"Yes, there are times we live for somebody else."


Love. Love is not only a world of soft comfort but it is a beautiful thief that seeks to steal your heart, your mind and your soul; and then to throw them far beyond your reach into galaxies and universes you had never dared enter before. Love mixes you up and turns you inside out. It picks you apart into a million pieces- both tiny and big- with a tender, caressing hand and then, with all the feeling of an ancient burning star, closes its fist and opens its palm to reveal you. A you that it has pieced back together. You find that you are who you’ve always been; although not quite.

Love reaches into your fibres and touches upon the chemicals and atoms that create what you are- your human. It penetrates your human until you are not just human, but now, you are the fragile stem of a rose, the glistening droplets of water falling from a petal, you are the sky when it’s thundering; the sharp brilliant light of lightening, you are the pain of a child of war; the beauty of a true love. Love makes you everything you can be; it doesn’t gently show you your potential, no- it exposes your potential. Everything you were too afraid to be, too afraid to become, love does not allow you to hold back. It strips you back in all your glory and your beauty and your ugliness and your humanness.

Love becomes the dull, throbbing ache in your heart when you see or experience something of such immense beauty that you cannot fathom it. Or explain it. Love does not need explanation. It sits upon your shoulders, light as a feather; it caresses your face and shines through your eyes. It defies reason. Reason cannot explain love. It is a passion. Yet, even the intense red and burning flames that one envisions when depicting passion is still an understated description of love. For how are you to describe something of which man knows nothing of? We feel love. We fall in love. We dream of love. Yet, in our world comprised of journeys to the moon and God particles, not one scientist; not one Believer; not one atheist; not one man, has been able to confidently sit back and dictate the formula of love. No, men know nothing of love. How can you understand something that clasps your soul and twists and twists and twists until you become a mere shadow of your former self? How is it possible to confine this immense and transcendental force within the boundaries of the boxes and lines and square edges that is man’s world?

Love. Love saddens us and repulses us and creates a longing within us. A longing that can make a boy of eleven feel as though he has lived a thousand lives, and in each one pined for the love, for the attention, of the little girl called Mary, with the shiny braid who sits in his maths class.

Love that drives us to insanity because we mere mortals, we humans, we men, cannot comprehend or even begin to understand this entity that controls our lives, our dreams and our imaginations. 

The passion; and the beauty; and the bittersweet tenderness; and the dull ache; and the smell of freshly baked bread; and the brilliance of the stars; and the smile of a lover; and the scent of home; and the new-born child; and the kindness of a mother; and the kindness of a stranger; and the kindness of a child that causes us to fall down to our knees..

This love that consumes us. 

This force to be reckoned with. 

Love. What do I know of love.



“When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold on to them.”

During a moment of ‘fuelled up with so much coffee which is probably why I cannot sleep’ (don’t judge me), I realised something; over the years I have changed. I can see why some of you are wondering how this idiot managed to stumble on to the internet and why anyone in their right mind would actually encourage him to share his views… However, I shall proceed.

I think that I must have on some conscious level or subconscious level- not too sure yet… (I blame the lack of sleep. Damn you coffee) I must have realised that I had changed.  I mean, you don’t just wake up one day or during a sleepless night and realise that what you think are your views and beliefs are actually not your views and beliefs. They are, in fact, the views and beliefs of old you. Yep, you are now the new you and you have new views and beliefs.

I ofcourse don’t mean to say that I became a new person without my realising it, but, I think that as the years went by and I experienced new things and these “things” replaced old things, I adjusted my perspective. That’s not to say that I hold none of my old beliefs or values, in fact, I hold the exact same values and beliefs. What breed of idiot is this, you say?

Um… well, I think that living; experiencing life (ha ha- the look on your face) kind of causes a person (I generalise, but I’m actually only referring to me) to alter the way they think about things; the manner in which they observe the world; their perspective, in accordance to the how they have received life. I guess in a way what I mean is that, in very general terms- no stereotypes- happy people with happy experiences generally see most things through happy glasses and sad people with sad experiences generally see most things through sad glasses. The terms ‘happy’ and ‘sad’ being subjective to the reader of-course…

So, how have I changed?

