Are you looking for beauty or finding faults?

Love is a very simple thing, and we tend to complicate the simplest of things. It’s unnecessary to go in the details of everything, to discover its chemical basis, its origin… the first story. I don’t feel the need to do any such thing. Even though love can be quite vast in its meaning, it’s really not that difficult. We make it difficult though, categorizing it and sizing it up. Why? What’s the point of falling in love with a single person when you can fall in love with so many things, over and over again?

We’ve all heard the about the difference of loving and being in love. Why? Why can’t we fall in love with everything? Why can’t we sincerely like all the things that we want to? We can, but we don’t. We don’t because there is this general hype about falling in love with one beautiful person.

I do not believe it. I fall in love with so many things, people, deeds etcetera. Not love them, but fall in love with them. I fall in love with words; random words scrawled on walls, on paper, on blogs, on social sites, by people I don’t know and I might not ever know and I fall in love with them.

I fall in love with poetry, not necessarily famous poets, like Whitman, Plath, Yeats… no, everybody loves them. I fall in love with poetic verses that bloom out of nowhere in the minds of random people all across the globe. They jot them down and forget, but so many people fall in love with them.

I fall in love with deeds; a tiny gesture, a smile. A stranger smiling at a stranger, a scene I only witness, a scene I am not even a part of and I fall in love with it.

I fall in love when I see two people falling in love. I fall in love with their love. I look at them, once practically strangers and know so close and dear to one another. How can I not fall in love?

I fall in love with the nature; clouds, a sunrise, a glimpse of the dark sky where only a single star gleams, an eclipse, the expanse of water stretching out till the ends whilst I float in the middle of it, the promise of land beyond. I fall in love with them even though I know that they won’t come again as themselves. The next sunrise would be different, the sea will be taken by a tide, and the clouds will change form. Everything will become a new something to fall in love with, only to change again.

I fall in love with art. All sorts; decorating the corners of a notebook, painted on walls, an incoherent mix of color in an adolescent’s sketch-pad. I fall in love with laughter, echoing from the house next door, the table beyond ours; people reveling in their own personal and private jokes with laughter echoing out as one.

I fall in love with so much more, and each time I do, I fall slightly in love with the people associated with it. And you do, too. You are falling in love, too, not just once but over and over again, with people you don’t know, things you don’t understand, stories you haven’t read… you are falling without categorizing, you are falling in love genuinely without thinking about the consequences.

The world, you see, is a beautiful place. And it’s filled with so much love that if we consider it, we can take over the hate. Fall in love with it.

-Momina.

Crazy Rambling #10

Lately I’ve been finding extreme fascination in withering flowers, roses, to be specific. I pluck them off from our garden a little before they are about to shed their petals, and arrange them into an oasis. Eventually they become limp and flaccid and dry out in their dropped posture. They are incredibly fascinating if you take your time to look at them, to really see them, not just a glance. They are untold stories, incomplete, yet they hold a charm far more precious than all the finished stories, all the happy endings. Even though they dry out, they are pretty, worth saving. 

I've never understood why people press roses between the pages of a book; there is little beauty in something you are forcing to die. And personally, I find nothing interesting in looking at a rose flower that is pressed until it’s flimsy and lean. It’s a full blown rose that darkens in color, that closes upon itself as it dies and dries that holds my attention. It’s beautiful, still intact. Somehow still living and fragrant. It’s the incomplete story of those roses that fascinates me, and I've always been a sucker for unfinished stories.

-Momina.

The Bigger Picture

When among all the rights you do, a tiny bad thing done by you doesn't matters. But it does, not to you of course, for you think it's only fair that you attempt a tiny bad thing in your otherwise pious atempts but it's wrong and unfair to the one unfortunate person that is losing something. It's unjust to them. And it break them inside that you'd do the right with everyone, but wrong with them.

The thing about us is that we categorize. We favor. And we do it without taking in account the consequences. Without going in details, favoring the big picture. But that very picture is incomplete without the details. Stare a little longer and you'll see the missing patterns, the place where you missed it. The wonderful picture suddenly looks very very ugly. And that detail that you missed is often the reason some people break down deep inside. You become the reason, because you don't value. You value yourself. We can stop entertaining people for a material thing but we think a thousand times before we acknowledge a person over material thing.

We need to look at the bigger picture, not just a sweeping glance, but really look at it, taking in details before you act or add.

-Momina.

Fire & Ice

She had stepped out for only a moment; she assumed it would be the same cold and dark night as usual. But now, she was standing there in the light drizzle staring mystified at the sky, for almost twenty minutes. The sky which was not dark and brooding like everyday but orange as if it burned. It was extraordinary, beautiful yet scary. Transfixed she looked at the wide stretched horizon, the burn started deep from one end and faded into the grey sky at the other diagonal end. The night was lit like day, but sun had set long ago and not even midnight was upon them yet. She shivered despite the several layers she wore, something invoked deep inside her as she tore her gaze reluctantly from the orange sky, suppressing the urge to cry at it, she rushed inside.

