Beginnings

There are many beginnings in life. Everyday, you wake up to a brand new morning clear of the attachments of yesterday. The recollection of the previous day and the events that took place may linger or remain in your mind and yet here you are, given a chance at life with fresh starts again and again though you may not even realize it.


For the longest time I saw the start of life as the time that I was born into this world and being born was the ultimate beginning of life. Growing into a child, I never thought to ponder on life as I was often govern by my strong sense of will,feelings and passion (I still am, perhaps with a dabble of sensibility and rationality gained from the foolishness of my younger years). Then I became a teen and my ability to think critically greatly decreased as emotions became the lust of life. To feel was to experience and to experience was to live. I took great liberties with my self created maxim and went about life doing as I please, failing to think deeply.


And now, I do think. Not as little as before, but not as much as I should. I think that life is filled with many pathways and these pathways always have a place to start at. Finally! My fatuous, naive mind has finally realize that in every event in life, there is a new commencement.


The beauty about beginnings is that they are fresh, untouched, uncharted and filled with grace from God. For that, I am truly thankful to Him.



I think back now on all the paths I've taken and recall all my beginnings in life. They are filled with blessings and at the same time lessons for me to learn.


Everyone talks about roadblocks of the journey, yet nobody ever talks about the exhilaration experienced at the start of every journey.

Here is to a new beginning in my life. 

That is not the case now

I think that I am not living. I am merely going through the motions of life. The daily requirements needed to sustain myself. For what purpose? I wish I knew. Waking up in the mornings feels like a forced decision. What is there for me now when I awake? A routine. For the past 3 months, I've been living in my mind because my reality to me now seems bleak. I have tried and now I tire.

I am a person who appreciates productivity. I can't sit back and watch the world go by without doing something. It gives me a sense of worth, happiness, fulfillment. When I'm making full use of the day with activity, I feel that I am truly living life.

That is not the case now.

They say that you are capable of making choices, yet, lately I think that the choices are making me. The state of inactivity that I am in now. Believe me, everyday I wish I could pursue my dreams and make it into reality. I used to wake up with the notion that today is another day to work towards becoming the person I want to be. The person I can be. 

That is not the case now.

I did not ask to be placed in this horrible consternation. I did not seek the path of of obscurity. Yet, here I am in the midst of everything and nothing. I don't think anyone truly understands the great turmoil my mind is going through, nor the ache in my heart for a revelation. I am not ungrateful for the life I have. I just cannot make sense of it. 

This is the case now. 

Perfume : The Story of a Murderer.

I have an affinity towards reading books. Before I leave home, I would make sure to check if I had stuffed a reading material into my most inconvenient sling bag and fill my time in the train reading until I reached my destination. 

I don't have a specific genre which I prefer but I most certainly enjoy a good historical fiction book. Lately, I have decided to retreat to the Classics. The beauty of language is so evidently seen in classics, so incomparable to all John Green books put together, in my opinion that is. 

Not long ago, I was talking to a friend of mine. I asked her what was her favorite book and she said

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind

I remember feeling surprised that my friend who has a very eclectic taste in things would be intrigued by a murder related book. However, knowing her, I'm sure she had a good reason to say so.

I now know why it is her favorite. It all made sense after I clasped the book in my hands after having finished reading the last line of the book. My mind was distorted. I couldn't comprehend the magnitude of realization that hit me. 

After reading a few analysis on the book, watching the movie adaptation and talking to the same friend who introduced me to the book, I thought I will attempt to write my take on Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. 

Here is the summary of Perfume which I unashamedly copied from Goodreads.

In the slums of eighteenth-century France, the infant Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is born with one sublime gift — an absolute sense of smell. As a boy, he lives to decipher the odors of Paris, and apprentices himself to a prominent perfumer who teaches him the ancient art of mixing precious oils and herbs. But Grenouille's genius is such that he is not satisfied to stop there, and he becomes obsessed with capturing the smells of objects such as brass doorknobs and fresh-cut wood. Then one day he catches a hint of a scent that will drive him on an ever-more-terrifying quest to create the "ultimate perfume" — the scent of a beautiful young virgin. Told with dazzling narrative brillance, Perfume is a hauntingly powerful tale of murder and sensual depravity.

I won't go into a detailed retelling of the book to avoid any spoilers for those who might want to read or watch the movie but I'll give my opinion on the most morbidly fascinating book I've ever read thus far.

I found the writing style to be greatly witty and amusing. I was taken into the story almost immediately into the first chapter. There is such a wide usage of vocabulary used. I dare say I have learnt almost 50 words and it's meaning in reading just this book. With that, I constantly found myself referring to my Merriam Webster phone dictionary. 

What strike me as very different from most books I've read is the exploration of human nature from a very primitive aspect. As what my friend shared with me, it showed the animalistic side of human beings. The fact that is was stringed together with aestheticism and art was a plus point.

The concept that something so simple and uncomplicated such as scent could appeal to mankind's base nature so immensely that it could influence people to behave in a way they would never have if they were not manipulated by scent was blew me away.

It also displays how far one would go for flourish their art and preserve beauty, in an olfactory manner in terms of this book.

Certain events in the book caught me off guard especially the sex related scenes. I have to qualms about books or movie having sexual content. For this book, it was necessary as it was to portray the sexual depravity of human beings. I'm not too keen on the  idea of sex for the entertainment or pleasure tools in a book or movie but I understand the usage of it in the context of this book and with many other books as well. This one was rather morbid so I won't go into the details of it.

