Crisis!

Life is full of it. Identity crisis. Midlife crisis. This crisis. That Crisis. I don’t understand any of it. But I feel all of it.

When P confesses astonishment about one’s need for identity, I am confused. As far as I am concerned, that’s the whole idea of living – having one’s own identity. I can’t think otherwise. Having an identity is not just important, to me it is imperative. I believe that our every action & non action defines our identity. It may not be unique, tho’ we all would wish, think and believe it to be.

But P has a different story to tell. In his world, there is no need for an identity – an individual’s or a group’s. It is this identity that limits us, causes strife, he says. That may be, but even so how can one not have an identity. I don’t understand it!

But do we really have an identity? If so, is it determined by our DNA? Our environment? Our stars? Or simply by us? Does our identity keep changing with time or is it our perception of it that changes. Again is our perception independent from our identity?

I am perpetually in the state of identity crisis. I don’t really know what it means. But I know that nothing gives me a sense of identity any more. With every move in my life, I struggle to hold on to my old identity that had no place in the new environment. I resist change for the fear of losing my identity. Finally when I am prepared for the change, it is already time for another change. The trend continues and I am still struggling to find my identity.

I ask again, does our identity or our perception of it change with time? And are they really independent of each other?

Am I a confused, bored, cynic because that’s who I think I am, I should be? Is that my identity? Is that who I wish to be? Or is that who I believe myself to be? Now this is beginning to sound like that ‘piece of art’ I wrote sometime ago!

Well, I was never very good with words, but currently my thoughts are so intermingled that even coherence seems far far away!

 

An Ode to

The one who creeps in
With a slight scratch.
While he pricks like a pin
All you can do is sit & watch.

At all cost you want him gone
So you indulge in an useless skirmish
Lemsip, vicks, milk with turmeric & so on
(antibiotics if you are more foolish)

You may run around with trepidation
But you know, nothing’s of any use,
He will remain in your station
Countering every action with his ruse.

As he takes over your body
Your throat, nose, head, face,
You swear, you haven’t seen anyone so shoddy
No one else can leave you in such deep malaise.

Alas, after a week, you are used to him
You give up fighting, lay down your arms,
bow down in front of him who is so grim
Only to find him else where trying his charms!

{Note: The (bad) poem is not the effect of ‘him’. This is what I am truly capable of!}

 

Long but not slow!

Boring days at work make the day seems so long! Fast furious days makes  it seem shorter (but not necessarily more fun). Holiday or weekend seems longer than fast furious day but shorter than the boring days. Why? I get it, slightly, after this.