THE EXTROVERT TRIED LIVING LIFE OF AN INTROVERT

I decided to be sorry for myself, one day. I had to be sad. I dug hard, deep into the past was back with the childhood memories which were sweet, but I was in search of those few bitter ones hidden behind my humiliation.
I found myself sorry for having lived life the way I did. But memories were diminished, impact less.
Analysis of present might do wonders;
I was tired of being sorry for others, It was my turn, I wanted the attention this time, the sympathy, which I hated though needed the most now.
I shelled myself, devoid myself of things, I loved doing the most, talking, parenting, administering, managing things, people.
I started no conversations, commented on nothing that drew my interest or disgusted me. I for once let the dumb speak, injustice follow, my thoughts do frivolous movement and then die.
I decided to let the things be, if, for a while.

It seemed effective, they felt something was changed, ‘something’ was different, well, the impact of this ‘something’ was, my whole of inside was on fire. Friction between every thought with the anti-thought seemed to be effective.

Getting deeper into the impact;

At peace was not the dumb, it was forced to break the inertia of keeping quiet.
Neither was the injustice happy, it was winning without even having to play.

Nor was at peace the extrovert,
The whole concept of her ‘I’ was at stake, in process of making herself the pivot of other’s happiness or sorrow.


Eureka! I found the key behind unhappiness,



• Excessive Reasoning: Man is blessed with a marvellous and astounding ability to reason. At its best, this ability facilitates accomplishment; at its worst, it causes spirals of perfectionism, over-thinking, and paralysis by analysis. If it’s clear you’re in a situation that cannot be improved through logic and reason, learn to let go.


• Unhappiness is both self-defined and self-imposed (meaning a person who believes himself happy is), so if you’re capable of controlling your mental state without examining its constituent elements, I stand in awe of your mental abilities and politely leave you to your devices.
So the bottom line is, Try to be sad, you surely will succeed.

RAMBLINGS OF A FICKLE MIND

Sunn, tell me, if I ever get too dominating!!
We human are better than all other animals, for we try to improve ourselves day after days, but we die trying, we never do, at least we try.
unlike those dogs who satisfactorily nibble the chicken-bones we chew and throw. We everyday are being better than the universe last saw us, we know it better, they know us less. We are growing powerful every day, we know how to harness the weak community, we know, life is lot more than living.
Life is living while being on the top and not sharing the level, life is about being selfish and showing selfless love, care at the same time, life is drinking chilled beer both when efforts are recognized and when projects ignored.

PUBLIC DISPLAY OF AFFECTION!!!

Why can’t they just restrict their hands to their pockets? why actually those hands have to wander in and around the mate’s body?
Why do these couples fail to draw a demarcation line between the confinements of their rooms and a family, rather children’s park. I used to give a sneering look to every package (couples) involved in lovey dovey talks hand-in-hand, or hand-in-waist, or waist-in-hand. And often managed to look away and stare continuously at a same time, on being made forcefully and happily an audience to an epic peck on lips, neck, cheek, hands. And if by any poor chance this happened to be taking place in benign presence of my parents, I condemned the act sportingly enthused.
Until,
The day, the girl drew away her small brother, letting him not see, us too engrossed in looking into each other’s eyes, fingers entangled. The day when I realised it wasn’t just the lovely friendship we shared, it was perhaps a lot more, feelings far ahead of its times.
What back then, felt to be merely a public display of emotions, now felt like a necessity. A necessity to hold the hands hanging on ‘his’ both sides. A necessity to brush apart the fallen strand of hair on ‘her’ forhead.
A tinge of extreme feeling which ran vertically when the shoulders rub.
A necessity to sit beside him and do nothing, even keeping mum being the big word.
Presence being important than anything at all. They were too strong an emotions to be for a show.