We all have our own personal story. I am not referring to everyday humdrum of life, I mean that continuous thread that runs through our life, that specific theme, that certain nuance, that flavour that makes this space and time uniquely ours.
I tell the story of my life in my daily diaries, or do I? how much veracity is there when an author claims to disclose his life? do we take his word for it? do we believe what is said as the truth or do we read between the lines and draw our own inferences? Am I here, at this public forum telling my days as they go, or am I in some form mixing fiction with fact?
The thing is whenever we tell something, we are of course partially telling the truth, it isn't exact factual detail, it is how we see things and how we choose to talk about them. Our telling of our stories is actually a fusion of what is and what may be, and what is not all blended in like ingredients in a fine gourmet sauce, which eventually tastes wonderful.
I spent the morning cleaning up my and Musti's room and the bathrooms, dusting, washing and putting things in their place. I still have my closet to do which is screaming to be put in order, but somehow I'm avoiding it like the plague, you know one of those funny moods where I just don't care about my closet! My study is another room that needs to be dusted and put in place as there are papers piling up on my desk and there are books strewn everywhere. I hope I find the energy and the inclination to do that in the next few days to come....
Are we progressing in time? Is every new day a move along a continuum or is it just the same time with only different things happening? Is death a morbid subject? Am I scared of dying? well, these were some of the things we were discussing at dinner, and the one thing that I keep hearing very often from different people is the fear of 'qabar ka azab.' Is there such a thing? I am told it is said in the quran that there is, but I haven't read it myself and will hold my opinion till I get to it. Who has seen the other side? who has come back from the dead to verify of such a thing? and even if there is what would we be after dying that we must be so scared of it?
Anyway, I am told I write of morbid and depressing things. That my writings are scary. I'm sure they are for fear itself is continuity and one constant in my life that seeps its way through my words for the world to see. Can I be ever free of my fears? That is one thing I truly hope for!
Comments
Post a Comment