Part 2 - Random Drivel

I lied :/

That Iceberg…well there’s more than just a tip to it, It seems.

When boredom strikes, there is no denying it. It’s a beast, this boredom thing. Attacks without warning. All sense of chivalry, honor in battle…those things you read about in books…yep, well boredom never heard of it. Backstabbing, late night stalker.

I've always had this nagging suspicion. Boredom and Insomnia are linked, they are in a partnership of sorts. If ever I wanted proof. Well tonight serves.

Insomnia and I, we generally had a good understanding, a mutual respect if you may. Now though…I feel betrayed. And I had such high hopes for tonight. I was actually going to sleep!

Hence a return to the blogosphere.

Since I resorted to blogging once, a second time can’t be that bad (or so I think). It’s always the first step that’s the hardest. Ever noticed that in life…In everything??

 That one small first step. The second, never that bad.

It’s horrible: the first step onto a stage, where your life flashes before your eyes; That first step into the real world, where you leave home to go board somewhere; marriage…that first step!

On first steps, I feel that I am talking with some expertise here. I once took a step. A small step it was.

The thing is, It was a step, off an arch. No ordinary arch, this arch was some 80m above the ground. The Moses Mabhida (you know, that big white thing in Durban) arch. Just One step, the first one.

Trust me, when people say ‘it’s only one small step, can’t be that hard.’ They have no idea what they talking about.

Fear beyond compare. 

That day My heart stopped beating (I sometimes still wonder if it ever started again), my ears…let’s just say all I heard was the sound of terror. Surprisingly though, my vocal glands seemed to be in perfect working order..and yet, it was but one small step.

After that day, I have a new found appreciation of solid ground beneath my feet. Sand. I always knew that someday I’d love, but  who would've ever thought that my first love would be sand?

No denying, jumping of an arch is an experience. One I would never forget. Its awoken the dormant adrenaline junkie within.

It’s amazing. A person never truly knows who they are, what they are like, unless they experience, try and sample every aspect of life.

Of myself, I can safely say, I am a traveler. The thought of travelling, it sends shivers down my spine. The excitement, the joy. It's amazing to consider that,  barely a year ago, the word travel was but another word in the English dictionary. Today well…. Europe has changed the definition of the word for me.

Now it seems, I’m an adrenaline junkie as well.

Blogger, maybe in a few posts I’d feel comfortable calling myself that. For the moment, I shall content myself with writing down the random drivel that so often crosses my mind and occasionally posting to feed my blog personality. 

On a related note, I fear for any of you that may have the misfortune of reading these posts.

My mind, sometimes it scares me. Perhaps a warning sign is in order?

Anyway, next stop. Bloukrans bungie. Have to cement the title ‘adrenaline junkie.’

Goo’bye

Ps. On reading what I just wrote, I now realize why I hated blogging. Words above, they don’t flow. I thought wrong, the second step is just as bad. :(

2nd Ps. I just realized, I got a follower. People/person wants to read what I write, Interesting. 

Noorgat, as my first follower. A, subpar, dedication :P

Tip of the iceberg - no more

To blog, or not to blog? 

A question I’ve asked myself dozens of times. To bare ones soul, in words. Once written not to be retracted. Forever a burning reminder, a memory to be shared with others of times gone. Thoughts, otherwise hidden, secrets untold, now shared. Bared for the world to see, to criticize, to dissect and analyze. The fire of a soul can be seen in ones writings. The true depth of compassion, reasoning, understanding and bullshit flow with the power of the pen ( or in this case the keyboard)

It’s a very intimate privacy that’s being violated, with every word typed. Yet the draw is undeniable. Writing is an art you see. I’ve always admired the beauty of eloquence. The mystical draw of exquisite English. Similes and metaphors used to perfection. (make no mistake, I don’t claim to be an English artist of any sorts) but the draw, the pull the power of the English language is undeniable.

To say what is felt. It is not an easy ask. To write it down, infinitely harder. Yet the thrills of reading an article. A passage o’ English crafted to represent your emotions thoughts and insights. It’s an enlightening experience.

But Then, there’s the age old stigma: Its weak for a man to write such. Poetry…emotions..we feel no such things. Appreciate not the beauty of a starry night. We are men! Hmmph, it takes a different sort of courage to write an article such as this. After all, its tantamount to admitting an appreciation of art. Which real ‘man’ can admit to a love of artistry? 

Here is my statement. I love art. I love efficiency, efficiency is a form of art (on close scrutiny). I don’t give a damn about correct punctuation, spelling errors, the foolishness that makes up the rest of English. If words flow, I consider it a thing of beauty. Write to me in a staccato mix of capital letters and numbers, and instinctively I have this urge to damage you. Shorthand all you want, just choose a style, and STICK TO IT!

There’s a beauty to words, an ugly beauty. Two headed…a beauty in every sarcastic remark. A beauty hidden in subtlety, a beauty in the random. A beauty, Abstract in nature. Dark. Resonating. A beauty in the ring of words (such as ring), and in every witty statement. In every pun. 

Our elders would have us believe that Gujurati is the beautiful language. I maintain, of the languages I know and understand. Eloquent English is by far the most hauntingly beautiful.

No-one’s talking Shakespearean here. The guy had a way with poems – credit where credits due- but his stories. Honestly, absolute rubbish. My perspective anyway. And the language, I cringe every time I hear a Shakespearean sentence. Makes for good emphasis though, a well placed ‘thee’ or ‘thou’.Words have that power, with the wrong inflection, a thing of beauty can be turned. Polluted. Convoluted. Never underestimate the power of words! (or inflection for that matter)

Seems I got sidetracked a bit, back to the point: It’s a painting, every blog post, a tapestry actually. Swirling thoughts, streams of random words, compiled to form an essay of sentences. Somewhat understandable. Almost tangible, but not quite making sense. I think I owe myself a tapestry. An object of future reminiscing. 

So, an end to my cascade of words.

Welcome to my mind...A first and Last.

Hamzah Motala :/