the loop

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“In suffering, you’ve found a greater understanding and appreciation for all of life’s wonders. You’re still trying to believe it every day. One morning you convince yourself it will all be worth it the next you’re down and believe it all to be worthless.”

-Connor Franta, Note to self

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getting up

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“…neither sickness nor sorrow seemed to have closed her heart or ruined her spirits.”

Jane Austen, Persuasion

 

Pain

 

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“The pain is smart enough to poet out a space, where bruises are verse and rhymes are moans, over and over again.”

Tiffany McDaniel, The Summer that Melted Everything

photo by Stefano Pollio, courtesy of unsplash.com
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The God of Small Things – A story that stayed

I usually end my day with either reading or writing something. Today, I thought of welding the two worlds together, by writing about a book I read by my night lamp: The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy.

 Roy delves into sexual abuse, gender bias, and untouchability in a subtle and poignant manner, stimulating deep thoughts on these issues. The story is set in 1969, in the south Indian state of Kerala. She narrates the story as if it were unlayering the thoughts of the two twins, Rahel and Estha, with words which evince innocence – Orangedrink Lemondrink Uncle, light blue carsounds, bumpy red road, . The sentences are as rich as they are moving. Twins separated following an unfortunate incident, a loved one dying because of a wretched system, and a mother spending her last moments alone after a series of unfair events – everything transpires as if one were half expecting it, but shocks and saddens in equal measure as the story unfolds. “Who should be loved, and how. And how much” is a question which forms the nub of story. The question is posed when the twins’ mother leaks her “Unsafe Edge” that leads her “to love by night the man her children loved by day.” It is posed again when the society looks down upon it. And yet again, when Estha’s quietness and Rahel’s emptiness finally merges. Roy depicts the malaise of the characters’ lives through words which depart from the literal sense, thus evoking deep emotions in the reader’s heart. It’s a beautifully written tale about love laws, and how they destroyed lives. How the small things led to a sad turn of events and shook the big things. It is a story I read months ago but one that has stayed with me and will stick around for a long time.

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Time

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But time…how time first grounds us and then confounds us. We thought we were being mature when we were only being safe, we imagined we were being responsible when we were only being cowardly. What we called realism turned out to be a way of avoiding things rather than facing them. Time…give us enough time and our best-supported decisions will seem wobbly, our certainties whimsical.

Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending

History

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“To understand history, we have to go inside and listen to what they’re saying. And look at the books and the pictures on the wall. And smell the smells.”
Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things 

Live Deep

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I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of  life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life…

Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Possibility

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Every day she hiked up to her favorite spot, twining about the chartreuse green path she knew so well as a child. There she dreamed about all the things she wanted to be. There she waited till the swollen red Sun dived between the hills just like it did in the waves of the sea, in her dreams, that she wished to cross one day. There she lay on her back, staring at the leaden sky that she craved to light up with a million stars one day. There she yodeled, escaping the yokes of a cruel society. There she read her books, and played noughts-and-crosses, always winning against her own self that deviously thwarted her. For a while she forgot the way to her sanctum, only to return one day—to a sky clear and solitary, and a day full of possibility.