I spent a sleepless night. It was strange. I was with two other people, both of whom were fast asleep. I was not too sleep-fed. Yet, I wasn't sleepy. I was tired. Too tired to sleep, maybe. After spending a couple of hours, wide awake, the story had come. Then, things happened, we all woke up. More things happened. And all the words and sentences that had formed in my mind, in the waking hours of dawn, were lost.
And just so as to mock me, I just read this blog's first post today. About wasting the words away.
Never mind, though.
Yesterday, I spent a good amount of time, contemplating on the picture of Narcissus on Paulo Coelho's blog. I sat on the king-sized couch, and just wondered, what it actually meant. The explanation provided by His Honour, didn't seem satisfying.
I am involving myself into two complicated, contradictory-to-each-other emotions, all over again, only to see which one wins. This is not the first time. The last time I did it, love had won.
Yet again, I am fighting against love. Hoping to prove that love isn't the final winner.
One of my "special" ex-classmates made this post today, analysing the hormonal dynamics of love. I was so happy, reading the stuff that I already knew, the stuff I always knew. I was happy, hoping that he would only prove my point. Love doesn't exist. Alas, he let me down! He couldn't explain, why the illusion of love exists, even if the emotion of love doesn't.
My battle against love.
It has torn me apart, already.
But then, I am not torn apart, enough, yet.
There's this incident, I often talk about.
Few months ago, when Kolkata was experiencing the scorching most summer afternoon, I was bankrupt. I had to ply on a bicycle. I had taken up the careless challenge of travelling on cycle that fateful afternoon. Fateful, because other unpleasant things had happened. but they're immaterial, as usual. They don't last. I'm talking about what lasts.
I went out at 1pm. I cycled non-stop, for three hours.
I remember the last fifteen minutes, the other-wise unimportant stretch from Jadavpur, to Patuli. I thought I would faint. I thought that all my visceral organs have dried up, and even my salivary gland can't secrete saliva enough to keep me going. My eyes were closed, fatigue or delirium, or whatever.
Every turn of the pedal hurt. With every turn, I thought, I would fall dead. With every turn, I thought, this was the last bit of energy left in me, I can't go on any further. With every turn, I thought, this was my limit. I can't go on any more. If my legs tried to turn the pedal, once more, I would drop dead.
Then I decided, that I won't stop.
If I drop dead, that is the end, but I won't stop till I have the energy enough, to think at least.
And miraculously, for me, I reached my destination. I realized, on reaching, that I wasn't even too late. I got some water on my face, into my throat, and gradually, I regained all my energy back, while sitting under the fan.
I learnt something about myself.
Even if I think I can't do it, I can do it. Even if I think I can't take it anymore, I can take even more. Even if I think, this is my limit, it's not my limit. Even if I think, I won't get it, I always get it. I always get what I want.
The trick is never to give up.
My battle against love, will take me to my limits. I'll survive, I'll come back, and know what kept me going.
What if, it's love that kept me going?
I'd still win.
It's Paulo Coelho versus Ayn Rand. Both believed in love, mind you. But, it's the definitions, we have always talked about.
Is love everything?
Or, is love the one thing, that adds meaning to everything?
Paulo Coelho versus Ayn Rand.
What a pity, that Rand is dead.