An outsider's view - part III

On and on my saga continues..the story of my life..a tale of immersion and an unending quest for particpating in my surroundings.

Yesterday was a tale of my love, today is all about my dream. Who was it that proclaimed "You may say I a a dreamer, but I am not the only one"? I wonder. Nevertheless, if I were to ever meet this genius, I would pat him on the back, for capturing the single most defining feature about the human race.

We are born dreamers. I can see it in the faces of those around me.
The man in the black suit, with the meticulously detailed trim of the beard, talking animatedly on his phone while gulping large doses of caffeine - you would think he's got it all. He's smart, suave, successful and in control of his destiny. Yet, no one can deny the fact that he has his own dreams. Maybe it is far away from the land he inhabits - perhaps his dream is to not have to talk for a living. Perhaps he wishes he could be far away, living in a boat house at the edge of a great lake - ethereal in it's all-encompassing beauty. Perhaps the only decisions he dreams of having to make is how to cook the fish that he has caught, to marinate and steam or to roast. Perhaps he dreams of satisfaction, of self-contentment and a life less extra-ordinary.

Leaving the man in the black suit to his elaborately fact-riddled monologue, my eyes move on to a little kid stumbling along the road. What could his dreams be? He wants to be Batman maybe. That's quite a dream in fact - to wear a mask and run around town saving the world before bed-time. What's not to like about having dual identities. In such a claustrophobic existence, a multiple identity is just what we need to get away from the annoying conundrums that come as condiments with each identity.

Speculations aside, I return to the prospect of my own dreams. For as long as I can remember, my dreams have been riddled with recurring themes of idealism. My moment of peace looks like a black and white photo of a window-sill that awaits my presence with a warm cup of coffee, while the rain plays an elaborate orchestra of musical delight in collaboration with the glass panes, pipes and puddles of water. My dream requires me to vindicate myself as a good person, who lived and loved true, with all the dedication, loyalty, and passion that I could ever hope to muster. It is a pre-requisite to me finding a place in that black-and-white photo, and the measure against which I will one day value my life's achievements, before I pass into oblivion.

Will it ever be mine? Perhaps. All I know is that life has conditioned me to live with unfulfilled hopes and dreams. There is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the closest our day gets to perfection is in it's unbridled and inevitable tendency to adopt imperfections and happiness is the fleeting second of indulgence before we realize that it is transient and begin our chase of the next happiness.

Perhaps this is why we are born dreamers. Because deep down we know it will always be beyond our reach, and have to content ourselves with romanticizing what could be and could have been.
The tramp dreams on...

An outsider's view - part II

Today started as any other day. A day when I loved, and lost, and loved again. Often it is that I wonder, is it the inevitability of pain that draws me to attachment and love? People look to love for salvation, for elevation into a higher realm of happiness, warmth and satisfaction. I, on the other hand, am more used to it tearing my heart apart and pushing me down till I find the next elevator of new love to take me back up again.
I had love. Yet every day I felt a pain. A pain from fear of having my heart-broken, as much as from a fear of breaking someone's heart. For it is not as much the pain of separation as the prospect of starting over again that always had me afraid.
And today was only another one of those days when I would have to contemplate starting over again. She was beautiful, too beautiful. And I was in love with her. This was deeper than yesterday's love, or so I told myself.
Foolish heart. Never realizes that every time we love, it is equally deep, yet we fool ourselves into believing each one is more than the other. Perhaps it is our inevitable unwillingness to settle. Perhaps it is an ironic consequence of us being named the Human Race. Funny. Race - the word itself draws the most obvious reference to running.
Running - the constant state of delirium that we exist in, traversing our self-created benchmarks and milestones, each one as much a product of our disillusionment as the one before it. It is as much a part of our lives as the air we breathe.
I digress. This was supposed to be about my love. This is how it is with us. One moment I am pondering my heartbreak for the day. The next moment I am contemplating the connotations of us being named the Human Race. Running thoughts, ironies abound.
You would wonder how a tramp like me could be in love with someone as beautiful. My base mind perhaps does not deserve to ponder upon the beautiful smile lighting up her eyes and the subtle story lurking beyond her lips. Was it the way she looked at me that suddenly brought the life back in me? Was it the way she spoke, the syllables rolling off her tongue like the loving strains of a pianist in love? Or was it just the way she was - an embodiment of freedom and the promise of life - a promise I had learnt to feign ignorance of.
I had been lying there, at a corner of the street, watching the cars speeding by, people with their constant chatter and their cellphones and fancy gadgets walking by, the distant rumble of the newly constructed subway, reeking of an existence as pointless as it's beginning and end.
And then she came along. Time stopped. The sunshine itself was in an unending embrace with her, and the world seemed to blur out as she caught my eye. For a moment I forgot everything else. All I could see was the flutter of her lips as she spoke and the twitch of her eye as a gust of wind swept over us. She held out her hand. And I wanted to take it. I was in pure delightful wonderful love.
And then it happened. As my eyes took in all that was happening, I realized she was offering me food. A pack of left-overs. The glass palace I had built crashed around me, and the pieces shattered my heart. For a moment I had forgotten that I was not her equal. That Fate had not deemed fit to create me in her reflection. I had deluded myself into thinking she was looking at me, when all she was seeing was a sad, crippled creature who she could bestow charity upon to redeem her own soul.
I thanked her for the food. She walked away, never to return. My moment of love had come and gone. My heart was bleeding yet I knew I had to shut myself off from feeling the pain. I had lost again, and there was nothing new about it.
The sunshine had taken a liking to me it seemed. It caressed my eyes with the gentle touch of a mother I knew long ago. It held me up and wiped my tears. It embraced me to drive away the pain that was aching inside me. I was in love again.

(to be continued...)