Jason Mraz

I believe I’ve just found an artist whose work I truly love.

He’s been around for a while, (at least that’s what Wikipedia tells me) but well, I just heard one of his songs today morning, and have been on a listening spree since then.

To be honest, this is the first time I encountered one of his songs, long back:

That is Jeanine Mason, winner of Seaosn 5, So You Think You Can Dance, performing a Travis Wall choreography to ‘If It Kills Me’ by Jason Mraz.

I don’t know how anyone can listen to this song and not want to dance. I do not how anyone watching this performance cannot cry. And I don’t know how anyone performing this cannot fall in love with Jason Mraz.

This is music like I’ve never heard before. Even the songs of his I don’t like too much, I still want to listen. And coming from someone who doesn’t give a song more than 5 seconds to prove its worth, that’s A LOT.

I believe great art is one that shows you your own reflection within an artist. Perhaps its a narcissistic point of view, but there isn’t any other way to judge art. When Jason Mraz sings it’s almost as if he’s crooning to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one to romanticize unnecessarily. What I’m emphasizing, is that every song seems like a private, impromptu performance. Like you were sitting in a room along with a guy who’s got a guitar and he goes, “Hey, you wanna hear something?”

Every one of his songs that I’ve heard so far has this quality. It isn’t rehearsed, it isn’t calculated. It’s effortless. It’s completely honest, bare-naked. It’s almost as if he’s making up the song as he’s singing it. Like he has no idea really what will come next, what note he is to hit, what solo he’s to play, how long he’s to pause, or anything like that. He just knows what he wants to sing about, and the rest, he knows, is just going to flow out of his body, come from his mind – like your lungs breathe or your heart beats or your blood flows.

Because it is a default function that your body performs out of the fact of being a ‘body’. So Jason Mraz thoughts turn to lyrics and lyrics turn to music – on their own, without any effort, as a default function of him being who he is. It’s almost as if he’s the music and the music is in him.

I guess this is the reflection I love and cherish. Because that’s how I write too. I don’t really rehearse or calculate my words and sentences. I barely ever edit what write. I just start with a thought. And then words flow. Sentences are formed. Paragraphs created. A Meaning Delivered. Without any real effort. I love everything I write because it’s honest, real, bare-naked. It’s unflinchingly, un-apologetically, unequivocally ME.

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To Valentine or not to Valentine

Today was Valentine’s Day.

A day when lovers take the time out, to do something special for their lovers. Not that you need a specific day to do so, but this just gives us one more reason.

It is also a day when companies are laughing all the way to the bank considering the amount spent over really expensive gifts, as well as really ridiculous ones: giant hearts and chocolates, confetti, balloons and the like.

It is also a day when otherwise constantly bickering couples take the time out to not-bicker reinforce their delusion of happily ever after.

It is also a day when men can buy a year’s quota of sensitivity, understanding, respect and affection all wrapped up in a teddy bear (holding a heart shaped cushion preferably, or a bunch of red roses)

It is also a time when women can guiltlessly covet ridiculously expensive gifts their men bring, however grudgingly.

It is also an occasion which creates innumerable future occasions for men to bitch about their women, and vice versa.

And, it’s an occasion which warrants single people to pathetically display their joy and pride at being ‘single’ (Yeah like you really had to work hard for it.)

And that’s why I have always hated Valentine’s Day. The show, the charade, the gloss of it all. Ugh. Till now.

I celebrated Valentine’s Day today, for the first time ever. For 23 years, I have watched all the drama and non-sense unfold before me eyes ad nauseum; and I always wondered what I would feel like, celebrating it. Don’t get me wrong, I have always wanted to celebrate it; I was just never sure whether I would find the right reasons to, after witnessing so many wrong ones. I wondered if there’d be roses and teddy bears and romantic candlelit dinners. I wondered if all of these things would feel less ridiculous when they happened to me. More importantly, I wondered if they would happen for the right reasons.

