Treading the same ol' path

Does familiarity really breed contempt? Certainly the fact that some of my closest friends hold me in contempt does lend some credence to this familiar phrase. But no, this is not a whine-fest about how unappreciated I am by the ones I call brethren. Nope, this is Christmas after all, spirit of cheer and all that, yea? Rather, this is about a journey of self-discovery and self-actualisation that I had undertaken of late. At this juncture I can almost hear the groans go up and hear the whirling of mouse scrolls, not another needlessly self-indulgent ill-disguised whine. Well not exactly, considering how little interaction I have had with the outside world in my period of self-imposed isolation, where else would I go, if not inward?

Anyway, further talk of such nature would only mislead the reader that this blogger is a narcissist, which most definitely I am not. Of course I am not, what makes you say so? I am so misunderstood. Let ME explain. you don't know ME! Don't you judge ME! How can you say that about ME! I hate you! Come back here, I am talking to you! Why won't anyone listen to ME! Nobody understands ME! Nobody loves ME! Nobody cares about ME!

Brushing that little utterly pointless side-show aside, it does seem that invariably, life has fallen into a routine, at least for me, such that at times I have to really consider if repetition of an activity is birthed out of sustained interest or repetition sustains the interest. For example, reading, one of my most beloved activities. There was a period of my life when I had been so comfortable reading and re-reading certain novels, that it seems almost ritual for me to revisit them, that I may recite the text verbatim, recreate the scenes in my mind, reenact dialogues time and again. I am rather ashamed to say that I have read the Godfather more comprehensively and at some juncture more frequently than any other book (yes including the Bible, gasp!). I could flip to any page and carry on reading from that point without having a gap in the story. A distant second would be Kane and Abel (yes its disgusting that its not even Cain and Abel). Yes these two books were what I would consider an absolutely compelling read, definitely worth re-reading, but the extent to which I revisited, re-revisited, re-re-revisted (you get the idea, I am too ashamed to continue butchering the English language) these novels surely would have outstripped the lure of the novel. Perhaps, it was a case where I was so comfortable within those literary confines that any deviation would be not be sustained.


The story remains the same for food I guess. Unwittingly, I find myself circling the same stalls, ordering the same dishes, time and again. Not that I am utterly smitten with the culinary skills of the vendors, not that there is some addiction to the taste or in some cases lack thereof, perhaps just as a case of simplicity, just a lack of energy to ponder further, if it remains bearable (and these confines expands on a daily basis) why bother changing it? Same goes for my regular watering hole, if I am meeting Capt its at A, if I am going with JK, its at B, if I am meeting them both generally its at A unless we are already at B. Its oddly appropriate to describe my drinking patterns as formulaic. Even my choice of poison is largely varying within limited confines; if I am driving, its Kilkenny or Guiness Draught, if I am not, its either Black Label or MacCallum. At this juncture, the reader may be forgiven for denouncing this blogger as utterly devoid of imagination and variety, in other words, being an engineer.

That cheap blow aside, all the above while mildly depressing, lacks the makings of a tragedy. Where someone occupies your thoughts, your fancies, the ends to your means, upon careful analysis, you suspect that its more out of habit than anything else, would it not be absolutely tragic? You find yourself wondering if your continual pursuit perhaps would stem out of nothing more than habitual familiarity? Or has the flames which should have long fizzled out been sustained by the embers of remembrance?

As the curtains draw on yet another largely uneventful year, will the new one usher in a new era?