Helpless

So much of our frustration and anger and fear is rooted in helplessness.

A feeling of being powerless. Of not being in control. Of feeling like things are happening to us without us wanting them or needing them or even seeing them coming. Of wanting to help but not being able to. Of seeing something go wrong but not being able to make it right. Of watching someone suffer and not being able to make it better.

It comes from a feeling of watching life happen to you. Of wanting and not having. Of knowing and not being able to say. Of waiting and watching while not being able to do. Of dreaming and not being able to see those dreams through.

Because uncertainty brings with it vulnerability; and the very distinct possibility of suffering. It goes against the nature of self-preservation that we are all born with. Against the idea of survival. Against our very genetic codes.

Which is why we grasp at straws. Anything at all to make us feel like there is some reason, some purpose for what happens to us. We believe in God, create Gods. We make up religions and rules that will explain why we do what we do. We look for peace. We try to surrender, try to go against the very fibre of what we are made of, the very idea of survival itself.

We created sciences out of understanding, hoping that would give us some control. We came up with meanings for shapes we believe the stars make, name them constellations and believe that we now miraculously KNOW something. We organise and categorise, hoping external order will translate to the internal. Lists and routines and orderly bookshelves and perfectly stacked cupboards, which we hope will help with the chaos inside. We give names to the immaterial, find words for everything. We boss over those beneath us, because the power makes us feel like we have some sort of control, over someone else if not ourselves. We talk sense into the meaningless. We scramble and grope in the dark and fight and struggle.

We hope that maybe, just maybe, these things will give us just a modicum of control. Will help in some minuscule way. That maybe it will change the inevitable.

Though we know it is all futile.

We continue trying. And continue hoping. And continue fighting for a doomed cause.

Because at least that little bit, the trying, the hoping, the praying; at least that is in our control.

Multiplicity

The quality or state of being multiple or various.

This word is one reason I love stories. They allow me to be multiple characters. Because when I am reading, I am part of a completely new, different world.

It is also why I love superhero stories.

Yes, they are mostly about the good winning over the bad. And just the idea of having superhero swooping in to always save the day, can be very comforting. Also, the larger than life aspect that those comics have works very well as an escape.

What personally intrigues me about superheroes is the idea of hiding who you truly are. Batman/Bruce Wayne, Superman/Clark Kent, Spiderman/Peter Parker and lots of others. They all hide their true identities. There is one major aspect of protecting who they love. There is also the idea that a mask or an a superhero identity allows the villains to fear you, adds to the personality of the hero. But I think it also has to do with protect themselves. To hide behind the mask, the identity, is an escape for the hero too. They have their moments of doubt and their conflicts, but in the end it comes down to acting, throughout.

And this is where I identify most with the superhero idea. No, it isn't some inspirational thing about how we are all capable of more than we know. What I mean is that we are all constantly hiding. Perpetually tucking away parts of us that peek out unexpectedly. We don't have the superheroes' identities or powers, but we do have their masks. We put on facades and play roles every single day. We have a work face when in the office. The family face for home, the agony aunt for one group of friends. The face for the one are romantically involved with so that they continue to find us interesting. The oh yes, I am a fun person face for the other group of friends. The intellectual act. The listener for your best friends. So many different faces. So many different masks. Every single day. Every single minute.

So when Shakespeare talked about the world being a stage and all men and women merely being players, this is what I think he was talking about. Where life itself is a stage, and we play the characters in our own stories.

All of it is extremely tiring though. The superheroes do it for a noble reason. We, for an entirely selfish one. Self preservation. Survival. That's why we hide so much. Leaving ourselves vulnerable leaves us open to pain and betrayal. It opens us to judgement.

And then this whole charade begs the question, is anything in our lives true? Is love true? Or is it just a mask loving another mask? Is hate true? A character playing off another character. Envy, anger, jealousy, empathy, sympathy. All of it. Isn't all of it an illusion of truth?