Well, over the years and especially quite recently, many “things” (for want of a better word) have happened in my life- some good and some bad and as life and experiences do, I inevitably changed as a person.

What I’ve realised about myself and am finally willing to acknowledge, is that I romanticised a lot of my life. I mean, events would occur in my life and I would experience “things” as people tend to do when they’re alive and I would interpret said events and experiences in a very optimistic and idealistic light.

The world: “Oh, rising levels of carbon dioxide!”

My interpretation: “Oooh, more humans on the planet- how lovely. Plants get to make more food. It’s a wonderful life.” (Said in monotone because it’s just funnier that way)

Anyway, everything for me was about consciously interpreting everything in a way that would give me hope. Because hope is something good. Even now, everybody wants to have hope. It’s the human condition and it is, in a way, how our species have managed to survive as long as we have; hope gives us the motivation to want to keep going.

Well the old me had a very romanticised notion that by embracing hope and interpreting everything through it, eventually, what I actually wanted to happen, would happen. But, life does not work that way.

So I’ve realised that I have come to understand life as it is- as best as I can. That’s not to say that I am a pessimist or that I am a deeply miserable person because I am trying to remove the sugar-coated rainbow that I had painted all over my life, but I see things a lot more clearer now and quite frankly, I’ve noticed that I am a lot more at peace with myself and with the “things” a person experiences during life.

If it’s a grey morning-it’s a grey morning! It may or may not become a day filled with a blue sky and singing butterflies, but either way, it’s okay. Either way is okay because it’s really none of my business what colour the sky decides it wants to be- I will take things as they come (you may applaud).

It no longer has to be that the child, or the elderly person dying from some horrible disease or merely from the brutality of life somewhere in this horribly divided world is going to die- but ‘that’s okay, because their loved ones might- just MIGHT- through the tragedy, remember the guy in the sky’ and this “divine love borne from despair” makes everything better-obviously.

Yes… you may throw tomatoes at the old me.

For me now, I understand that people are dying and loved ones are being lost and that the world is horribly divided- socially, economically, and morally- but romanticising the facts is no longer an option. Instead, making a change and creating new facts and stepping into and embracing the reality of life and all the loss, the grief, the tragedy, the love: all the things that make life beautiful is where I am at now.

A quote by Leo Tolstoy- “It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.”

Hope is the human condition; as is love; as is wanting to believe that beauty is “good”. Life is beautiful, but not because it is “good.” The reality of it for me is that life is beautiful because, despite it containing hate, and tragedy and loss, it also contains honour, loyalty, innocence and love. And, I think that it is this capacity of embracing so many aspects of the human existence, of the timeless echo of the universe that makes life so beautiful and makes it worth living.

I don’t need to believe that something is perfect to love it. Flaws are beautiful. I think, in a sense, deep down, consciously/subconsciously- your call (seriously, it’s the coffee) – we all appreciate the purity and the genuineness that comes with the concept of flaws. That they let us know that it’s okay to be lacking and to truly understand the beauty of something, we must understand and accept both the good and the bad; what we like and what we don’t like.

Beauty is what remains in spite of. And being able to appreciate that beauty; I think that’s love. 


I have just finished reading a book: “The very thought of you”- Rosie Alison and to say that it strangled my emotions is an understatement. The book is set in 1939 during the Second World War and depicts the lives of all those affected by the war; their joy, their losses, their grief etc.

Recently having lost someone myself, this book really stirred something within me and I haven’t felt such a strong emotional connection to a book in a long time.

Sometimes I find my thoughts and feelings building up inside of me and no matter how hard I try I cannot relieve myself of them- not by speech and not by writing. But whilst reading this book, a certain passage stood out to me: it was my exact thoughts… summed up and written by another person who I have not and probably will never meet.  After all, when our thoughts fail to turn in to words, we turn to another source; books, hoping to find what we seek there and having found what we are looking for, we find solace in that we are not alone in our feelings.

May 1964

My Dearest,

Of all the many people we meet in a lifetime, it is strange that so many of us find ourselves in thrall to one particular person. Once that face is seen, an involuntary heartache sets in for which there is no cure.

All the wonder of this world finds shape in that one person and thereafter there is no reprieve, because this kind of love does not end, or not until death.

For the lucky ones, this love is reciprocated. But for so many others, everywhere, anywhere, there follows an unending ache of longing without relief. Incurable love is a great leveller. Yet I believe that this bittersweet love is better by far than the despair which blights those with a dead heart.

You are the woman I loved Ruth, I have lost you all these years, but I believe and rest in the thought that we had our time of love together; it was extraordinary and I cherish the memory of it.

Today was a glorious day. There was a glow to the evening light which fired the trees into a green so radiant that I could feel the life of each leaf. The sight stirred me to a rare joy; I sat by the window, and my spirit reached out into the fields beyond until I was blessed with this recognition: that everything was illuminated by the auxiliary light which you once gave me.

You maybe gone, but you gave me love, and you opened my eyes to the daily miracle of the world about me. On good days, I can still see you everywhere. An inestimable blessing, for which I thank you, my best beloved.

A very beautiful passage that’s given me hope- even if for only a little while; to know that out of lost love and grief, beautiful words and a fascination for the universe and all the good in it can still be present, if not awakened, is a wonderful and comforting thought.

“Perhaps just to have loved was enough- just to have seen this world, and known it, through the eyes of love.”

Whitney Houston- Run to you

Whitney Houston- Run to you

I can relate to this song more than I ever would have thought. I feel as though I have a very big part of myself missing. I feel empty. And the emptiness hurts. 

I want to run to you… 

Flowers, Trees, & Other Such Gifts of Nature

“To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.” ~ Mary Oliver

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I’ve recently lost someone very close to me- the person who was closest to me in the entire world. She knew and understood me in every imaginable way and I her. Friends would tell us that we were the male and female versions of one another.

It was as though we had this connection you know? As though we were two people who were meant to find the other to be whole. And I felt complete in her company.

There’s this concept of a “soulmate.” It exists in many varying forms in different cultures and societies but when it comes down to the core of it, the principle is the same; Wikipedia (I know, I know, “it’s not too reliable”, but it’ll do for this) tells us: A soulmate is a person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinitysimilaritylovesexintimacysexualityspirituality, or compatibility.

I remember always thinking, really? There’s a person with whom we find completeness and we can feel as though we’ve known them from a hundred lifetimes ago and not just a week ago- are you sure?

I used to think that it was human solitude romanticised so that people did not feel so alone but then, I met a person who gave me that completeness. From the moment I had met them, I remember feeling as though we surely have had to have met before; how can a complete stranger feel so familiar to me? We had the deepest connection; she understood parts of me that I had long ago accepted could not be understood by another person. I was so ready to close off parts of myself, to never reveal them and I never had a desire to reveal them for fear of disappointment, but she knew me like I longed to be known. I willingly opened up to her all the parts of me because I felt that I had finally found a companion to live this wonderful life with.

But somehow, it appears that not everything is meant to last forever. It happens that even the strongest of connections are on borrowed time. No, do not think that the love diminishes   or that the feelings go away- what I mean is that life has other plans. You can love each other, complete each other and be the world to one another but the sad truth is, there is an end to all things. You can hope and pray to enjoy many lifetimes with this person, and maybe you get to, but the duration of time you spend with one another may be shorter than you would have liked.

And it happens. All of a sudden, you find that your time is up and you wonder how it could have happened..

But… but we’re soulmates. We had this connection that ran deep through our souls and through every atom of our being. She was my world. How can your entire world collapse? The neighbours are laughing; I can hear them through my thin walls. The car outside my window is playing music far too loud, the inhabitants enjoying the song; perhaps reminiscing about the lyrics. Children in third world countries are still suffering. Wars continue. But yet, you tell me that my world has ended? That I will never return to it? That I never CAN return to it?

But we’re soulmates.

If you give all of yourself to this one person, what do you have left to give to anyone else? Is this it for me? Left with memories of what was and can never be again?

Do you get to have this connection more than once?

Do I want to feel like this again with another person?


I don’t have anything left to give and even if I did, I don’t want to.

There is no way that there is another human being in this universe who could ever understand me how she did.

How is it possible to have this fascinating, seemingly spiritual connection with another person more than once?

I don’t believe it.

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