24 October 2013

Movement is life.

I hate being in one place for too long. It drives me crazy. So, I find myself simulating movement. I take different routes to work everyday. I find different spots at different parks to sit in and contemplate. I try to look at the world in a different light, through a different lens. I wander aimlessly. I roam the streets in my car, caring more that I'm going somewhere at all than where I'm actually going. Restless. Unsettled. Characterized by my desire to move. Somehow missing that anchor in my soul—the one everyone else seems to have—asking me to stay, and settle, and find security.

I wouldn't be surprised to find out that I've descended from gypsies. Long ago, two feuding clans set out from India in opposite directions, wandering the world for a thousand years, mixing with the natives they encountered, adopting their languages and customs before finally ending up in America. The Montagues and Capulets prospering for generations on opposite ends of the earth before finally settling down together in a remote corner on the edge of the Pacific, finding their legacies bound up in me, their names embodied in mine.

03 October 2013

And miles to go before I sleep.

Kairosn. The opportune time. The supreme moment. There's a theory that life on earth originated in some far corner of the universe. That earth wasn't the first place that lighting struck primordial soup. That the first microbes crash-landed here billions of years ago, perfectly preserved on some interstellar rock, flying through the cosmos, hibernating until conditions were just right. The off chance that life originates on earth is so slim—the lottery of lotteries, the million-keystroke Shakespearian play, the rolled back stone and empty tomb—that a more plausible explanation lies elsewhere. Let's let those other planets deal with the odds. All we know is that we've won.

The second kind of stardust is this. It's us.