She huddled in the three blankets, squeezing into a ball, hugging herself but not managing to stop trembling. She ducked inside, sealing all sides of the blankets, breathing hard in the stuffy air, wishing the cold to subside. She dare not even take an inch of her out; she felt cold as ice but her temperature rose way above. A fire blazed deep within her while the rest of her body turned to ice.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #7

I love staring at the clouds; they fascinate me for various weird and crazy reasons. And lying in the sun, gazing at the white cotton like wisps of clouds is very peaceful, or at least I find it so. Also, I find it beautifully deceptive. Like cotton candy. It seems as if a pure white silken thread is being spun in the clear blue skies, yet when we ascend it’ nothing but a fog like thick illusion. Illusions; isn’t life filled with those. If our fate and destiny are written, then aren’t choices just a delusion? Like common sense, said to be so common, but lacking in every other. Illusions we believe in and take them for granted. But what is life without these illusions? Nothing, they are the reason that we construct so many thoughts. And without them, it’s like staring at a perfectly cloudless blue sky, nowhere to look with something different. No choices to make. Clouds, they are important.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #1 | Crazy Ramblings #2 | Crazy Ramblings #3 | Crazy Ramblings #4 | Crazy Ramblings #5 | Crazy Ramblings #6

Echoing secrets

It’s in the wee hours of the morning when everything is so still it’s almost sinister, when the silence can be shattered by the drop of a pin, when it’s slightly scary even in the comfort of your own house; it’s in these dark moments that deep thoughts prevail me and I get the urge to write down all those. They are not about my life, these thoughts; they are about life in general, about the laws of nature and about people, strangers and friends alike. 

In these hours nothing makes sense and yet all of it makes more sense than ever. It’s so intricately designed, to be understood but at a certain moment, to be known but at a specific time; when you doubt it. When you suspect the truth of your thoughts and when truth is not transparent but lucid. The reality is so obvious that it’s suffocating.

And as dawn descends my pen just hovers over the paper, it has left splotches of ink; dark blue circles spread across the clear page. I recognize the truth but I have no power to write it, my thoughts reside but my words escape and betray me. A betrayal that doesn't hurts, an infidelity so obvious it is looked over, for these secrets are meant to be realized not spoken. Everyone falls through the reality of these moments, none can flee and none can incarcerate it in words or so. They are meant for all of us alone, secrets of nature that are meant to exist in in nature only. 

-Momina.

Picture source: http://stanzlife.wordpress.com/

Break us down.

Sometimes we lose to expectations and then we fall hard, on our face. We deny it, we scream and we look for unseen closure. Thinking of all our hard work, our prayers and our expectations, all failed to nothing. We cheat ourselves. We act. We pretend. Because we know, deep down, that we never really worked hard enough, we lacked. We prayed, yes. We kept expectations higher than necessary, yes. But we failed so we pretend.

We crumble under our own expectations and the carry the weight of those hopes that others have from us. We hide from the truth and the acceptance of our faults. And so we blame. We blame it on every possible option. We break, inside. We doubt and we lose joy. In the end we just sag; unable to carry the weight anymore, of the acceptance and expectations and reality.

-Momina.

Love

Love, what is it, really?

A simple emotion to show that you care and understand, or a complex mode, that envelops you inside itself, making it unmanageable to disentangle?
Love, they say you never plan of falling for it, it just happens. Like meant-to-be’s. Like miracles? 

Love, they say it gives you infinite happiness. Just like taking you over the moon and your frequent visits to cloud nine. Or the feeling when your feet don’t stay on the ground.

I think I know love. I think I understand. Why wouldn't I?

I have seen it happen, I have felt it. I know the gusto of it, I know it’s craze.

It’s blissful. It’s petty.

It’s ecstatic. It’s contagious. 

It’s the serenity of living in a dream. It’s the beauty of being awake in that very dream.

It’s the dream of reality.

Why wouldn't I know love? Why wouldn't I feel it? It’s there around me. It’s not a lover’s kiss for me; it’s my sister’s peck, my friends’ smiles. The laughter and love in all those eyes that are around me. The sparkle and the sheen. I know love and that’s love.

It’s the afterglow that sustains, forever.

-Momina.

Picture source: http://www.facebook.com/HaadPhotography?fref=ts

Once you close those eyes...

When you close your eyes there are two things you envision. Initially it’s one; as soon as you close your eyes you imagine before you scenes from your imagination, thoughts of the past and expectations and dream for the future. But focusing a little you’ll see a reality, the actual darkness of your closed eye lids, focus without opening them, it velvety and swirly and deep…endless. Infinite? Focus too much and you lose it as you pry open your eyes. Balance your concentration and you can watch it for hours that are really minutes, which are really just seconds. Because in a moment the strain of the focus will make you open your eyes.

And that my friends, is life. There are our dreams and aims and then there is reality which is endless the more you go into it the more it turns in to a labyrinth. And just when you are about to get a grasp of it you are stirred up by karma, which either gives you your dreams, or reality.