This is why I love superhero comics. They have so many layers. So much to offer beneath the bluster and action and sometimes fantastic storylines. Well-constructed make you think. There is so much to find.

Waiting

So much of life is spent waiting. For something to happen, something to come. For change. And then to get used to the change while also hating it for happening. For the right job, the one where waking up on a Monday to get to work is not the worst thing in the world. For a holiday, because it would mean a break from the tedium of every day.

We wait for love. For the right person. Someone we are told will save us, make us whole. Someone we know will not, but will definitely try.

We wait for friendship. For those people who will truly listen to us, accept us wholly and completely and stay through the worst times because those make all the good times even better.

We constantly wait for the right time. To take off, to come back. To say what we truly mean. To hear what we need to hear. To be ourselves. To enjoy ourselves. Because we believe that it is only the right moment that will validate whatever it is we have been waiting for.

So much of our life is spent just waiting. I wish we could stop waiting so much and actually maybe start doing, believing. Being.

More importantly, just saying.

Because for some things there will never be the right time or the right place. Like telling someone that you love them. Or someone that you don't.

Then again, doing and saying are difficult things. Waiting is safer, less risks involved.

If only we tried, though. Things would be much more difficult. But then at least they would be different. Maybe with a little more truth to them.

There are empty spaces in your heart my hands are too small to fill. Conversations I can't have because I don't know the words. Places inside you I cannot go because they are only yours to haunt. There are gaps and lulls that come and go more often than I would like. Problems I cannot fix, ghosts I cannot banish because they appear only to you.

There is broken glass and shattered dreams that eat you from within and cut me when I pick them up. Mountains you have to climb that I cannot climb with you. There are graves you dig for your desires and hopes that I cannot undo. There are distances too far for my tiny feet to traverse, too many miles for my tired limbs to cross. There are continents between us we created, walls we built up I do not have the ability to climb. Masks I cannot see through, lies I cannot spot.

There is much I cannot do. I am an irrational, illogical human being filled with frailties I did not ask for and cannot change.

Know how I know these things? Come closer, and I'll let you in on a secret.

I know because I have them too. The cracks and spaces, the darkness and the nightmares, the walls, the masks, the emptiness. The scars. The stories. I have them too.

We all do.

I wish I was

Impervious
Protected
Impenetrable
Invulnerable
Stronger
Logical
Secure
Cold
Distant
Detached
Selfish
Self-centred

I wish I was
More like you

Happy birthday, you

There are some traditions which are worth following. The rest might fall by the wayside, what with changing lifestyles and too much work, or too less work, or a multitude of other reasons.

This tradition though, I shall keep at. Every year. Hopefully.

Both of us know how important words are. How much they mean to both of us. And how sometimes, they make the best gifts, barring hugs. And yes, we don't really keep in touch. And yes, we end up complaining about the same things way too much. And yes we might disagree on a lot of things (SMOKING). But we also agree on a lot of things too (that whatsapp smiley is awesome, walks are good etc).

Your last birthday letter is pinned up on my board at home. And the notebook you gave me travels everywhere with me. It doesn't smell like coffee anymore, but it's full of my favourite words.

I miss you, and think of you a lot. Who else will come and steal food from me when she has run out of money because she ate one too many times at a fancy place? Who else will I make coffee for when I am saving milk for breakfast the next day? Who else will I take long, conversation-filled walks with? And who else will calm me down when I need someone after 48 hours of no sleep (you know what I'm talking about)?

So here's a birthday note from me to you.

Have a great day, love.

With lots of tight hugs,
Your teddy bear.

Grey, blue, white
The clouds whisper

Listen close, listen well
And you will hear the stories they tell

Secrets
Of the ever-expanding sky
Of the horizon they own
Of the exploits of the wind
Of the heartbreaks of the stars

Tales
Of
Petrichor,
Lightning,
Storms.

Stretch your hands out
And just maybe
They will let you touch them

Grey, blue, white
Elusive
Mystical
Gorgeous