Some thousands—on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause;
Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love.
The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,—
Death is but one and comes but once,
And only nails the eyes.
There ’s grief of want, and grief of cold,—
A sort they call “despair”;
There ’s banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.
And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly, yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,
To note the fashions of the cross,
Of those that stand alone,
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.
With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.
I wonder if they bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.
I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.
I wonder if when years have piled—
Some thousands—on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause;
Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love.
The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,—
Death is but one and comes but once,
And only nails the eyes.
There ’s grief of want, and grief of cold,—
A sort they call “despair”;
There ’s banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.
And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly, yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,
To note the fashions of the cross,
Of those that stand alone,
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.
It's..
It’s been a week of bitter farewells..
My Closest & Dearest Friend is getting married this week. It was idyllic to drive about town distributing his wedding invitations & little boxes of sweets. The night before his departure we were having “Shisha” at our favorite spot catching up on old times. We both know things would be different once he returns. His social prerogatives, responsibilities and general perception about life would change. Superficially we would still be friends but a sudden emergence of an invisible divide would drift us apart.
“Get Married Dude!!” was his last friendly advice.
It’s been a week of inhibited sorrow..
The higher you climb the corporate ladder, the more your family life suffers. Success comes at a price and somewhere along the strenuous journey you have to decide where your allegiance lies. “The Devil wears Prada” portrays this debacle brilliantly. In a marriage of two successful individuals the question arises as to who compromises. Relentless Pursue of our dreams can be misleading; maybe this chase might end up as a farce as we ourselves are not aware of our true happiness. Sometimes its too late when we realize what really makes us happy and complete.
A very dear, young & successful couple is seeking divorce, as both of them are not ready to jeopardize their careers for the sake of a family. Someday they will have to explain to their young daughter why they preferred to split..
It’s been a week of awakening…
I have stepped out of my cocoon and am prepared to accept the world as it materializes. There is no reason to wait around for things to reorganize themselves into a sequential pattern of your preference sometimes haphazard is beautiful. There is no explanation in lamenting over trivial grievances & minor hindrances that our faulty vision perceives as mountains.
My Closest & Dearest Friend is getting married this week. It was idyllic to drive about town distributing his wedding invitations & little boxes of sweets. The night before his departure we were having “Shisha” at our favorite spot catching up on old times. We both know things would be different once he returns. His social prerogatives, responsibilities and general perception about life would change. Superficially we would still be friends but a sudden emergence of an invisible divide would drift us apart.
“Get Married Dude!!” was his last friendly advice.
It’s been a week of inhibited sorrow..
The higher you climb the corporate ladder, the more your family life suffers. Success comes at a price and somewhere along the strenuous journey you have to decide where your allegiance lies. “The Devil wears Prada” portrays this debacle brilliantly. In a marriage of two successful individuals the question arises as to who compromises. Relentless Pursue of our dreams can be misleading; maybe this chase might end up as a farce as we ourselves are not aware of our true happiness. Sometimes its too late when we realize what really makes us happy and complete.
A very dear, young & successful couple is seeking divorce, as both of them are not ready to jeopardize their careers for the sake of a family. Someday they will have to explain to their young daughter why they preferred to split..
It’s been a week of awakening…
I have stepped out of my cocoon and am prepared to accept the world as it materializes. There is no reason to wait around for things to reorganize themselves into a sequential pattern of your preference sometimes haphazard is beautiful. There is no explanation in lamenting over trivial grievances & minor hindrances that our faulty vision perceives as mountains.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
The Rebel within..
We are what we choose. Our alternatives are arranged before us to observe scrupulously. We can either conform to our typical, monotonous style of subsistence or rebel to discover something which we appreciate.
We sense the culture we breathe in is a bane and dismissive of our ideals. The people around us fail to recognize our potential and endless possibilities perpetually stay unknown. The present state of affairs will forever exist and that perfect day which we desperately seek will never arrive. It is never easy to rebel. Numerous circumstances cloud our judgment and avert us from doing so. It is very easy to curse fate and shamelessly drop our heads.
Where do we stand?
Do we conceal our flaws and inability to act by blaming Fate? Are you not the Master of your Fate?
Why don't we learn to play with the cards we are dealt?
Why do we squander time in condemning the dealer rather than utilizing it for our own benefits?
Sulking is for the faint hearted. We have two distinct choices, either liberate the Rebel within or shut up and obey the rules of our pathetic existence.
We sense the culture we breathe in is a bane and dismissive of our ideals. The people around us fail to recognize our potential and endless possibilities perpetually stay unknown. The present state of affairs will forever exist and that perfect day which we desperately seek will never arrive. It is never easy to rebel. Numerous circumstances cloud our judgment and avert us from doing so. It is very easy to curse fate and shamelessly drop our heads.
Where do we stand?
Do we conceal our flaws and inability to act by blaming Fate? Are you not the Master of your Fate?
Why don't we learn to play with the cards we are dealt?
