You aren't even all of you.

Have you ever wondered why do we refer to the sky as a singular noun? As if it is one thing. It is not. Sky is made of everything. Sky is everything.

Similarly, 'I' is also referred to as a singular noun. But is it really so? 

We are made up of cellular bodies, everyone can agree to that. But, and here the fun begins, more than half of those cellular bodies are not ours to begin with. Gut bacteria, the bacteria which break down the foods and fluids we intake (they also 'help' decompose our carcasses, which is just a fancy way of saying they eat us from inside out when we die. But that's a trauma for another day) and other such bacteria make up more than half of the cellular bodies in us. What am I getting at is that since you are not just 'you', biologically speaking, how are you content with the illusion that you are in control of your life? 

You aren't even all of you, if that makes sense now. 

You are not the author of your life. If  you're lucky, you get to sit tight and listen to the story, that is your life, told by forces far more superior than you can comprehend. 

OKAY WILLIAM JAMES, WHAT KIND OF SUPERPOWER DO YOU ENJOY?

Because I cannot choose my thoughts any more than how I chose my own name. How I experience thoughts, not as a catalog of my consciousness but as a refutation of them. As spirals, ever tightening and any try at coming out of them resulting in a step closer to the inevitable oblivion. 

When observations fail to align with the truth, what would you trust more? Your senses or the truth? 

To help you understand better, the Greeks did not have a word for the colour blue. The Greeks were unable to see the colour blue because to them, it simply did not exist. 

You think about her all the time. Your stomach flips on the thought of seeing her. Is it love, or just another thing you don't have a word for?

Human beings are such language based organisms.

Language, with all it's perks do fail us in one major aspect. It is incapable of making us understand the psychological bygones of ones self. 

"How is the pain?" Do you really have the words to describe such an inscrutable question?

Well, to be fair I do believe that how is the pain, rather how much it did pain is irrelevant. Kudos for a new life moto?

Since observations do not shape our reality (as it should), let us talk about beauty.

I strongly believe beauty is only as good as the attention we pay to it. 

The river is beautiful because you are looking at it. 

The painting looks beautiful, again, because you're looking at it. 

While we're at the subject, let us have a quick peek at love. Rather, betrayal. Love and betrayal do not go hand in hand. So you would think, right?

What you fail to realize is betrayal has nothing to do with how deeply you love or detest a person, as much as the magnitude of dilemma put in front of you. 

Would you betray the person you supposedly love the most for say, a packet of Cheetos? Probably not. But what if you were offered a cure for your mother's fatal sickness? 

A recent malignant incident has led my emotions to go dormant. 

A desperate need to kick-start my emotions once again, with the concentration span of a five year old and a bit of internet surfing has led me here. 

Writing is not new to me, but to do it on a platform accessible to all is petrifying and at the same time relieving, hopefully. 

Every bit of content in this blog may not have originated from yours truly and honestly, it doesn't need to. 

I write about stuff that makes me ponder upon or question the very essence of my being, be it from a book, a movie or even my big fat brain.

Until next time...