-Momina.

Roadside treats

We all travel an aimless, useless journey. It’s nothing till we move on and realize, and it’s then, that it becomes meaningful. Striving us towards a purpose and strengthening it as we move on. The result always tempting us to move further, one step faster, one jump closer. We are fragments of nothing until there comes a reason of achievement.  We are just travelers of a barren road attracted by the occasional treats to feed our purpose.

But one often embarks on a journey with a mind set so adamantly on a subject that we forget most of the journey. We forget to enjoy the path. There’s always the leaping forward and grabbing the prize; what comes to you on that way is of not of a mere importance. And in those moments of lust for the prize and the fire of winning we very often lose. Not the race but to the reality; to the acceptance that, that which came to us on the way was far more important, more infinite than the end prize itself only then you’ve lost it and seldom does it comes back.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #5

It's better to stop expecting anything from others and to keep up to only your expectations and only for yourself. Why? Because sometime, somewhere everyone is going to disappoint you and to save yourself thedisappointment of being disappointed you need to stop keeping expectations. Save yourself some misery, because you would be disappointing people too. So, it's just better to set your own goals, reach them, have a personal celebration and be happy. The point is being happy. And you'll only be happy when nobody is hurting you and you are hurting nobody. I am not sure why I am writing this, but I think we all need to be happy. It's important. I am crazy.

The game of fate!

the following piece is inspired by the 'the red thread of fate' theory. Thank you 'U' for sharing it, this ones for you.

She laughs loudly sitting in a circle of friends as she sweeps her hair out of her eyes with both hands, like a child would; her eyes are partially closed from the effort of laughing hard and her nose crinkled.  Whilst he sits at his home in front of the ever inescapable play station despite of his age, his hair is uncut and he doesn't care about half what going around. They sit miles apart at the moment yet they are destined to spend the rest of their lives together. For most she'd be passed as an average looking girl but for him then she'd become an enchanting sight; he would crave to look at, her laugh for him would become a brilliant melody  so captivating he'd follow it forever. And for her, for her his presence would be of enough wealth that she could ignore every other need or desire, for he'll become her strength. The red thread has been knotted to each of their little fingers. It may stretch, tangle or loosen but it would never break or come off. It will sustain till they find their destiny, till they find each other. Let the show of fate begin.

Momina.

Realisation strikes.

'She is scared. Yes. She shudders thinking about the near future, she cries silently in the darkness of the late nights…'

I stop and stare at the words I have written. My words. Words describing my feelings yet I make them anonymous.

"You are a coward" a voice from deep within my mind rumbles.

I shrug; I know so, of course.

"A COWARD" the voice is much more blunt and stabbing this time.

Despite myself I quiver suddenly with fear. I know I am one.

"What are you afraid of? That your friends might read this? They are friends! They'll know it! There is nothing to be afraid of, leave that hiding place of yours. Come up front, show yourself, there is more to you than you think, let people know. Come out! " 

I don’t know if it was a lecture, an order or a mere speech. I sigh, I feel something, a little confidence.

"Believe! Start over!"

I do as told. I write again, once more.

'I am scared. Yes. I shudder thinking about the near future, I cry silently in the darkness of the late nights… I am not sure if I walk alone or are all those I love beside me. I am not sure if my steps are steadfast, I do not want to stumble I know I'll bruise. I want support; I want them around me together, because together we'll manage. I know so.'

I can! I smile, I write on. It's me this time.

Momina.

Pondering over the incredible.

This world amazes and it continues to after seventeen years, and I have a feeling it will keep on doing it. It's like playing a mystery game. I never gave it much thought before but it's really… incredible. It holds so so many people within with so many different opinions and yet still they live here, together. Whereas, even when one fights with two sides of himself he eventually looses to one, people with big hearts and little knowledge, people with big wallets and shallow hearts, people on their own, people who live for others, people so unlike one another. Incredible! Apart from the people there is much to contemplate about. Like, the world is round so there might be people living right beneath us, after we cross all those rocks and magma and what not, but they will be there but, we never know we might be the ones hanging down without knowing! Imagine what will happen if suddenly gravity is switched off! We wouldn’t just be floating around in our house, we'd soon be floating up up and away, away from our protected atmosphere right into the sharp claws of vacuum, space! And we wouldn’t be having all that equipment and glass (or are they plastic?) helmets like astronauts! Point to ponder, right? And what about all those huge glaciers, oceans, volcanoes and every other enormous and amazing things created by god, that’s becoming right up after us, in space? Ever wondered that how many incredible galaxies are around us? Holding as many creatures as us who might be exploring this universe just like humans are? Ever considered how the very things we rely on will cause our defeat?  Imagine how much more threatening our creations are to us than a mere human who is just like us! The world is great, majestic, magnificent and enigmatic! There's a lot more to it then we realize and every time it will open a new surprise to us. Incredible, isn’t it?

Momina.

picture from: http://www.facebook.com/Urbah.V.Photography