I was 7 when I read my first proper novel. It was one of the many Famous Five series by Enid Blyton.
I was 8 when I wrote my first poem. It was about my friendship with a Flamboyant 'Gulmohar' Tree. (For those who just watched this movie, yes I had a very very Groot friend in a tree.)
I was 10 when I wrote my first play. It was about a mysterious telephone, that apparently talked by itself and spooked the hell out of everyone in the house.
Of all the firsts I've had in my life, the only firsts which mattered, were the ones that helped me grow. Not just as a human, but as a living, breathing, complex mixture of cells...truly a genetic miracle.
I was 8 when I wrote my first poem. It was about my friendship with a Flamboyant 'Gulmohar' Tree. (For those who just watched this movie, yes I had a very very Groot friend in a tree.)
I was 10 when I wrote my first play. It was about a mysterious telephone, that apparently talked by itself and spooked the hell out of everyone in the house.
Of all the firsts I've had in my life, the only firsts which mattered, were the ones that helped me grow. Not just as a human, but as a living, breathing, complex mixture of cells...truly a genetic miracle.
Today is special. Not the special you'd feel when you first walked, or you first flew above the clouds, or even the kind of feeling when you first fell in love. Today is special because I chose to make it so, and as I write, I feel the creation of memory in mind, like the etching of words on stone. It's like a transient permanence.
I'm thinking of great men. Men whose faces you can trace in the stars of the night sky. Men whose voices you can hear, like notes shimmering down your heart strings. And I'm a little content...that while I can never be as great as them, I can always dream of them and believe that some day, when my time comes, I can achieve at least a mere fraction of what they did.
While writing I don't really like noise or any form of lyrical music, but unfortunately I'm currently surrounded by a bunch of idiots who are making a great deal out of some petty homework assignment. I understand that homework is important, but when I look at the likes of great people - Einstein, Feynman, Hawking - I wonder if any of these men actually fretted over competing with humanity. They stepped out of the rat race, didn't they? That's what. They stood out.
In light of recent events, I actually came across a this Buzzfeed post as a tribute to Robin Williams. A friend showed it to me this morning, and needless to say, I'm quite struck by the beautiful message that Williams' character utters. I thought I'd share it with you all, so that you too may appreciate the beauty of this message -
"Please, don't worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day... make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular. I know I did. "
It's a great message, and it has been spoken by a great man indeed. Larger than life, these surreal existences which make the entire world look tiny in comparison...!
How would a great man react to a normal life like mine? Every day I am forced to live and follow the conventions of social norm, and what I see is a hopeless despair. Like John Green said, we are paper people living in paper towns. I see the transience of relationships, the uncertainties and insecurities that follow human minds wherever they go. We all want to be an irreplaceable asset in someone's life. But I know I am not, and I will never be. Always the second choice. Always the crumpled paper that was thrown away and picked up after the beautiful sheets of paper were used up. Always, always alone and choosing to remain so.
What did it take to become truly great? I believe the great men, who seemed eternally happy in their fame and achievements, were actually really alone. Never lonely, but always alone. And people would always be surrounding them, like in the photographs. Physical presences that existed for the sake of existence.
But once I'm done writing and these facts hit you in the face like a gigantic yellow school bus, I realize that these aren't harsh anymore. When I think of Robin Williams and I appreciate what could be his most beautiful dialogue, I realize that great men were famous and popular and they inspired the world. But even with so many people looking up at them, they were really, actually just alone - on the magnificent stage of life. We don't know what led Williams to commit suicide, but these great men, who seem to go astray silently, they always seem actually - just alone.
John Keats died far away from home and his tombstone doesn't even have his name on it. It simply says this - "Here lies One who Name was writ in Water". It was done on his request, and more importantly when I think of it, Keats who was a great lover of beauty, wouldn't want a conventional ugly gravestone. He would want poetry to flow through his heart, even after his death and it only seems just to place a reminder of the transience of life on his grave. But it gives you a sense of closure and a feeling of permanence, knowing that Keats who has left this world will always linger some where at the back of your mind.
You know what I think of people? I think their hearts are like lunch boxes. You know the kinds you took to school as a kid? Yeah, those ones. And these boxes have a few compartments. There's a different kind of food in every division and you don't let these mix with each other, because every food has it's own unique taste.
I think the hearts of great men had a little space for the few people who were special to them. But there was one big reserved space, just for themselves. It was like that special dish, made by Mum, which you wouldn't share with anyone, because it was yours and yours only. Great men had great capacities to live alone, a feat which only the truly great people can achieve. Because, really, how can you know yourself if you are constantly surrounded by people who belittle you with competition? And then how can you succeed in knowing the world without knowing yourself?
