Old Age is Just Around the Bend

As I inch closer, ever so slowly, to the half century mark, am in awe of how little things add up to being something big, in the grand scheme of things. The sound of the ticking clock, the ticking being representative of the seconds that pass, a collection of seconds turn into minutes which turn into hours which accumulate into days then months then years. It's a whole cycle yet things change so subtly that I barely notice until a whole metamorphosis has taken place.

The concept of time has always been elusive to me, hard to grasp because every time I try, it slips through my fingers. And I mourn the hours that pass without being productive; the days that I lose seemingly busy but achieving nothing; the months that go by that I only realise because life demands that I pay bills monthly; the years that fly at the end of which I take notice because there is the pressure of looking back and seeing if I have achieved my expectations of the said year and making new resolutions. Some years are good, while others I spend trying so desperately to keep my hopes unbroken.

Time is fickle. My youth is fleeting. I am accumulating days and years at a very fast rate. And I realise that today is the oldest I have ever been and the youngest I will ever be.

The title of this post is from the song The Sound of Settling by Death Cab for Cutie.

Exile on Mainstream

My introduction to, or more precisely, my stumbling upon- because when it comes to music, I seem to stumble upon rather than being introduced to- Matchbox Twenty was by this album, Exile on Mainstream. This is how I remember it: it was in 2010 (3 years after this wonderful collection had come into existence), a couple of months after I was done with my high school career, a time when I had so much time with myself, a time filled with hope, too much hope that has with time turned to tentative hope (but that deserves a whole different post). So I was home listening to the radio, and it was during this mid morning show that was also a request show and a woman texted in to request Unwell. And this is what she said, "Please play for me Unwell by Matchbox Twenty because I am not feeling so well today." I knew this song, I had heard it being played numerous times before, but it was that day that I actually listened to the lyrics. And maybe I cried. And maybe I didn't. But I was moved by this song. And I wanted to know more about Matchbox Twenty. So I went ahead and got myself Exile on Mainstream, and for reasons I couldn't explain, I loved this album. But as it is with things that we obsess about (over), other songs, other albums from other artists and bands flirted shamelessly with me, and I am human, I fell into their charms and I stopped the obsession with Exile on Mainstream or maybe the obsession stopped.

Flash forward, five years later, I am finding myself listening to this album, on repeat. Only that now, I am five years older and wiser(?) I have changed, I have grown, my taste, surprisingly, has become both more and less defined. Taking a peek at my music collection, an observer might find it a little bit messy, a little bit all over the place; it's as if I start on something and I don't see it to completion, there is a lot of incompleteness in my life, and this, I realise, is manifest in the music I listen to.

It's therefore not a coincidence that just as I was listening to Exile on Mainstream after I finished high school, I am going back to it now that I am done with my undergraduate studies. But this time around, I understand why I love this album. This time around I know it's because of the meaning of this compilation and how I completely relate to every song. Or maybe it's because I now like to attach meanings to things, to dig deeper into my psyche and the reasons behind why I love certain things.

Right now, I find myself, or rather life has thrust me into the Mainstream, where I feel unprepared, unbalanced, everything seems strange and unfamiliar as if am in exile. Exile on Mainstream as a title to a whole collection couldn't be more apropos of my life right now. I am hovering in this point of transition, a place that I've been, a place that I keep returning to, a place that's kept me on edge: I am waiting for something only that I don't know what it is I am waiting for.

Matchbox Twenty- Exile on Mainstream

All This Feels Strange and Untrue

My primary school maths teacher taught us what I found to be key in solving all unknowns in the equations. That we start from the known going to the unknown. I didn't know I took that as a life lesson until I typed the sentence, 'l don't sleep much' as the opening to this post. The fact that I don't sleep much is a badly kept secret. Anyway, I slept early today,  just after midnight and I congratulated myself for going to sleep at a decent hour. It is in this state of semi-conscious self congratulatory speech giving that I drifted to a peaceful sleep and all of a sudden I was experiencing a turn of events that my conscious self figured as unreal but I was unable, and perhaps unwilling, to stop them. Not because this dream was pleasant. Quite the contrary, it was unpeaceful, quite a departure from the state I drifted to sleep in. And I observed this turn of events, as if on a screen that was being slid after each scene. And then slowly, I regained full consciousness but that semi conscious dream has left me with this weird feeling that I am trying to shake out, with little success.

The title of this post is from the song Open your Eyes by Snow Patrol.

