Born Confused

traveling, traveling, whilst home becomes alien… sleeping weird and odd hours and listening to stories upon stories in different languages

my dreams seem to intimate life sometimes in a exotic language –japanese, korean… or some hybrid and then that I will spend a whole night trying to figure out a single word and wake up with it forgotten.

reality is a blur and time seems to be running through my fingers like precious gold coins… falling… falling… falling…

trying to savior moments… but i have seemed to realize we don’t have the capacity to truly hold that fullness and feeling it is only the memory we truly cherish and long for but by then it’s gone.

what a futile existence.

my mind is fog… perhaps i dream reality. the line is no longer definite these days; there’s this wind of paint swirling my mind with the land of dreams wasting my existence away.

life is becoming a bore

One of the great errors of an elite education, then, is that it teaches you to think that measures of intelligence and academic achievement are measures of value in some moral or metaphysical sense.
-William Deresiewicz

The essence… a pure definable measure, accuracy … this is the lofty aspiration of words and its power. At times eyes unfocused, as if seeing another realm, ponders upon the essence mired by distractions and limitations on the observing party, and perhaps even on the side of the observed altering and shifting natural world of anarchy… a shape of indefinable corners… rolling, spinning, rotating… ever-changing.
Gazing at hands, contemplating the splendor of voice, scrutinizing the articulation of foot and body… trying to comprehend the capacity of beauty these talents maintain. From time to time, these are pure endowments, not manifestations of something deeper. Like a blossom’s splendor catches the eye and initial interest these talents can wrap up—meaning, these endowments become distracting hindrances in relevance to the expedition to the quintessence.
What is it though?

“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things - air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky - all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” - Cesare Pavese

it was probably 2 in the morning. still warm. i wanted to walk until no end but instead i was sitting on a bench with a friend beside me. across from us were more benches surrounded with companions of a passed out individual who would later start puking in doses.

“alhumdullah –inshAllah. but it can get lonely. but loneliness doesn’t bother or scare me.”

–

i think about this dialogue now. loneliness does bother me. it’s why i travel so much; am so restless.

or maybe because i don’t fit in.

i once read a quote by Ibn Battuta, after he finally arrived in his birth place, that went something like this: “being a traveler makes one a stranger in his homeland”