Skip to main content

C'est La Vie




What’s the worth of utterly accepting life in all its’ pains and glories through complete surrender and having a full Dionystic attitude?

Does Nietzsche's ‘amor-fati’ justify the absence of regret and resentment? 

In the first place, how should I begin with this rambling? 

The answer perhaps, is through another question about regret and a pseudo-philosophical treatment of this.

Such is life – too easy to say, yet indescribable in many aspects. It’s just difficult to understand it, additionally, it’s difficult to limit life into something that just randomly happens.

We are thinkers and being such, we clamor for reasons behind everything. There SHOULD be a reason behind life and there must ABSOLUTELY BE A REASON for everything that’s happening. (without thinking we're just crazy to assume that there is a magnanimous ecclesiastical destiny that governs life)

Life is maybe a very simple concept but was (and is) subjected to multiple definitions. I am even wondering how I was able to defend my thesis regarding the affirmation of life. It’s too subjective and the very definition of it depends on the person perceiving it. Life isn’t special nor is it beautiful unless someone gives meaning and beauty to it.

Perspectives, a paper remains a paper as this mongol pencil is but a simple writing tool. It’s just one of the million pencils and papers all over the world. However, if I use this pencil to sketch on this blank parchment, the harmony creates a majestic form which we call art.(well, art in a way that I appreciate what I created despite of knowing it’s really not that good. The beauty I see depends on the story underlying that particular work.) 

We don’t call an art work, an essay, a short story or a poem as ‘pencil scribbling on a paper’. The dialectical relationship between these two things is what creates beauty. Aren’t we all in search of this? A paper and a pencil are useless things unless there is the unity between them. And what unites them? The dreams and imagination of the artist. It maybe a simple thought that I guess everyone knows but do we really see the deeper essence of this harmony? 

People have been busy with their personal matters that they tend to forget about the simple things that make life beautiful. (or at times, too busy talking about other people's lives and they keep on comparing their life with others coupled with this egotistic belief that their life is way better than others. BUT that's in another topic...)

It’s just tragic and sad to see people rushing around in circles, worrying about petty things- ignoring the paper and the pencil because of the belief that they can’t draw or write. Or maybe, just maybe, they find these simple and mundane things as unimportant. 

Call me a psycho but I am holding on to these simple, mundane and fleeting moments. 

For these are the things that made me think, 

these are the things that made me change,

and these are the memories that for me, matters the most.

 I know that everyone can draw, and everyone can write but not everyone wants to dreamut such is life.


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Blank Verse Poetry

I ran this morning. Gray sky, nothing special. Weather that doesn’t force you to feel anything. Usually, I wander without purpose. Today, something stopped me. Time is a trap. We pretend it’s limited, but it isn’t. So we rush through it—steps, choices, life—until it all blurs. The small things disappear. The smell of earth, the quiet air. Gone. A song got stuck in my head. “I’ll stop the world and melt with you.” Unwanted. Persistent. How did it get in? Maybe fate. Maybe nothing. I don’t believe in destiny, but here I was—stuck in the sound, stuck in a loop. The world paused inside me. I didn’t move. The day went on. Hands trembled—not from connection, but from the weight of existing. Scars on skin—maps of past failures. Nothing clean, nothing clear. I touched a cheek. No softness. Smoke? Habit? Grip loosened—like sanity slipping. Wanting to let go, but afraid of the emptiness that follows. I kissed a cheek. A stupid move. A laugh broke the silence. A glitch. A mistake. Coffee a...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Slow Death of the Familiar Lie

The 2025 elections just ended. Not with fireworks, not with riots—just the quiet unraveling of yet another chapter in our nation’s long and complicated dance with democracy. There’s something different in the air this time. Something subtle, like the way dusk falls before you even realize the day is gone. You feel it before you name it: a shift. Not seismic, perhaps not even visible to the untrained eye. But there, like a whisper at the edge of a crowded room. People have grown wiser. And no, this isn’t naive optimism. It’s not the kind of blind faith that wears campaign colors and chants slogans. It’s the kind of wisdom that comes from repeated heartbreak—from choosing hope too many times, only to be betrayed by men in suits and smiles. From believing in change only to see it morph into the same old trapo politics dressed in newer fonts. “Pain is a brutal but effective teacher—especially in a country where memory is often the first casualty of every election cycle.” But maybe ...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Tension Between Hope and Despair

This is w here the light breaks just to drown. Hope isn’t some pretty thing. It’s a slow burn that keeps you awake at night, fooling you with a whisper, “Maybe this time.” It digs its claws in, even when everything screams you’re done. Hope’s the hook you can’t shake, even when it’s tearing you apart from the inside. Despair doesn’t wait politely. It crashes in like a storm, cold and sharp, and it doesn’t care if you’re ready or not. It doesn’t dance with hope—they fight. It’s brutal, ugly. Despair wants to swallow everything whole, leaves no room for mercy. There’s no peace between them. It’s a war you didn’t sign up for, but you live it every damn day—grasping for that fragile flicker, even as the darkness tightens around your throat. You hold hope like a lifeline but feel despair pulling the knot tighter. No balance. No graceful dance. Just a mess of broken promises and shattered dreams. Hope keeps you chasing ghosts; despair waits, patient, knowing it will win. And the worst p...
Post a Comment
Read more