Weekend Special:Reproducing an updated best-of-my-blog for the weekend special.
He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.
William Shakespeare
We must not miss lest we begin to love
Anonymous
Why does one miss? What is that makes us miss someone? How do we miss some and not all? Frankly, the very thought befuddles me. The idea is confusing, I understand.
We miss even when we are physically surrounded. Not many can make out that these are the drab moments of absense that tickle us in our sub-conciousness. The hard pangs. When we miss like hell. Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated.
All of us miss. The strong and the enfeebled. I guess we miss because we care. And because we love. It is such a exquisite human arete. I face it. That deep lump in my throat. Heart skipping doubly fast. The bizarre feeling of desperation. Of helplessness. Of trying to obliterate the distances. Efface what's between us. Can't. Strange worldly affairs. Norms. Decorum. These notions have been strifling human desires for ages.
There are times when I just want to break free. I trust Søren Kierkegaard, the maverick 19th century Danish existentialist when he says, 'It belongs to the imperfection of everything human that man can only attain his desire by passing through its opposite.'
Life throws these hard snowballs at me. I hope I have the courage to hold forth and duck and throw bigger balls back at her. Last night, my eyes turned torpid reading a book. I remember, the last lines I read...If I never met you, I wouldn't like you. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't love you. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't miss you. But I did, I do, and I will.
I vegged out soon after. A lost smile swimming in my thoughts. Only I know its destination!
Samy
