Today I re-read all my blog entries. In a way, slipped down the memory lane. And smiled, frowned and felt embarrassed at some of the entries; even wondered if I had managed to write some words in them. Then realised I have changed in a year; changed so much that I am unrecognisable. In fact, in one of the entries, I had written "I know without emotions there is no life, but they should be part of life, not the whole life. If they encircle us fully, then we can not perceive anything else, good or bad." And I am encircled, more precisely, engulfed in those emotions that my once-clear eyes have turned hazy. Hope to clear it soon.
'Caught in a strange land in a net with other butterflies, I'm a caterpillar yet undecided to remain a caterpillar and perish or turn into a beautiful butterfly and live a life full of joy.' Readers don't laugh. But I came up with this one night recently when I was travelling in a train. I tossed and turned, not being able to sleep, upset over unexplainable things and frustrated over events not in my control. Then it occurred to me that our life and its usefulness depends on our decisions -- whether to remain a crawling caterpillar whose existence otherwise is either ignored by all and sundry or who is cursed for just being there and thrown out with a stick, or to develop wings of life and metamorphose into a beautiful butterfly whom everybody adores for its beauty and colour, for its flitting liveliness, for its service to the flower's pollination... I thought that I should be a butterfly, of service to others, but then again I thought, anyway, who really cares?
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