Just don't ever make me Promises

Under the heading New and Noteworthy, my kindle has the book Bliss and the Art of Forever by Alison Kent and it has been under this heading for the past several weeks and it makes me wonder if the Amazon people don't have other books to advertise to me. I have never clicked the link to the book to see what the book is about, so maybe my distaste, based solely on the title, of the book could be premature. I might read it and find it very interesting. I don't believe in forevers. Especially blissful forevers. And this could be the reason why the presence of the book and the fact that Amazon has decided to put it there makes me resent them.

Now, you may think I am very cynical. I am not. I don't believe in forever. That doesn't mean I don't believe in the longevity of love. I do. I also believe in the uncertainty of tomorrows. This is what makes life worth living. Looking forward to a tomorrow in which you don't know what might happen. True, sometimes all we do is breath, sometimes we meet people we never knew existed, sometimes our tomorrow is just a replica of our today and yesterday. But in all these, there is always an element of surprise invisible to those who don't look closely. That is why I believe the concept of forever as a destination is a misguided one. The heart, with which we trust our love and decisions of our future love lives, is very fickle, it changes it's mind for reasons we might never understand- if you can explain the human heart, maybe we should be friends. I am usually very wary of people who promise each other forevers, and forever being nearly not long enough for them to be together.

Forever as a journey, though, is a concept I am willing to explore. Taking each day in stride, acknowledging that sometimes when we talk about our dreams for the future, what we are doing is not necessarily crafting a lifetime together, or trying to accommodate each other in the dreams we had before our paths crossed.  What we are doing may be preparing ourselves for our eventual parting. But that doesn't have to mean that we shouldn't enjoy the present. The present that has brought us together and which prepares us for the future that may or may not include each other. So when I say don't ever make me promises, it doesn't mean that I don't want a future with you. What it means is that I am enjoying you today, with the hope that I will still enjoy you tomorrow, but I am taking each day as it comes.

The title of this post is from the song Promises Promises by Incubus.

Get into My Ear: Mess is Mine by Vance Joy

https://youtu.be/1C816p-KTNk

Ever since I heard Vance Joy's Mess is Mine playing on the radio, I knew it was a special song, but I couldn't point out what made this song particularly special. Until last night. I was trying to clear the mess that had piled up, dirty clothes, folding up the clean laundry, taking the books from my bed and floor when this song came on the radio. I had to stop for the entire time the song played and was awed by the absolute perfection of this song.

I always tell myself that the reason I am single, and the reason my past relationships haven't worked is because I haven't met someone who when I invite them to my house, and attempt an embarrassed laugh telling them sorry for the mess just to seem as a good hostess (yet in real sense I am not sorry, I am never sorry for the state of my room, whether it is neat or the opposite of neat) they will look at me so lovingly and tell me that my mess is theirs. I think that is what true romance is about- claiming my mess as yours.

Favourite Lyrics

Do you like walking in the rain?
When you think of love, do you think of pain?
You can tell me what you see
I will choose what I believe

Bring me to your house
And tell me, "Sorry for the mess"
Hey, I don't mind
You're talking in your sleep
All the time
Well, you still make sense to me
Your mess is mine

Hold on, darling
This body is yours,
This body is yours and mine
Hold on, my darling
This mess was yours,
Now your mess is mine
Your mess is mine

My Imagination's Taking Me Away

I had my last class today. A class that was four hours long. I am not exaggerating, the class started at 11 and went on till 3. On my way to the said class, I met one of my professors who told me that he couldn't believe that we were finally completing our Bachelors. I had to indulge him in his disbelief that I couldn't imagine it either. What I should have told him, instead, is that I have been imagining this day since my freshman year. I should have told him that I have spent four calender years waiting for this day. I should have told him that I have imagined several different scenarios about how this ending was going to shape out and none of those imagined scenarios are shaping out as I imagined. But. I have lived this moment over and over, albeit in my head. No one can take those moments away from me. And right now, when it's physically here, so close I can almost taste it, I don't feel different. It's just another opportunity for me to relive this phase through, only now, other people are involved. People who keep asking me how I feel, to finally finish school, to finally grow up, to finally have a life. And I wonder, what does it mean to live?

