Haven for You
Friday, April 21, 2006
Haven for You
Having typed that previous entry about clubbers,i have come to a conclusion that i have,in a way,stereotyped them.I mean,they are not plagued patients in a end-of-the-line sort of extensive care hospital,or the hopelessly retarded citizen you see on the street,showing off their lack of self-consciouslessness.They are,after all,some of them,just people who seriously wants to have fun,i guess.Though to me,it is hardly fun to begin with.
I guess in a way,everybody needs their sort of haven,somewhere they can hang their heads.To them,in the middle of the podium,in the middle of an anonymous crowd might be their form of haven.Do not assume,that haven is always a place peaceful,somewhere with angels flying around with harps,singing songs of prayers while rabbits leap around in tall grass and wheat fields.No,it's not nearly as biblical as that.For some,their havens might belong to somewhat different places,in the dark and smokey places such as a club,with blaring music above their own sound,overpowering the thoughts in their minds,their troubles.
For some,someone,somebody i know.Her haven comes in the strangest way.Well,technically speaking,i think everybody,each and every one of us,has our own form of haven.Like Jamie Foxx's character in Collateral,Max.Whenever his passengers at the back of his cab gets unbearable,he folds down the sun-screen of his car and there,the Maldives islands.He takes a five minute break,detach himself from whatever that just happened,and then take a vacation on the island.He does that a dozen times a day,and then with a snap of his head he comes back to reality,back to work,back to cabbing.
I like that idea of an escape,a haven.This friend of mine,her form of haven's a company of people,this batch of people around her.Not exactly a clique,strictly speaking,but sort of like a group of people she prefers to hang out with.Things are so complicated in her life,so mixed up like a bundle of wire.Like those irritating knots iPod earpieces make when you hook them out of your back pockets,her life's in a way all screwed up in a strange way.I am sorry,to hear the lack of laughter in her house,the way it's so full of emptiness and void,the lack of words between people,the gap that is desperately in need of cemete to fill.I feel sorry,that everything around her,the best things,the supposed ones,are turning out all so complicated,so complexed,this strange disease bugging her that she cannot forget.
The best things are always turning out to be the worst at the same time dont they?Like curses,the way technology turns on us,the way medicine kills us,the way everything,blessed at first can become the bane of your mere existence.Things are so political sometimes,arent they?When politics are involve in anything,anything at all,they always become nasty,become polluted.
She seeks her haven,like we all do in our lives.Dont we all,in any way possible,seek a haven where we can feel safe and secure?Why,do we always have to feel so insecure,and at the same time feel insecure about not being secured?Simple stuff,like hers,in the company of people she loves,she holds dear,anywhere would be fine,her haven.
My haven,when asked,i told her that i go to my haven every day.Like Max,i take my time off every day,just idle.Looking into deep space,or just close my eyes as i am on my bed,just think about things.The process of thinking,the train of thoughts,the way they flow down this railway line to nowhere,is some sort of haven to me i guess.I bet in a way,if my thoughts can be visualized in any way,my thoughts would all be flowing towards a general and uniform direction.Flowing in lines of multi-coloured strings,joined to each other like carriages of train,travelling to this secret place.
In this secret place,my sacred place,i would imagine a garden next to a great big lake.Somewhere in the trees lining the lake a stereo big enough to fill the world with whatever i wanted to listen to.The thoughts,floating through the air,converges and plunges into this deep pool,with a sign at the edge saying "Pool of Thoughts".In the middle of this grassy field,sat me,with my eyes closed.I am smelling,and i am listening to the music all around.It's a great escape,isnt it?The way Michael Cunningham described in the books.How everything used to be so innocent and surreal,now lost between the tall buildings,the smoke between those and then the viruses between those.
We all have our havens,no matter how strange they might be.I guess in a way,if they make us happy,if for a moment in time,they make us forget,they make us smile once again,despite the harshness of it all,why the hell not take this stupid trip out there?
