People and their Deceiving Lies
I sometimes wonder, do I really look that stupid, or is it my compromising and peaceful nature that people lie at my very face, although they are aware of the fact that I know they are lying. Am I the one being deceived, or are they deceiving themselves? Don’t they know that by running away from their problems, they can only delay the trouble and not end it? The best way to end the pain is to face it and let it go through you. Why can’t they stand up to their deeds and face the consequences? Why do I always have to inform people of their own feelings, their own desires while I am not fully aware of my very own ones? Why can’t they just tell me in the face they don’t like me and not leave it up to me to guess it? Why is it that first they come up to me and expect me to be there for them. And when, out of i-dont-know-what i am there for them, i am the one who is not wanted. And worse still, they dont even have the guts to hit me in the face with the fact that I am not wanted.
Realities and Dreams
Books have always been more then a part of my life. Every now and then, I am with some new book, trying to feel it as deep as possible. Nowadays, I was going through Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. The death of Anna, and the previous incidents which lead her to it, made me feel really confused about women and their feelings. How hard it is sometimes to explain the most simplest things to them. Or is it that what we men think simple mean more than important to women, or was it just something wrong with Anna, and she was looking at things rather differently. Thinking deeper and deeper, and getting more involved with her then Alexey himself, I suddenly realized that the person I was worried about was no one but a character from a fictional novel about a Russian women. May be she didn’t even exist, or may be she does. May be she was a thought in Tolstoy's mind, or may be it was the glimpse of one of the emotional incidents of his life which was displayed in his writings, consciously or unconsciously. Why do I feel she exists, or rather existed, and died the very moment I read about her death in the novel. Is it true, that if i hadnt read that page, she might have lived on, might not have jumped ( or fell rather) beneath the ravering train, the iron piece moved by the peasant of her dreams. Am i the cause of her death, or was it destined to ? Or was it just the choice of the writer himself that she must die, or was he also helpless in this regard, as the start and end of life of every kind is in the hands of GOD, or so i heard. Confusions confusions confusions.. will they ever end ?? The only thing I can think of right now, is to stop thinking so that to get out of this trans and get into the realities of life, which arn't guranteed to be real anyways. May be its a dream im dreaming, or worse, a dream of someone in which i exist.
Memories, or are they ?
Asalamoalikum, and Hi guys n gals..
This is my first actual attempt to start a blog. This sounds pretty astonishing for the people who know me well, as I am a total Net Addict and am into anything that comes up. Blogs have been around for long but I for some reasons couldn't start one of my own, though I always thought I should.
I would like to acknowledge Henna Arshad, as she unintentionaly brought me to this and I sort of said, "ok enuff is enuff, this is high time for u to start a blog of your own" so here I am.
Thanx Henna, look u again left an impression :).
Anyways, I hope I can put up with it, and keep letting my innerboils, expressed over here.
