Almost like any country..

The Long Voyage

Not that the pines were darker there,
nor mid-May dogwood brighter there,
nor swifts more swift in summer air;
it was my own country,

having its thunderclap of spring,
its long midsummer ripening,
its corn hoar-stiff at harvesting,
almost like any country,

yet being mine; its face, its speech,
its hills bent low within my reach,
its river birch and upland beech
were mine, of my own country.

Now the dark waters at the bow
fold back, like earth against the plow;
foam brightens like the dogwood now
at home, in my own country.

-Malcolm Cowley

Cry, the beloved country

Fiction is sometimes so much more true than reality. A non-existent white man in South Africa can sometimes hit closer to home than any real person ever has.
This is probably true of all complex, deep-rooted cultures, but most of what is said about South Africa in the following quote could probably apply to my own country-

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"It is hard to be born a South African. One can be born an Afrikaner, or an English-speaking South African, or a colored man, or a Zulu. One can ride, as I rode when I was a boy, over green hills and into great valleys, One can see, as I saw when I was a boy, the reserves of the Bantu people and see nothing of what was happening there at all. One can hear, as I heard when I was a boy, that there are more Afrikaners than English-speaking people in South Africa, and yet know nothing, see nothing, of them at all. One can read, as I read when I was a boy, the brochures about lovely South Africa, that land of sun and beauty sheltered from the storms of the world, and feel pride in it and love for it, and yet know nothing about it at all. It is only as one grows up that one learns that there are other things here than sun and gold and oranges. It is only then that one learns of the hates and fears of our country. It is only then that one's love grows deep and passionate, as a man may love a woman who is true, false, cold, loving, cruel and afraid. I was born on a farm, brought up by honourable parents, given all that a child could need or desire. They were upright and kind and law-abiding; they taught me my prayers and took me regularly to church; they had no trouble with servants and my father was never short of labour. From them I learned all that a child should learn of honour and charity and generosity. But of South Africa I learned nothing at all.

Therefore I shall devote myself, my time, my energy, my talents, to the service of South Africa. I shall no longer ask myself if this or that is expedient, but only if it is right. I shall do this, not because I am noble or unselfish, but because life slips away, and because I need for the rest of my journey a star that will not play false to me, a compass that will not lie."

The 'right' shade of grey

Think black. The pitch dark of crows' wings descending upon you, pressing against your eyelids until black is the only reality there is. The black of your loved one's pupils, depthless, boundless- Drown in black.

Think white. Pearl-white, blinding sunlight like the light is enough to scorch your eyelids through. White so clear so opaque that you will never see anything but white again.

Is grey the equal presence of those two intensities, or is it the absence of both?
Both might give you the same shade of grey, and how would you decide then? Is there a 'right' shade of grey, or is that a self-disproving hypothesis?

Theme songs

There's a common theme to several stories of art- Right from Shakespeare to a cheesy Bollywood movie, there's this climax where the protagonist has one recurring song from childhood that they perform at the peak of their careers- Right from Twelfth night to Que sera sera to Meri jung, there's always a theme song. Listening to one of those today, I started wondering what mine might possibly be. One song or event that shaped my career, the person I am, held me up in times of trouble, etc etc. You get the picture, I'm sure.

Should the absence of a theme like this make me feel liberated ("Look at me, I don't need no silly Ally McBeal theme song to make things okay"), or should I be feeling like I missed out on an integral part of my formative years ("Ohmygod, what am I going to say when I go up to collect my Oscar?") Both, and neither? Does the fact that I can always find a theme make me shallow and too-easily pleased, or should I feel grateful that I can find solace in the smallest of things?

If a theme song is all the things that have shaped me, that touch my soul and lift my spirits, then this must be it, or atleast, some of it-

Sunsets
The deer resting in the grass by the creek, as we walked last night
The two rabbits I saw in yards
Sunlight filtering through springtime green overhead
Flowers spilling color through streets that were bleak all winter.

So its a song thats easily found- Maybe that makes me shallow, but what the heck, if I must have a song running through my head, it might as well be one that runs all around me, a constant reminder of joy.

"How does one become a butterfly?" she asked pensively.
"You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar."