What you seek is seeking you; what goes around comes back around; what you give, you get; as you sow, so shall you reap; life is a boomerang; life is like a mirror - Experiences have helped me learn all these but the beauty of life is that it still remains an absolute mystery.
I love characters of people though personalities are of least significance to me. There is not a book having characters that I don't seem to like, there isn't a movie having characters I dislike, there isn't a person I have met who isn't interesting to me, there isn't anyone I wouldn't want to get to know at a deeper level. I feel I like to see the entire universe in me and myself in everyone and everything.
I don’t care when I go off track my values as it helps me see my values of life only a lot more clearer. I give a damn to losing and being defeated because winning has never been an option, its an imperative.
Survival and sustenance are the most fundamental of all needs. Once the basic needs are met, being absolutely yourself, all your passionate dreams, joy, happiness and hobbies take the most significant of spots. I have tough time understanding people who run after materialistic gains by sacrificing their passion and dreams in spite of their basic necessities being met(of course, not applicable if your very dream is to stash a billion dollars)
There is no such thing as a right attitude. Once you become so-called successful, the world will declare that you had/have the right attitude(irrespective of how your attitude was perceived while you were struggling to make it big, in spite of your attitude being the same throughout)
I have no answers when people ask me my purpose of living. The closest I can think of is to relate my purpose of life to the purpose of Titania to Uranus in the solar system. Simply put, I don't know. One thing is leading to another and an other thing is leading to yet another, everything is leading to something mysterious that I don't have brains enough to comprehend. Life is just way too interesting to be ever comprehensible.
Writing is an absolutely mysterious phenomenon. There are pleasantly surprising times when thoughts and words I write races against each other with no outcome to decide on a clear winner and there are these irritating phases when I badly desire to write something and neither the thoughts nor the words seem to have any competitive interest in the so called race. As curious I get when I naturally write something and read it only to wonder how I wrote what I did write, so do I wonder when I can't get to write anything and end up thinking why isn't writing happening.