So after years of criticizing Valentine’s Day celebrations, I finally had one of my own. And that’s when it hit me: I wasn’t really celebrating the day, I was celebrating the person I was with. 14th of February was just like an accessory — there for you to celebrate or to ignore, but that you choose to celebrate, because you have a reason to, you have a person to. Celebrate this person you are with, and everything they’ve given to you, the joy they’ve brought, they way they’ve changed you and the pleasure and pride you feel being with them. Sure, you can do it any day — but hey, today was a chance to do it — Did you take it?

I did and I felt joyous, going about it, in a way I had not felt before. Tingly anticipation, the ecstasy of knowing you have a reason to celebrate the occasion, and you’ve grabbed it! The warm assurance of knowing what you are celebrating, and why. The high of having made that person feel special, of having someone you want to make feel special and that wonderful new feeling that makes you feel. The apprehension that this person may also want to celebrate you in the same way, on this day. How wonderful.

But well, not everyone celebrates Valentine’s Day on the same day. I guess sometimes what we really want out of Valentine’s Day is to have someone celebrate us, as much as we’d like to celebrate them.

Price Theory of Love

Everything one wants has a price, that one must pay.

The intensity of your want is determined by what you will be willing to pay for it. And in that sense, this price ‘sets’ or determines the value you want has for you. It is a corollary, actually — how much you’re willing to pay will determine how much you want and consequentially how much you want will determine what you are willing to pay for it.

This price, itself, need not cause any pain or grief. It is quite natural and is in fact how it is.

This means I do not (cannot) regret the FACT of HAVING to pay a price. It is a normal and acceptable part of deserving to want.

However, just because it is a ‘normal’ and ‘acceptable’ part of wanting, it is NOT inconsequential or something that one can afford to ignore.I cannot (will not) allow myself to forget that I DID pay a price.It is THIS price that has brought the value that I associate with my want.

When you forget the price, you begin to ignore, ignore the value — value of your want. The want becomes inconsequential, and eventually, non-contextual, i.e. you have no reason anymore to justify the want.

This is why is is so hard to lose someone you love. Because love, demands the highest price of all values.

Hurting. Healing. Hurting.

I feel numb.

It’s not supposed to be like this. When something hurts you, you are supposed to take that something away from yourself, so that you can heal your wounds. IF you don’t then the wound never heals; you just become numb.

I feel numb.

Though the object of the hurt is nowhere close. I’m still numb. How do I know this? Because I don’t believe I can be this ‘normal’ given my characteristics and the situation I’m in right now. If I am, then the only way that’s possible is by being numb. Denial. There is no hurt, because there is no object of hurt. It never existed at all. I’m just making it all up in my head.

Or possibly I haven’t healed yet. Yes, that’s it. It’s still an open wound. So going anywhere close to the object of the hurt is going to cause further pain or require fortified numbing.

But, But, the object of the hurt will always hurt. Even after I have healed completely. Then it will be a new wound. Then it becomes a redundant cycle of getting hurting and healing. I’ve read that the capacity to heal diminishes upon repeated injury-healing. One just becomes numb. Back to square one.

Spontaneous Re-generation is the need of the hour.

I don’t want to be numb. I don’t want to hurt either. Lemme know if you’ve figured that one out.

What is the difference between not acknowledging pain and becoming numb? Where is the fucking line? When something heals it doesn’t mean that it will not hurt again. It very well can, by the same object too. Fall 10 times and it will still hurt the 11th. How does that stop? Remove the object forever. Don’t fall in the first place.

The will always be other objects. How many does one remove? How many graves/mountains does one avoid?

Chuck it. Just let it go. The will be more objects after this. Each of them will cause wounds. Each of them will heal. Then there will be new wounds. Heck, then even the old object can be welcomed back. Wounds are wounds. They all cause pain.

I hope the part about capacity of healing diminishing is just a joke. I keep coming back to spontaneous re-generation. Fall 10 times and it will still hurt the 11th. You just learn to get up faster. Wait a minute, is that healing faster or numbing faster?

