Thursday, December 14, 2006
...an elongated, existential ramble down rue Velasquez in a far too accessible pocket of Paris . . . i hastened my pace in the direction of 'home' because i was too troubled with what to do, what not to do, what to avoid and what to follow. so, what is the point of being anywhere? why read when you won't remember the content? why question when there's no independent validation of your response? i was wondering today, when can the phenomenology of 'being in love' be validated? when can i rip out of this skin and partake of someone else's experience to ensure that my bearings are correct, that my reactions are justifiable, that these sensations are not as foreign as expected. remember when we were kids and we would share with our parents about how it felt to be rejected, to find joy, to taste of disappointment? their words were so sobering that it seemed as if they were quietly dismissing our experience. only in time and maturity was it understood that what we endured was nothing novel, nothing to boast/shout about. what are the concerns of a teenager to an adult with mortgage payments and job insecurity? only in time is this thoroughly understood.