Writeia

Nature's Design: A Journey of Existence - On the eve of my birthday by Akash Thapa  I am what nature intended to be. I dare not say that I have control over nature. Was I born? Or was a human baby born that ultimately turned into me? I have been at the depths of rivers, Deprived of air to breathe. I have been at sun-covered beaches, Enjoying the summer heat. At moments, I have had a lifetime's worth of experience. My lifetime though would not amount to certain moments. I am a certainty that has occurred, I am a chance that could’ve been. Losing control is in my domain, Seizing the universe is my aim. Calling for everyone to be by my side, Alone in my dying moment is the design. Searching for mysteries is my calling, Setting the highest benchmark, is my falling. Being who I was born to be is my fate, In any way struggling to find myself is my selling rate.

What can you call NATURE when everything in this world moves with time? There is no set definition that one can pinpoint. The all-too-fictional-seeming book by Kafka, The Trial , seems to me a natural tale but of a different time. I finished reading the book today, and the world that Kafka creates certainly seems fictional to me, but I often glimpsed that the book had close ties to our way of the world. We logically try to think that it must have a certain meaning inherent to its nature, but we often find contradictions in the simplest of senses. What can you say when a person commits to doing one thing, but their actions inevitably lead to another? And we come around to these things in a cycle. The beginning of the book could be well read, but after a certain time, you realize how strange the nature of the world within it is. The protagonist K. might have gotten very far ( in his case ) due to his presumed intelligence to outsmart everyone, but he ended up in the worst shape possible,...

                                                                           René Magritte.  The Lovers . Paris 1928. Echoes of Past Love: A Tale of Nostalgia, Guilt, and Introspection by Akash Thapa  "O Ellen, what will you say when the recording angel asks you why one of your sins has my name to it?" George Bernard Shaw wrote to his love, Ellen Terry, in a letter dated 1897. Almost 127 years later, reading it this fine morning, I am reminded of a past love in which I had a chance to play a role in. I wonder, how would her recording angels take my lover's sin to be? I still feel guilty at the thought of how the affair ended between her and me, abruptly, even though it took years to ignite our passions for each other. The guilt I feel has been mine to bear,...

I've been able to take care of some of my bad habits for almost three days now. They feel like an eternity. My muscles ache, and I realize that I'll have to factor in exercise a few days later. The key habits that I would like to keep up and sharpen are writing and reading. Being able to talk about my misgivings has helped a lot. Currently, I'm reading  Civilized to Death :  The Price of Progress . Some concepts resonate well with me; some I take with a grain of salt. The reading is exciting, and the writing seems well-informed. My thoughts now wander back hundreds of thousands of years, and I try to imagine what a human eons ago must have felt. What were the troubles that they dealt with? What were the aims that they aspired to? And finally, how did this age come about? This age that so many find wonderful to live in, this best of times which incidentally many feel to be the worst of times as well ( current  famine -like conditions and  warzones  around the wor...

My bouts with insomnia are growing. Yesterday—or rather, this morning at around 1:55—I felt tired enough to sleep. I knew the exact time because I was reading my Kindle (" Civilized to Death : The Price of Progress" by Christopher Ryan). Just as I tiredly closed my eyes, in the silence of the morning, I could hear roaches moving about in my room. The small tap-tap-tap noise they make as they scurry across the floor is familiar. I mostly let them be. Today, however, one roamed by my bed's headboard. I could hear it crawling by. Irritated, I tried to ignore it, but a moment later, I heard the flutter of its tiny wings as it flew towards my door. I lost it. I knew that some innocent creature like that could be left alone, but not today. Sleep-deprived and bleary-eyed, I quickly turned the lights on in my room. I remembered having an old bug spray somewhere in the room. As I caught sight of the spray, I heard a faint rustle of plastic by the door and knew that the roach was t...