Why do we squander time in condemning the dealer rather than utilizing it for our own benefits?
Sulking is for the faint hearted. We have two distinct choices, either liberate the Rebel within or shut up and obey the rules of our pathetic existence.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Zing-er Supreme Macho Man
Slamming doors is a sign of immaturity; I desperately make an effort to corrent myself. I pledge I will never consent to anger conquering me but I always waver. Universal Truth I have discovered: If you speak when you are angry, you will probably make the best speech you will forever regret.
Do you ever feel you become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora's box of all the secret hateful parts -- your arrogance, your spite, your condescension -- has sprung open. Someone provokes you, and instead of just smiling and moving on, you zing them. Hello, it's Mr. Nasty.
When I am angry, I either retire to solitude of the beach or put on my trainers and start jogging. I jog briskly stomping the ground, breathing heavily and accelerating. After awhile I halt to catch my breath, I clasp my knees as I bend and ponder on the recent chain of events. I am quick to forget and first to apologize, whenever I have an argument at home and I storm out I always come back with a box of ice cream. The Free ice cream treats have spoilt my sister, once I returned without any; she just stared at me as she opened the door..
“What no Ice cream?” she inquired
“ No Forgiveness for you!!” She remarked in pure Soup Nazi dialect
“Go Get some” she ordered as she shut the door on my face
My manic anger therapy jogs once resulted in a most embarrassing moment.
After about 30 minutes of sporadic & frantic running surprisingly I was jogging along side a female jogger. I was striving hard to maintain my oozing machismo but it was proving difficult to keep pace with her. We had our hellos and were conversing about the weather and how humid it was – typical jogger chitchat.
HER: "Don’t you just love this side of the park"
ME: "Yes its beautiful" *breathing heavily*
HER:"I always come to this park as I find it very scenic"
ME:"Yes" *slowly losing energy*
HER: "Its so lovely to jog here, I hate it in the morning when its hot.. Its much better in the night"
ME: "Yes" "signs showing that I am struggling*
HER: "Yes?? Yes what? Are you alright?"
ME: "Yes Superb"
HER: "You seem to be panting, do you want me to slow down"
ME: "Its either that or you will have to carry me"
She laughed and we started walking.. a pace I was so much comfortable with :)
ME: "I have had a long day"
HER: "Of course you have"
ME: "No really it’s been tiring day and besides it’s humid too"
HER: "Of course it is"
ME: "I just wanted you to know that"
HER: "Of course you did"
ME: "Are you being sarcastic?"
HER: "Of course not"
ME: "Alright!! You are much fitter than me. It was hard for me to keep up. Now you happy!!"
HER: "Of course I am"
Mr. Macho Man Zinged Supremely :)
Do you ever feel you become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora's box of all the secret hateful parts -- your arrogance, your spite, your condescension -- has sprung open. Someone provokes you, and instead of just smiling and moving on, you zing them. Hello, it's Mr. Nasty.
When I am angry, I either retire to solitude of the beach or put on my trainers and start jogging. I jog briskly stomping the ground, breathing heavily and accelerating. After awhile I halt to catch my breath, I clasp my knees as I bend and ponder on the recent chain of events. I am quick to forget and first to apologize, whenever I have an argument at home and I storm out I always come back with a box of ice cream. The Free ice cream treats have spoilt my sister, once I returned without any; she just stared at me as she opened the door..
“What no Ice cream?” she inquired
“ No Forgiveness for you!!” She remarked in pure Soup Nazi dialect
“Go Get some” she ordered as she shut the door on my face
My manic anger therapy jogs once resulted in a most embarrassing moment.
After about 30 minutes of sporadic & frantic running surprisingly I was jogging along side a female jogger. I was striving hard to maintain my oozing machismo but it was proving difficult to keep pace with her. We had our hellos and were conversing about the weather and how humid it was – typical jogger chitchat.
HER: "Don’t you just love this side of the park"
ME: "Yes its beautiful" *breathing heavily*
HER:"I always come to this park as I find it very scenic"
ME:"Yes" *slowly losing energy*
HER: "Its so lovely to jog here, I hate it in the morning when its hot.. Its much better in the night"
ME: "Yes" "signs showing that I am struggling*
HER: "Yes?? Yes what? Are you alright?"
ME: "Yes Superb"
HER: "You seem to be panting, do you want me to slow down"
ME: "Its either that or you will have to carry me"
She laughed and we started walking.. a pace I was so much comfortable with :)
ME: "I have had a long day"
HER: "Of course you have"
ME: "No really it’s been tiring day and besides it’s humid too"
HER: "Of course it is"
ME: "I just wanted you to know that"
HER: "Of course you did"
ME: "Are you being sarcastic?"
HER: "Of course not"
ME: "Alright!! You are much fitter than me. It was hard for me to keep up. Now you happy!!"
HER: "Of course I am"
Mr. Macho Man Zinged Supremely :)
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