I have talked about my strong dislike for beginnings before. Losing the sights of the familiar ground and having my eyes set on the unknown, every step I take feels uncertain. My legs are wobbly, either that or the ground I am walking on is not strong enough. I feel myself drifting from this side, this familiar side to the other side, the unknown side. Throughout this process of transition, I am buoyed around; and this buoyancy leaves me with a pleasant feeling. Every time I feel like I am sinking, I am pushed upwards by this buoyant force. It's not happiness. No, not really. Though I can't rule it out. It's more of a hopeful feeling, a hope so strong I can barely stand it. I want to get inside this feeling, crawl inside it and never come out. I want to tell everyone I meet about it, but words fail me, because what would I say?

I imagine the possibilities, the myriad of opportunities. I imagine my own place, to finally make Virginia Woolf proud by getting a room of my own. Sidebar, I must have talked about my posthumous love for Woolf? Oh, and travel. I know, a job would hinder how much I travel. But I am happy to no longer have to have my years characterised by semesters, my social activities will not be planned around classes. And friends. I know the challenge of making friends outside of a school institution especially for a person with introverted tendencies, but I am looking forward to see how other people's perspectives towards life affect their opinions.

I feel like a little wild bird. And wild things are free.

The title of this post is from the song Alligator Sky by Owl City.

Take me to Church

Church has been on my mind lately. Not going to church, no not really. It's hard to see myself as part of a congregation anyway. That thought alone leaves an uncomfortable ache at the pit of my stomach. I have been thinking of church, the building. This started on Friday morning. Because I had a late morning, I slept in. By sleeping in, I mean I woke up at eight. That's not exactly sleeping in to some people but that's extremely late for me. Anyway, I had a lot of time to prepare myself to face the day so I put the radio on to a station that I like mostly because of the music they play. They had a game on where they had listeners call in and guess where they had hidden a microphone. The clue to this guessing game was that they played a church bell and people had to guess which church that was. I am not an expert at Catholic churches, hell, I am not an expert at churches, simple. But I didn't know different churches had different bells and that some people had this unique ability to discern the sounds; or maybe they had a different clue that I wasn't aware of.

Later that day, I was having a conversation with an acquaintance who told me that it had been long since he attended Lunch Hour. Lunch Hour is the coming together of members of the Christian Union at campus who get together to sing and pray and whatever else they do at one every weekday. He then casually mentioned that they (the Christian Union) had an event that night and he, casually, extended an invitation. Of course, I politely declined this, I am assuming, well intentioned invitation. And immediately my thoughts on church crept in. The fact that these people who got together for Lunch Hour met in a lecture theatre, and for 60 minutes, that room ceased being a lecture theatre but an, apparently, holy place.

Later that night, I was busy working quietly on my laptop when I heard this sudden singing. It was very sudden, no microphone preparations or the sound of a piano or a guitar. No, it was this sudden off-pitched singing that annoyed me to no end and I had to put music on and listened to it on my earphones. Well, I have been living here for three years now and for these three years, I have been consciously aware that there is a church somewhere behind my bedroom's vicinity, but I have never seen it. You could say that one of the reasons is that I am rarely in that room during the day. You could also say that I just don't like exploring the area where I live. But I never really think about this church other than on Sundays and the last Friday of every month when they have this all night session. Like this past Friday. And whenever I think about it, it's with varying levels of irritation.

My first memory of church is a building structure which was a nursery school. This I gathered from the alphabet and number charts and other nauseatingly colourful drawings all over the walls. Even right now, when I think of church, I think about that first memory. I have been to several churches throughout the years. And almost all of them were not churches in their own right. That nursery school with colourful drawings that distracted me from listening to the sermon. Under that tree next to a bridge and road and people who were selling flowers and all these, needless to say, stole my attention from the pastor. In one of the city's public primary schools and whenever I was there, I couldn't help thinking of myself, not as a congregant, but as a pupil who attended the interpublic primary schools debates and public speaking competitions in that very same hall. That high school dining hall where every once in a while you could hear a spoon falling in the silence of the hall, and where I struggled to stay upright since I couldn't help but fall asleep during the sermon, and the smoke coming from the kitchen near the end of the service. That recreational hall in high school (adjacent to the basketball court) where all I did was think about the previous evening when we had danced to secular music and watched not so very holy movies with girls screaming over unattainable Holywood men. The most recent was just a tent and I am glad I was never there when it rained.

Anyway, I don't know why I am going on and on about this, but I want to go to church. Not to pray or listen to sermons. But I want to visit a church and look at the building, and replace my memory of church from walls adorned with charts specifically meant for kids who are learning to read to walls that inspire meditation and hope through their art (not Bible verses, and surely to God, not photos of the pastor and their partner).

The title of this post is from the song Take me to Church by Hozier.