continues.

I find that life has gotten to a point where I’ve come to realise that I know nothing.

All the years and years of growing and learning and imagining the wisdom level increasing has amounted to a huge sense of loss. I find that the more you learn, the more you realise you do not know. Now that school life is over and life has hit what i would call a flash of abeyance in which my worldy-life-o-meter hits a standstill while i wait for the next rush of life to smash me in my noggin, these past two months have become mediums for many many hours of thinking and retrospect. About the day, past week, months, years. And perhaps the greatest irony that life offers each and every one of us is that instead of reaching that much closer to which we sorely desire, as the time goes by, the question which plagued me at the beginning, appears farther out of reach; who am I ?

Occasionally while having chats of some depth with friends late into the night, or perhaps while I am writing, I say or write something which catches me off guard. As if i were reading or hearing another person speak. It’s a funny thing to try to explain.. it’s like learning from myself, yet i have no idea where these very very brief flashes of wisdom or other arrive from. Which leads me to question, just how well do I know myself? It feels like I have a wealth of knowledge stored up somewhere in the darkest recesses of my mind which I simply am unable to tap.

Girls. I once believed I had nearly figured them out. But now I realise that it is impossible to truly understand anybody gender regardless if we do not first truly understand ourselves. In one of my moments, I came out with a phrase which went something along the lines of “We can never truly love anyone entirely until we truly understand our own entirety.” But now perhaps I realise that we might never begin to truly understand anybody until we understand ourselves simply because every point, must have a reference point. If we, the reference point, do not know wherein which we lie, we will never discover the subsequent or any other point.

I digress.

I lie here in bed feeling utterly confused, and yet I think this state of confusion provides much more clarity than many people achieve. Simply because most people do not realise the state of their confusion. I find that it has to be stumbled upon rather than found. It is only stumbled upon perhaps after an ever so intricately weaved series of events perhaps over a week, month, years even that finally makes you wake up in the middle of the night and say to yourself “who the fuck am i?”

and yet perhaps the most troubling thing ever is the fear that i might never truly discover who i am. the fear that i might wake up tomorrow and forget this state of confusion or worse yet, brush it off as tired ramblings, and entirely deviate from disentangling what could be life’s greatest mysteries. Pardon the thick cliche of the statements but perhaps the very foundations of social life and mankind as we know it may tremble when people begin to ponder if OURSELVES may be life’s greatest mysteries, and not LOVE.

It’s all about context and reference points. Without the context, without a reference point. How do we know anything. What do we know? If we change the context of our lives or shift a reference point, everything as we know it will crumble to nothing. Forget money and power and cars and private jets. WE will crumble to nothing.

This could very well be the ramblings of a very lonely 18 year old hoping that somebody would read this and notice him, or maybe I could be on to something.

Perhaps it is only in these moments of abeyance where the hustle and bustle and business of life glitters in the edges of our memories that we begin to question our very existence. Who decided that life should be in which we wake up, work, earn money, make valiant attempt after attempt at relationships, sleep and repeat. And even those of us who try to cut our own path, or CHOOSE TO BE DIFFERENT, differ in very similar fashion. It is perhaps as if we are truly confined in a box and even when we try to be different, we create new boxes for ourselves..

Who decides who’s “intelligent” and who’s “stupid” There are 7 forms of known intelligence (and that’s according to THEM) but education systems only base results on ONE. Obviously if i was the guy who wrote the IQ test i’d fit it nicely so I felt good about myself. Why do we take them so seriously anyway? Maybe the answer is simple and elementary, the answer is perhaps seen in kindergarten schoolyards across the world daily: nobody wants to be picked last in gym class. nobody REALLY wants to be the weird kid, the different kid, the OTHER type…

Which again forces the question; who first decided the stereotype?

Who am I? I would not nearly dare to pose the question, who are you?

Start of a New Chapter

The carefully written words reached the end of the papyrus paper and the author let out a soft sigh.
He had written many words, he had written tears, laughter, hurt, scars, growth, treacherous pitfalls and love.
It had been a good chapter, as a chapter should be.
A long, hard, painful and learning chapter.

He gathered them tenderly in his smooth hands and propped them up onto the mahogany table to align them.
It was a large stack of paper, each flimsy sheet carefully bound within the leather casing, adding to the historic 17 earlier chapters.
Then he reached for the new pieces of paper, untainted and waiting for the ink.
Perhaps these would hold a better story.