Sunday, December 10, 2006

"It is dangerous to spend all one's time with Beethoven, just as all privileged positions are dangerous.
Tamina had always been a bit ashamed of admitting she was happy with her husband. She was afraid of giving people a reason to hate her.
The privilege of love was not only a paradise, it was also a hell. Life in love was constant tension, fear, agitation. She is here among children to gain, at last, the rewards of calm and serenity.
Milan Kundera, the Book of Laughter and Forgetting

I can't sew it anymore

When I was younger, and I was disappointed, I would just lie in my bed and imagine that my soul is like a ghost made of white silk, or white smoke or dust, and somebody made a few cuts on it with a knife (imagine Zorro). So I would just lie there and imagine that I was sewing the cuts in my soul. So I was trying to do that again but it didn't work this time. I told myself I'm strong, I'm a fighter, I will wake up stronger tomorrow, but it doesn't work. I pitied myself and my fate. I still have this weird belief that I deserve to be happy. Why? When there's so much poverty, sickness, death, disappointment, insecurity in the world, why should I be happy? When I'm so reckless with people's hearts (I'm probably not even aware of half the hearts I break) why am I so disappointed when they hurt me?

But then, I look around and realize there's so much happiness in the world. There are happy couples. There are happy families. There are happy babies. This gives me the wrong impression that I, too, might be happy someday. But I guess I won't.

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