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Beginning this blog means yet another beginning, yet another commitment, yet another possibility of ending,
yet another thing that needs to be fed, petted, paid attention to, yet another browser window to my soul, yet another possibility of telling tales untold.
I won’t begin to moralise, explain, philosophise, second-guess, deconstruct the whys and the wherefores of blogs, because when I start, this thing won’t be published. Many times it has died in the womb of editing. Other times my blogs become subsumed and drown in the murky waters of my memory (or, as many will remind gently, my lack of one) - forgotten passwords, blog names.
‘c’est la vie’, a cliche, a saying, a dismissive way of answering life’s questions, a way of brushing aside the inanities, absurdities and vexations of life, a verbal pat-on-the-back for a hangdog, down in the dumps friend, a way of saying it all and not saying it all because all cannot be said and done, even when the fat lady sings her voice hoarse. But its my favourite phrase - probably becuase it unpretentiously accepts and never explains and answers. I have too many answers, and there are too many answers where I am, where I work. God knows that in the latter, the answers hardly ever work and they engender more questions and cause more question marks to sprout up like too many weeds.
It resolves to listen, and attempts to comprehend, because thats what we need, and so it becomes the name of my blog. And when life overhwhelms, with its seething dirty green saltwater of questions, its barrage of painful pins and needles, its stampede of wants and desires and commitment and duties and obligations, it reminds me, without figuring it out for me - that’s life, my friend.
