Ruminations 270619
More often than not, my sense of humor is self-deprecating. Over the years, that handful of real well-wishers whom I have had, have always chastised me for it. The humor comes from a space deep within where your intelligence and observations are mixed with all your regrets and failures; and it paints a picture, which might appeal to others for a second, they may even
laugh at your wordplay or misery..but it also kills a tiny bit of yourself- like the painting of Dorian Grey; an imaginary image that’s as much alive in your mind as your real self, the perception of how the world sees you. And every joke drills a minute hole into that image, invisible to naked eyes but perforating to the soul. Makes me wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Stuff that happened and frankly keeps happening. If I try to trace back the origin of this self-deprecating humor, I can find several- sometimes as a defense mechanism, sometimes just the destructive philosophy that hurt yourself so much that nothing that others can do to you, can hurt you. But then again, why does it hurt..Why does it hurt, when nonexistent floating castles of fallacy evaporate without the slightest trace of a beginning. Makes me wonder if there’s something wrong with me. I blame those sick Disney stories and those love stories, that warps young minds into believing that love can happen only once; the vague concept of soulmates. The question that Jesse pose in the movie Before Sunshine comes to my mind- if there were few thousand people (and hence souls) thousands of years back and now that there are billions of people..does that mean that those original souls have got fragmented into tiny bits and now resides in different people? If you are seeking your soulmate, are you seeking for that one whole soul or are you searching for even that one little bit that makes you feel like home..I believe in the latter. But then again, every tiny, modern bit of the soul of that amazing original prehistoric cave-girl seems to be ditching me. Makes me wonder if there’s something wrong with me.
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The unending cycle of hopes, dreams of an unseen future and heartache has started to wear me out. I am beginning to believe that no amount of humor, romance, care, and friendship can convince her of your genuineness if she has already made up her mind. Maybe I am just seeking another hurt soul, not necessarily comprising of the pieces of my original soulmate. Maybe I am just seeking for a miracle. If the fragment of that shooting star, that had flashed through the night sky of my small town, had any consciousness..
it would have known..
I had whispered her name..
