Coffins and Confetti

It suddenly struck me that I'm an endless contradiction. I mean, seriously! My tastes in anything and everything is a confused mirage. Could it be possible that I'm suffering from a mild MPD? Ah no! No way, it is a very big, scary and spooky term to use and only silly looking doctors in movies use such terms. I will convince myself that I'm perfectly normal and it is the world that is a little deranged. Ha! How does that sound.

Anyway, the dear reader here (if any) will be wondering what made me come to such conclusions. So, for the benefit of the dear reader (again, if any), I will explain.

I have these sudden influx of emotions, like a wave that wash my insides, leaving me completely blank. In those moments, I wish I could roll into a small black ball and vanish completely. What can be worse than feeling pain? Feeling numb, of course! Life has been a 'fun' roll-a-coaster ride so far. It has thrown me into ruts and gutters and occasionally lifted me and shown some sunshine. But there again, the rare visit by the Sun is only to let the darkness lingering and sneaking just around the corner pinch me harder... even darker...even sinister.

Many times, I don't know what I do. For instance, why would I spend a fortune buying pink shoes and later spend another fortune buying black boots? Certainly, there is some conflict of emotions here. If not, there is definitely conflict of colours! I want to scream my feelings out, at the same time I want to be the mystery no one understands. I like Carnatic music, but my instinct tilts its head towards Goth metal. I love death and decay, but also love smiles and sunshine. I will sell my soul for Sylvia Plath but I would also sell my favourite shoe for Wordsworth.

Hmph...anyway if the dear reader has travelled this far, I'm sure they are bored by my contradictions. So what do I do? Honestly, I don't think I'm that crazy to enrol for counselling, but what if my insides are torn everyday? I want to confirm in this non-conformist world. Or do I? Do I really care?

I have a recurring dream of falling of a cliff. I constantly fall, forever, never to hit the ground. In the process of this eternal fall, I can feel the grainy drizzle that surrounds me. My feet can still feel the wetness from the grass I just left behind. It is a beautiful image, for a painter to brush on, for a poet to pen about. But what about the one who really falls? No answers, just eternal silence. I guess I just have to remember the dream and remain silent. For now, there is some confetti. However, the coffin is not far away.