Maybe it’s not about the object. It’s ME. How does that matter? The answer still remains the same. Stay away from the object of the hurt. STAY AWAY.

Healed wounds are still sensitive you know, even more so.

“I know it’s hard to keep an open heart,

When even friends seem out to harm you;

But if you could heal a broken heart,

Wouldn’t time be out charm you?”

I do hope he’s right.

It’s really hard to go on like this. No point to hurting, healing and then hurting again.

I still feel numb. When does the anesthesia wear off, Doctor?

Ownership. Hurt. Love.

I did something silly today. I missed dance class. Just cuz she said “What are you doing here? Your application has not been approved yet. I told you I’ll call you.” Well, no, she didn’t — tell me that or call me.

It’s my class dammit! I’ve been coming here for the past 6 months. Even when I’m not in the studio, I’m still at the studio. Unless I really make an effort, my life goes only from Tuesday to Friday to Sunday, and I have barely any recollection of what I did on the days in between cause I’m living on dance-time. It doesn’t matter how bad things are; it doesn’t matter that I have barely no cash; that I wanted to make a career out of something I was told I’m not good at; that there’s absolutely nothing that would make me WANT to miss class — nothing. And she stands right at the door, doesn’t let me come in — ‘cuz they weren’t able to open my .docx application — as if I’m going to violate the sacred protocol by stepping into the studio.

I respect protocol. There has to be a method for managing things, and some rules and regulations have to be in place. What upset me was her first sentence. “How did you come?”. like I’m some fucking stranger on the road who’s trying to milk the academy of all the free classes she can get. Had I not submitted the application, I would have understood that I’m not allowed to attend class. But I submitted the application. She knew what was written in it. I asked her if getting a seat in that batch (that’s what my application is about) would be difficult. She said it would happen. So I’m thinking the application is a formality — a formal document they can use. They didn’t inform me they couldn’t open it. I have paid my fees for the classes I’m attending/asking permission to attend. They still need an application. I don’t understand the logic entirely, so I dont understand what purpose my application serves, but if it’s protocol, I’ll adhere to it. I’m no one to tell them how to run their things. But darn it, after all this, after knowing the issue, after I’ve done what I’m supposed to do, I still can’t attend class because they couldn’t open the file and it hasn’t been approved yet.

And then she makes calls and ‘tries’ to get me side-permission to take class. An exception for me since I came ALL THE WAY. I didn’t ask for a favour. If I had wanted that, I would have walked into class with that application in my hand and asked her to ‘adjust’. No, I follow rules. So I don’t want to attend class today. I will write that application again, since there is no point in sending a file they cannot open again. And when it has been approved by everyone, I will attend class. That’s what I did.

I felt like shit. Standing outside my studio, my class. Yes, mine. It’s not just a studio, you know. And it’s not just a class. It’s this place, that’s mine. And to have her ask me what I’m doing there. Oh god, how that hurt. How. After I gave her the application, she said Oh, but I told you you could attend class. (She actually told me “Take a pen and paper and write an application now and then you can attend class” while she was on the phone with someone at the office) Thanks, but I’d already made up my mind. You see, I’m a stubborn bitch. I will do things entirely your way. I made up my mind with the first sentence that came out of your mouth.

No, I don’t blame her. She can do what she has to and say what she wants to. She isn’t responsible for how I feel. That is a fact. But I felt like shit. That’s also a fact. There’s no causal relationship here. Simple facts.

And this is not supposed to be that kind of a place. This is not a place where you’re not allowed in 5 mins early or allowed to stay back five minutes late. This is a place where I can ask my teacher not to play a song just cause I broke up with my boyfriend and this song reminds me of him. This is a place where my teacher will sit at 10 in the night on a footpath and hold me while I cry buckets over some silly shit. God, how i love it. I don’t think I really knew before today.