I have tried repeatedly to write a blog these past couple of months. To no avail. I feel like I have been punching the same wall for all of this time, which is probably more fitting for my life right now than you would think, seeing as I have taken up Taekwondo with my partner at a local martial arts’ school. A wall made out of metal, it must be, for it simply will not budge, no matter what kind of implement I use. It is almost as though I am undergoing so much, that I do not know which emotion I should pull away and dissect first. Or maybe I am feeling nothing, although that concept scares me slightly, now that I have mentioned it. Even now, my writing feels stilted; forced, as though English is not my mother tongue; as though I am thinking in a completely different language (Ket, for example, arguably the most obscure dialect one can know), yet before I can even utter a sentence, I have to think fastidiously as to which way the words go; pronuciation; transitive or intransitive verbs; the place of articulation…
I keep asking myself key questions that will help me in life: where should I go after this? Who with? To do what? But my answers are so discursive that I end up giving up and thinking about mundane matters, like ‘what to have for dinner,’ as my Religious Studies teacher would say. There are times when I am so set and decisive, that I feel like I have known all my life, yet this facade slips after a while, and I turn back to wandering aimlessly down a path when I do not know what is around the next corner.
And I know I should not be like this; I try constantly to put the future to the back of my mind and focus my fixation on the now – ‘do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment,’ as the Buddha once said – yet my mind keeps floating back (or forward) to that illusive tomorrow, which I know may and will never come. In so many Eastern religions, mindfulness is key to suceeding, which means living in the moment; being wholeheartedly aware of what is going on within and around you for that nanosecond before it changes and is gone (and then onto your next thought). I know for sure that it would help one refrain from suffering, as well as controlling anger, which would in turn lead to the end of any grief. I know the idea is to not cling, to be detached from things which do not help you down the right path, but lately I have been finding this difficult, as though I am a kite high up in the sky, able to see for miles around, constantly thinking about other people’s dilemmas, for example, the man walking a few hundred kilometres below, who has tears in his eyes beneath those large, dark sunglasses. I cannot soar free like a bird, yet I can reach the same heights, for someone or something below is holding me back; anchoring me to the world I live in.
And should I allow myself to be held back? Or should I let go: feel the breeze on my face as I skitter off? But can I already feel that breeze on my face, even though I am not completely free; is it the feeling you get when you are attached; when you have a bond with someone or something so steady that you can come undone?
I guess the crux of this blog is that I could have executed the aforementioned so many times before, promised myself time and time again that in my next breath, I will change. But what if I am a goldfish, and every few breaths, I lose my memory – cannot think back on what I have promised myself before? I guess I shall have to wait until I enter life with that freedom, before I can completely detach.
Is that so wrong?