Author Topic: Ramblings and musings  (Read 3549 times)

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Offline Soft Words

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Ramblings and musings
« on: January 22, 2011, 11:41 PM »
I should change my title on here from Paparazzi to Prodigal. Just sayin'.

How I manage not to come back here for almost six months, I don't know. I'm not going to make any excuses, and I would be lying if I said I'm sorry. I'm definitely apologetic, this is a wonderful community I'm privileged to know and be a part of. Life happens, and I'm learning to breathe while living it.

I'm in the process of making some major life-changing decisions. For one, I've decided to upgrade from using my phone camera for pictures to buying an actual camera. Eventually, I want to buy a DSLR, but for now, I'm buying something to take pictures with. One of my non-medical goals for this year is to learn photo editing. And take more pictures, hold on to wonderful memories I'm making. I'm mentioning that here because it is the only thing I have made concrete steps for.

2010 was eventful, but other than the car I bought, I'm going to skip the minutiae. 2011 started off on a very awkward note. Its part of the process, severing old ties, renewing the meaningful ones, creating new relationships. Towards the end, I didn't write much poetry, I just did Nanowrimo then my computer tried to implode and die. I've managed to successfully resurrect it, barring the lost music and poetry and other such important things. Yes, I should have backed up my computer, yada yada blah blah, but the bottom line is I couldn't so I didn't and so I lost about 50 gigs of data, including three research projects. No, I'm not happy about it. Yes, I learnt mah lesson.

Last year I visited my ancestral homestead and spent a gorgeous fortnight there. That house no longer resembles the gorgeousness it used to be, but it stands. It is now closeted and there are bars on windows where there was verandah and porch, and concrete where there were once mango trees. The people that once laughed and wept in the house, connected to it by blood, they are now scattered. The ties are shattered beyond repair, despite all the bandaids in the world, despite all appearances. But standing in the kitchen of that house, covered in cobwebs and virtually unchanged for about a hundred years, blackened with soot from wood fires, there was a connection. I could have sworn I felt a hand brushing my head, for a fraction of a second. I have no memory of my grandmothers, and the one grandparent I remember I last saw when I was twelve. Standing in that stuffy kitchen with no ventilation and a single, naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, I felt I was home.

Of course, that hand I felt might have been a stray gust of wind. But there are stories. Stories about the house, the people that lived in it, the events that have taken place in that cobwebby house. Yes, I'm a child of the modern world, who formats her own computer and rages at technology. But I believe, that when a person dies, their soul comes back to visit the places and the people they loved the most.

We leave pieces of ourselves behind every single time we interact with our environment and the people in it. Whether as memory or as gene, we leave our mark on the world. We take apart places and things that hold memories for other people, and build our own memories into it. We help others, anger some others, do things without paying attention to the impact those doings have on the lives of other people, good and bad. We are creating stories of our lives every single day, whether we recall them or not. Every story I've ever heard about my grandmother speaks about her generosity, her quiet fortitude and courage, her spirit, and her open door.

When I leave this world, I want to leave behind a quiet legacy. Whether I build it with words or song or pictures is not the point. I'd like to fall in love, fearlessly. I want to laugh, bring joy, have a child or two. I want to leave the door open, without fear. Build a network of friends, maintain relationships. Go to sleep every night with a clean conscience.

How I went from computers to discussing how I want to be remembered I have no idea. But that is the way my mind works, catching onto a thought like a sunbeam and running with it. I'm thinking about these things mostly because I'm in the tedious process of reevaluating my priorities, making major decisions that will affect other major decisions. Like Marriage, Career and other Grown-Up sort of things. Shiver me timbers. Its scary, and exhilarating, like boarding my first flight abroad, into the unknown. I can't worry about my destination, I drive myself crazy. So I am going to enjoy the journey, focus on the little things, the smiles, the delight of an infant discovering he has feet and toes he can chew on, the peace of the starry night sky, long drives with good music, and the words that I choose to define my life.

If you made it this far down my rambles, I'm amazed and grateful. I probably love you already, but once more, I love you for having come to visit my little niche, and read my ramblings. I hope you leave with a smile, and for a minute or two, life cut you a break.  *dance*

Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Offline Halo

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Re: Ramblings and musings
« Reply #1 on: January 23, 2011, 05:14 AM »
Ah Arti, you made me cry and I love you too...

Be careful of your thoughts; they may become words at any moment.  ~  Ira Gassen

witt

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Re: Ramblings and musings
« Reply #2 on: January 23, 2011, 05:29 AM »


Last year I visited my ancestral homestead and spent a gorgeous fortnight there. That house no longer resembles the gorgeousness it used to be, but it stands. It is now closeted and there are bars on windows where there was verandah and porch, and concrete where there were once mango trees. The people that once laughed and wept in the house, connected to it by blood, they are now scattered. The ties are shattered beyond repair, despite all the bandaids in the world, despite all appearances. But standing in the kitchen of that house, covered in cobwebs and virtually unchanged for about a hundred years, blackened with soot from wood fires, there was a connection. I could have sworn I felt a hand brushing my head, for a fraction of a second. I have no memory of my grandmothers, and the one grandparent I remember I last saw when I was twelve. Standing in that stuffy kitchen with no ventilation and a single, naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, I felt I was home.

Of course, that hand I felt might have been a stray gust of wind. But there are stories. Stories about the house, the people that lived in it, the events that have taken place in that cobwebby house.

Welcome back, Arti. It's so great to see you. There is definitely a poem in here!!!

Offline Soft Words

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Re: Ramblings and musings
« Reply #3 on: January 24, 2011, 02:22 AM »
Halo, shhh, thats a secret. I choose to be glad I can make you cry. :)

Witt, thanks for the welcome. Now that you pointed it out, yes, I feel the beginnings of a poem. I'm going to let it ferment, and when I'm ready, I'll plunk it down in the Ax for the whacking. Hope you've been well.

hugs,
arti.
Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Offline Kay

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Re: Ramblings and musings
« Reply #4 on: January 24, 2011, 10:01 AM »
Arti,

I'm a little more out spoken these days so may I just say I don't think you need
apologize to anyone for what you need to do. although its appreciated so much
and I for one love your writing. Arti, I've had people drop from my life
like tears off a branch after a rain and poof, not a word. Believe me,
one minute they're there, the next, who knows. It's irritating. And I've
probably done it too but I usually try to keep contac where my friends are
to some degree.

People come and go through poetry boards and your business is your business. Your words touched me today. They almost
read a poetry.

Quote
We leave pieces of ourselves behind every single time we interact with our environment and the people in it. Whether as memory or as gene, we leave our mark on the world. We take apart places and things that hold memories for other people, and build our own memories into it. We help others, anger some others, do things without paying attention to the impact those doings have on the lives of other people, good and bad. We are creating stories of our lives every single day, whether we recall them or not. Every story I've ever heard about my grandmother speaks about her generosity, her quiet fortitude and courage, her spirit, and her open door.

When I leave this world, I want to leave behind a quiet legacy. Whether I build it with words or song or pictures is not the point. I'd like to fall in love, fearlessly. I want to laugh, bring joy, have a child or two. I want to leave the door open, without fear. Build a network of friends, maintain relationships. Go to sleep every night with a clean conscience.