Sunday, 9 August 2009
I am here now.
Things are more stable these days. I feel like I am more in control of the things I say and do. I no longer feel like I am a slave to borrowed ideology or my sometimes absurd, impulsive mind. Now I no longer detach mind, consciousness from deed. Before, I felt that my actions were controlled, dictated by an almost subconscious, hungry part of me. Perhaps it is out of an inherent arrogance in me to always preserve myself, my essence, that I let myself be subservient to every little impulse in my mind. I've come to realise that doing this is not necessarily being free-spirited and authentic. Our minds are like receptacles that different kinds of things reside in. And I sometimes feel, that placed in certain situations, some of these things surface. We do not have to yield to all of these things. That is why we are human.
The things that preoccupy my mind all seem to revolve around my need for self-development; of reaching that point where I can sit, stare out to world and smile, and also look into myself, see the moments of foolishness, unforgivable stupidity, the moments of realisation, unusual wisdom, and know that out of all of these, I came out a confident, open-minded and self-accepting man. I dearly want to know about this world that I find myself in. I feel so inadequate when I do not know somethings. It isn't really about being eloquent in presenting stored knowledge that I am interested in, rather it is about knowing the nuances, the motivations and most importantly, truths of this world that I live in. The philosophers, rationalists claim there is really no truth in this world. I refuse to believe this. How can there be no truth, precious truth? Things happen, there are witnesses, and maybe these people who have seen sometimes tamper, embellish the truth, but our consolation is that something, regardless that many eyes saw it, happened. This is why I want to know, to discard the many layers of doctrines, norms, ideals that have swaddled, coccon-like, the truths of our world.
And there is the book writing. I think I have said this before, but I'll say it again. One needs maturity, understanding of people and the world to write fiction. You cannot write about this world, if you do not know it. I am writing a book about a family in a dilemma, people with little courage who are trapped and trampled on not by others, but by themselves. It is not going too badly, there are hurdles, here and there, where one looses faith, but my hope is still there. I have chosen to write this book, and I will try to do it justice.
I'm reading Achebe's Arrow of God, and I have glimpsed at Virginia Woolf's To the lighthouse. I stayed for two nights in a light house in front of a beach. The water was cold as it flowed directly from the arctic, and the shore had cobblestones on it. Sea weeds and barnacles squeezed in between the crannies of the rock, and the thread like, feathery ones were strewn on the rocks. There were rusted parts of a ship strewn around. I heard the ship had exploded on hitting, violently, the shore.One of the merits of having the lighthouse is to signal ships in the night, that they are too close to the rocky shore. At this lighthouse, with its six feet thick walls, and winding stairs, I thought of Virginia Woolf, and how I just had to read To the Lighthouse, because it was simply Woolf. She mesmerizes me. In a documentary on her, she was described as being the one who was great with language and would tell her family stories. I wonder what sort of sadness, realization of the abusrdity of life or one's misplacement in it, that made her fill her pockets with rocks and jump into water.
Arrow of God is not going too badly, I've heard good things about it, I'll read on and hopefully, I'll reach these good things.
I am a bit intoxicated right now. I apologize if you feel insulted. I do not wish to belittle or take you unseriously. I respect you if you visit this blog, and take you're time to read my blog, despite that I sometimes post some ridiculous stuff here. You are a lover of talent, that pristine element that some of us often like to trivialize and place beneath hardwork. I write these things because alcohol has a way of unfurling those sheets that cover one's minds.
I'm still travelling, but now, this is where I am.