rilke – untitled atm

089b – on balancing love and learning

Haven’t word-vomited in a few days. Have many thoughts. Been socially busy, but it’s been nice. But also a bit over-stimulating. Need calmness. I’ve also smoked quite a bit over the last few days and haven’t worked at all and I’m definitely not happy about that. Need to go back to reading Allen Carr.

Giving all of my attentive time to sentient beings feels quite nice, almost a bit addictive, but I’d like to be more careful with it. I noticed a white hair on my head today and although I’m not TOO worried, it definitely is a little uncomfortable. For this and adjacent reasons, I’d like to go back to prioritising health over pleasure.

Lots of people in my universe lately. I’d like to preserve my energy and attention, however. Since sometimes it becomes hard to recover from persistent feelings of being spread too thin.

January is about to end and February first-half is busy with friends but I’d like to plan work-goals for the second half of February so I don’t regret spending all my time on social things. I read a quote (can’t find it right now) which talks about how loving and learning are the two most important things in life. Because they are the two experiences you will likely not regret in life, regardless of how they come to you. I think I’m fairly aligned with this, at least for 2024.

So I just need to balance love (social) and learning (work) for the next few months. In the chase for secure love and attention, I do not want to put myself, my needs, my goals, my ambition behind. My relationship with myself still needs to be the most important relationship in my life.

There’s a quote by Rilke which goes: “And you must be indulgent with the answer, which will perhaps often leave you empty-handed; for ultimately, and precisely in the deepest and most important matters, we are unspeakably alone; and many things must happen, many things must go right, a whole constellation of events must be fulfilled, for one human being to successfully advise or help another.”

I quite like this. Something I’m attempting to do a lot more and live by is to “not put all my eggs in one basket” when it comes to people. I think the urge to find all answers and all peace in singular people has been quite harmful for me in the past. Safety, reliability, having your needs met (through and with other people) are very valid pursuits, but they need to be done mindfully.

Ah, I suppose that’s the theme of this whole word-vomit. How to give, take, love without getting too attached. Or how to practice connected detachment, I suppose.

I am a romantic and that’s okay and that’s great but I’d like to continue to be wary of romanticisation. I think it’s good and healthy.

Pillars have to be multi-fold. A single pillar cannot take the load of my depth. And that’s okay too.

058a – must I write?

I was reading “Letters to a Young Poet” once again (after almost a couple years) since I was going through a pretty strong “I’ve no idea what I’m doing” week and I’ve been meaning to come back to it for a while now.

At the very beginning, Rilke asks the young poet (and I suppose all poets, in general) to ask themselves a very basic question — must you write? And only if the answer is a resounding yes (a “fuck yes”, if you will), should you continue. Only if “you can’t not”, should you continue. And if you really must, then you should give everything into designing a life for yourself that allows you to write.

For the longest time now, I’ve been very clear about the fact that I do need to write to feel happier. I like to write (in various forms) and I know that I’m more at peace when I regularly get to do so. Yet, when I asked myself this question again, for the last few days, I’ve been doubtful. Must I— really— write? Can I survive without it? Even if I could, would I like to? I don’t know.

I know that I see things more clearly when I write. Whether it’s events that are happening inside me, or outside me, writing is the one tool that allows me more perspective. Of course, words can only takes us so far, and they’re not a substitute for the lived experience or the event itself, but they’re the next best thing, for me at least.

And now that I’m here, actually writing, I think.. yeah, I can’t really live without writing. I mean, I can go without it for a few days, but I can’t imagine not writing at all for a whole week, definitely not for a whole month. I’d probably go crazy. Maybe I shouldn’t second-guess this. Socrates supposedly said that the unexamined life isn’t worth living. And I think I believe that. And I think writing allows me to do that the best.

Speaking of, I’ve been sick almost for a week now and it’s really taken a toll on my mental health too. Recovering now, though, although I do have some hard questions to return to once I fully recover. There are a lot of parts of my life that I feel aren’t working, or that I’m not very satisfied with, and I’m at the point where changes do need to be made, otherwise the frustrations might just get unmanageable.

Hope your week has been better than mine!

026b – on softness and femininity

Random thoughts from the past have been visiting me lately. Mostly good stuff, thankfully. Memories from my childhood, often a source of comfort and warmth in the cold summers of San Francisco. What a contrast from the summers of New Delhi, eating mangoes at my nani’s house. I remember the one time I was sitting next to her watching TV, and she softly held my palm in hers, told me how pyaare and soft they were. She said she’s old now, so her hands are rough and wrinkly. I told her how I thought they’re rough because she works a lot, I’d read something like that in a book. She laughed and then accepted that without much argument.

I value the softness of my skin a lot. The one other time someone’s opinion of it affected me this much was when I was around 19. The first boy I was ever intimate with. He’d whispered a soft “wow” when he’d touched my arm, and I genuinely felt happy and grateful to have my body loved by someone. There’s something about softness and femininity being related that appeals to me, it appeals to the girl who’s always been “tomboyish” growing up. I suppose she cherishes it because it’s a visible mark of how feminine she is, something that sticks with her regardless of how she presents – regardless of the clothes she wears or the haircuts she sports.

It took me a while to become comfortable with myself and my body, years and years of misery and therapy and coping, but I think I’m finally getting there. It’s incredibly liberating, as I always knew it would be. I would imagine days like this as something from a piece of fiction, something I knew I wanted but wasn’t sure I could get. Something I was working towards but not actively so. I always thought that societal acceptance would be the easiest path to self-acceptance (even though I knew that sounded wrong, somehow), but I think it was also some sort of rejection at this stage of my life that actually sped up the process of my self-acceptance. I’d been putting a lot of effort into myself when this one brutal rejection came my way. It was devastating, but somehow made me reach a point of “I don’t care about anything anymore”. Or at least, I attribute getting to that point to that event. And with that lack of care came a lot of forced acceptance. You could perhaps call it “giving up” as well, but eventually that evolved to a healthier version of care – i.e “I do give fucks, but mostly only when I want to”.

I don’t have a lot of structure for this post, since I followed a bit of a “I’ll let the words take me where they want to” approach, and though I’m not unhappy with it, I’d love feedback if anyone happens to read this – was this as confusing as it feels to me? Thinking about Rilke’s lines now – thinking about what he said about soliciting feedback on your art. If you delve deep inside yourself, and you create art out of that knowledge and awareness, you wouldn’t have to solicit feedback. I suppose I haven’t delved inside all the way, yet.