Here and there, I got a little bit overwhelmed with the explanations of creating scent and the process involved. It it welcome many distractions to my reading time. It felt a little bit long winded in the middle but it picked up it's pace after a while.

All in all, I think Perfume: The Story of a Murder was a genius depiction of when man indulgence in their greatest passion and what one would do to procure art and beauty.

“For people could close their eyes to greatness, to horrors, to beauty, and their ears to melodies or deceiving words. But they couldn't escape scent. For scent was a brother of breath. Together with breath it entered human beings, who couldn't defend themselves against it, not if they wanted to live. And scent entered into their very core, went directly to their hearts, and decided for good and all between affection and contempt, disgust and lust, love and hate. He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men.” 

-  Perfume: The Story of a Murder, Patrick Suskind

Neither here, nor there

I never knew a time would come where I would be forced to be in temporary unproductivity. In simpler terms, I never thought I'd ever be in a position where I'm not in college neither am I working.

Neither here, nor there.

Due to several unforeseen circumstances where my studies are concerned, I am left in a place of uncertainty. Uncertainty with where I am to continue my studies and what I am to do in the mean time. I for one cannot stand the idea of not having a plan. Of not knowing where I'm going. I highly dislike the idea or the reality of being in a place of undetermined surety. 

I guess it's because of a few reasons. The fear of the not knowing my future and what is to become of me and the restless of being unable to move forward. 

There are days when I wish that I can foresee my future just so I'll be prepared to face whatever is to come my way. Also, it really soothes my anxious and rather foolish mind to cease overthinking.

I am one who can't stand being in one place for too long. Perhaps its because I like being doing something, being productive.I like keeping myself busy doing something at all times. My nature is such that I am not laid back and relaxed. Of course I do like a few moments to be still but not for too long.

So what does one do in the event that they are placed in vagueness? 

Does one accept the circumstances and move forward even though the path may not be clear and straight?

or

Does one dwell upon the matter and hope for a divine intervention?

What do you think?

Defense and Capitulation

Sometimes, for some ungodly reason or so, I find the need to defend myself or my point of view, even if I may be wrong. I find it utterly difficult to acquiesce and accept the fact that perhaps there might be some flaws in my efforts of fortification. At times, it is almost impossible for me to let go of my opinions/feelings or understanding of matters. Basically, I find it difficult to obdurate.

Then I think to myself,

Why do I DEFEND myself?

My loved ones have asked me this question and for so long I had no response. I couldn't find the appropriate response to this rather elementary query. After much thinking, I have come to an understanding with myself on why I defend myself.

It is because I perceive that it is not my view that is being challenged, but I who is being challenged. Of course, I most probably am very wrong to think that but it happens. I cannot comprehend or accept the fact that many times, I may be in the wrong. Why is that so? Why, it is the horrible pride I have in myself thinking that my view points, my opinion, my side are always right. I cannot bear 

 to think that I am in the wrong.

Another reason why I defend myself I think that occasionally I am misunderstood. My actions, behavior, speech is misunderstood by so many that I have to keep explaining myself, showing them that my point of view or actions are not what they perceive or understand it to be. I think it's perfectly fine to clarify yourself or to explain your side however it is in the manner of which you proceed to do so that is taken to be an act of defense. There are times when I am trying to make matters unambiguous but I get my emotions involved which most often are strong. It causes things to be heated up and slowly I find myself becoming slightly belligerent.

And perhaps another reason is I find it hard to capitulate, to surrender and to raise my white flag. It's hard to come to a place of total surrender, or letting go. I for one am a person who has a tight grip in things and when I am put in a place where I have to let these things slip through my fingers, often I don't take it very easily. Perhaps I see surrender as defeat. I see it as I have lost my fight and now I have to succumb to submission. Then there are times when I think that I am justifiably in the right and to come to a point of giving in to the other person is such an obtuse and unfair thing to do. Yet, when I think about it, sometimes, it is only sensible to let things go. It may be difficult but with time, there will be a peace.

It's still a struggle to me. The battle between defending myself or capitulating. Choosing the right time and the right way to explain myself and giving in to another. In time, I will find peace. 

Rebirth

Somewhere in my distant past when I thought it was swell to be androgynous and to cut my own fringe (those jagged edges did nothing to conceal my slightly protruding forehead), I had a blog. No doubt, it was one of those puerile teenage blogs filled with angst and a tad  bit ( okay fine, A LOT) of drama only a 14 year old could conjure. Surprisingly I managed to maintain my blog till I became 17.

For some reason or another, I decided that no one should endure the musings and cogitations of my mind nor should they put themselves through anymore emotionally charged postings.  Also, I felt that the time had come to bury certain retrospection in the past and move along with what was in front of me. Believe me, I enjoyed blogging. The thrill of finding a pretty layout, the frustration of embedding codes, the furious typing of thoughts and the satisfaction of clicking on "Publish".

After much thought, I finally decided to start blogging again. Why? I think that blogging helps in getting my thoughts out. Why not try writing in a journal? Well, I do journal occasionally but a blog would help me share my cogitations and perhaps spark a discussion with others.

Why from my stained windows? 

Shakespeare mused that "the eyes are the window to your soul". 

You would have the privilege or the utter catastrophe of a glimpse into my pilgrim soul.

But why stained? It's because I am flawed. My soul is not in a state of apotheosis. 

Here's to the rebirth of a buried passion and a commencement of something new.