And when did you last go to Goa?
And when did you last go to Goa? When was the last time you decided to break off all connection with the rest of humanity and go wandering off among the waves; the sea and the sand your only refuge as you made your own lonely way to peace and salvation? When was it that you thought you had had enough of living your life through the lens of someone else's perception and decided you had to get back in touch with the only person in the world whose actions you wouldn't first be cynical about before accepting?
I last went to Goa when I had faith in myself. When, through some series of fortunate events, I had ended up having the confidence to believe in my existence and a rainbow across the promised land where I would have lived the way I always thought of myself as having envisioned to be.
When I had a basis of survival, and something had reminded me that no experience in the world is undergone in isolation; that there always have been and always will be people who have lived and lost and thought the way you have, at least in the context you're thinking now.
When I also realised that I was the only one who would feel the sum total of my existence, and there was possibly no one who would go through all that I have, in the exact same manner I would, and yet behave the same way I did. And I felt some solace in that.
It was when I realised there is no such thing as unrequited, or for that matter "pure" or "virtuous" love. That love was a consequence of loneliness and insecurity put together, and everyone in love was afraid of precisely those two things.
When I believed firmly that drinking alone was perhaps the only idea that in itself was "bad", and that decrepitude in itself was nothing to be proud of. Before I topped that cold water bottle off with Old Monk and realised that everything, including decrepitude, was what some people would expect you to sell to the world and that each time you felt you died a little inside was a moment to bask in the glory and adulation of those whose souls fetched a value they thought was slightly less.
When the world (or Goa) was my oyster, a tough shell to crack just waiting for experiences to happen, stories to tell, and people to meet and befriend for the rest of you life. And then some more stories to tell.
When I had self confidence. When I was sure what I wanted to say would come across the way I said it, and the way the person I was addressing wanted it heard.
When I believed in happiness.
I last went to Goa when I had faith in myself. When, through some series of fortunate events, I had ended up having the confidence to believe in my existence and a rainbow across the promised land where I would have lived the way I always thought of myself as having envisioned to be.
When I had a basis of survival, and something had reminded me that no experience in the world is undergone in isolation; that there always have been and always will be people who have lived and lost and thought the way you have, at least in the context you're thinking now.
When I also realised that I was the only one who would feel the sum total of my existence, and there was possibly no one who would go through all that I have, in the exact same manner I would, and yet behave the same way I did. And I felt some solace in that.
It was when I realised there is no such thing as unrequited, or for that matter "pure" or "virtuous" love. That love was a consequence of loneliness and insecurity put together, and everyone in love was afraid of precisely those two things.
When I believed firmly that drinking alone was perhaps the only idea that in itself was "bad", and that decrepitude in itself was nothing to be proud of. Before I topped that cold water bottle off with Old Monk and realised that everything, including decrepitude, was what some people would expect you to sell to the world and that each time you felt you died a little inside was a moment to bask in the glory and adulation of those whose souls fetched a value they thought was slightly less.
When the world (or Goa) was my oyster, a tough shell to crack just waiting for experiences to happen, stories to tell, and people to meet and befriend for the rest of you life. And then some more stories to tell.
When I had self confidence. When I was sure what I wanted to say would come across the way I said it, and the way the person I was addressing wanted it heard.
When I believed in happiness.
Comments
http://upword.com/wilde/de_profundis.html
For all you know, a rich kid not getting a ps3 can feel worse the denial than a homeless without a bed.
For all you know, a rich kid not getting a ps3 can feel worse the denial than a homeless without a bed.
For all you know, a rich kid not getting a ps3 can feel worse the denial than a homeless without a bed.
For all you know, a rich kid not getting a ps3 can feel worse the denial than a homeless without a bed.
For all you know, a rich kid not getting a ps3 can feel worse the denial than a homeless without a bed.
Sorry for being a (very) lazy replier...
Ben, thank you for sharing De Profundis. I've had that letter pinned to my Chrome tab since you shared it, and I must have read it a dozen times since.
Mihir, you're absolutely right, in that at the end of the day it's about the amount you feel letdown. There are many ways philosophers over the ages have tried to come up with an objective way to make it more objective, like the concept of utilitarianism, but in the end, it won't end up changing the way you feel, if that's what your context or history or personality makes you want to.