Having typed that previous entry about clubbers,i have come to a conclusion that i have,in a way,stereotyped them.I mean,they are not plagued patients in a end-of-the-line sort of extensive care hospital,or the hopelessly retarded citizen you see on the street,showing off their lack of self-consciouslessness.They are,after all,some of them,just people who seriously wants to have fun,i guess.Though to me,it is hardly fun to begin with.
I guess in a way,everybody needs their sort of haven,somewhere they can hang their heads.To them,in the middle of the podium,in the middle of an anonymous crowd might be their form of haven.Do not assume,that haven is always a place peaceful,somewhere with angels flying around with harps,singing songs of prayers while rabbits leap around in tall grass and wheat fields.No,it's not nearly as biblical as that.For some,their havens might belong to somewhat different places,in the dark and smokey places such as a club,with blaring music above their own sound,overpowering the thoughts in their minds,their troubles.
For some,someone,somebody i know.Her haven comes in the strangest way.Well,technically speaking,i think everybody,each and every one of us,has our own form of haven.Like Jamie Foxx's character in Collateral,Max.Whenever his passengers at the back of his cab gets unbearable,he folds down the sun-screen of his car and there,the Maldives islands.He takes a five minute break,detach himself from whatever that just happened,and then take a vacation on the island.He does that a dozen times a day,and then with a snap of his head he comes back to reality,back to work,back to cabbing.
I like that idea of an escape,a haven.This friend of mine,her form of haven's a company of people,this batch of people around her.Not exactly a clique,strictly speaking,but sort of like a group of people she prefers to hang out with.Things are so complicated in her life,so mixed up like a bundle of wire.Like those irritating knots iPod earpieces make when you hook them out of your back pockets,her life's in a way all screwed up in a strange way.I am sorry,to hear the lack of laughter in her house,the way it's so full of emptiness and void,the lack of words between people,the gap that is desperately in need of cemete to fill.I feel sorry,that everything around her,the best things,the supposed ones,are turning out all so complicated,so complexed,this strange disease bugging her that she cannot forget.
The best things are always turning out to be the worst at the same time dont they?Like curses,the way technology turns on us,the way medicine kills us,the way everything,blessed at first can become the bane of your mere existence.Things are so political sometimes,arent they?When politics are involve in anything,anything at all,they always become nasty,become polluted.
She seeks her haven,like we all do in our lives.Dont we all,in any way possible,seek a haven where we can feel safe and secure?Why,do we always have to feel so insecure,and at the same time feel insecure about not being secured?Simple stuff,like hers,in the company of people she loves,she holds dear,anywhere would be fine,her haven.
My haven,when asked,i told her that i go to my haven every day.Like Max,i take my time off every day,just idle.Looking into deep space,or just close my eyes as i am on my bed,just think about things.The process of thinking,the train of thoughts,the way they flow down this railway line to nowhere,is some sort of haven to me i guess.I bet in a way,if my thoughts can be visualized in any way,my thoughts would all be flowing towards a general and uniform direction.Flowing in lines of multi-coloured strings,joined to each other like carriages of train,travelling to this secret place.
In this secret place,my sacred place,i would imagine a garden next to a great big lake.Somewhere in the trees lining the lake a stereo big enough to fill the world with whatever i wanted to listen to.The thoughts,floating through the air,converges and plunges into this deep pool,with a sign at the edge saying "Pool of Thoughts".In the middle of this grassy field,sat me,with my eyes closed.I am smelling,and i am listening to the music all around.It's a great escape,isnt it?The way Michael Cunningham described in the books.How everything used to be so innocent and surreal,now lost between the tall buildings,the smoke between those and then the viruses between those.
We all have our havens,no matter how strange they might be.I guess in a way,if they make us happy,if for a moment in time,they make us forget,they make us smile once again,despite the harshness of it all,why the hell not take this stupid trip out there?
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on Friday, April 21, 2006 at 8:23 PM.
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