I don't think there is anything successful about getting good marks and a great job and a spouse and a house and a car. These are material successes that will come and go. But to get a great idea, now that's something. To understand yourself and your passion and your purpose in life, that is REALLY SOMETHING. In my opinion, great men didn't get money and fame - they got this epiphany and that's all that matters.
They strolled down dark boulevards alone, graced the wooden tables of pretty cafes and walked the lawns at midnight, under the silver constellations. They, along with their great minds and even greater souls, tread the Earth, becoming even greater than Kings. They didn't need to be told twice about wishing upon stars, because they were already travelling at a blistering pace to catch up with these very stars. And before you knew it, they alone, made their lives spectacular.
While writing I don't really like noise or any form of lyrical music, but unfortunately I'm currently surrounded by a bunch of idiots who are making a great deal out of some petty homework assignment. I understand that homework is important, but when I look at the likes of great people - Einstein, Feynman, Hawking - I wonder if any of these men actually fretted over competing with humanity. They stepped out of the rat race, didn't they? That's what. They stood out.
In light of recent events, I actually came across a this Buzzfeed post as a tribute to Robin Williams. A friend showed it to me this morning, and needless to say, I'm quite struck by the beautiful message that Williams' character utters. I thought I'd share it with you all, so that you too may appreciate the beauty of this message -
"Please, don't worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day... make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular. I know I did. "
It's a great message, and it has been spoken by a great man indeed. Larger than life, these surreal existences which make the entire world look tiny in comparison...!
How would a great man react to a normal life like mine? Every day I am forced to live and follow the conventions of social norm, and what I see is a hopeless despair. Like John Green said, we are paper people living in paper towns. I see the transience of relationships, the uncertainties and insecurities that follow human minds wherever they go. We all want to be an irreplaceable asset in someone's life. But I know I am not, and I will never be. Always the second choice. Always the crumpled paper that was thrown away and picked up after the beautiful sheets of paper were used up. Always, always alone and choosing to remain so.
What did it take to become truly great? I believe the great men, who seemed eternally happy in their fame and achievements, were actually really alone. Never lonely, but always alone. And people would always be surrounding them, like in the photographs. Physical presences that existed for the sake of existence.
But once I'm done writing and these facts hit you in the face like a gigantic yellow school bus, I realize that these aren't harsh anymore. When I think of Robin Williams and I appreciate what could be his most beautiful dialogue, I realize that great men were famous and popular and they inspired the world. But even with so many people looking up at them, they were really, actually just alone - on the magnificent stage of life. We don't know what led Williams to commit suicide, but these great men, who seem to go astray silently, they always seem actually - just alone.
John Keats died far away from home and his tombstone doesn't even have his name on it. It simply says this - "Here lies One who Name was writ in Water". It was done on his request, and more importantly when I think of it, Keats who was a great lover of beauty, wouldn't want a conventional ugly gravestone. He would want poetry to flow through his heart, even after his death and it only seems just to place a reminder of the transience of life on his grave. But it gives you a sense of closure and a feeling of permanence, knowing that Keats who has left this world will always linger some where at the back of your mind.
You know what I think of people? I think their hearts are like lunch boxes. You know the kinds you took to school as a kid? Yeah, those ones. And these boxes have a few compartments. There's a different kind of food in every division and you don't let these mix with each other, because every food has it's own unique taste.
I think the hearts of great men had a little space for the few people who were special to them. But there was one big reserved space, just for themselves. It was like that special dish, made by Mum, which you wouldn't share with anyone, because it was yours and yours only. Great men had great capacities to live alone, a feat which only the truly great people can achieve. Because, really, how can you know yourself if you are constantly surrounded by people who belittle you with competition? And then how can you succeed in knowing the world without knowing yourself?
I don't think there is anything successful about getting good marks and a great job and a spouse and a house and a car. These are material successes that will come and go. But to get a great idea, now that's something. To understand yourself and your passion and your purpose in life, that is REALLY SOMETHING. In my opinion, great men didn't get money and fame - they got this epiphany and that's all that matters.
They strolled down dark boulevards alone, graced the wooden tables of pretty cafes and walked the lawns at midnight, under the silver constellations. They, along with their great minds and even greater souls, tread the Earth, becoming even greater than Kings. They didn't need to be told twice about wishing upon stars, because they were already travelling at a blistering pace to catch up with these very stars. And before you knew it, they alone, made their lives spectacular.
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