Although I am a smartass, smart people scare me. You know the sort? They read a lot and make astute, witty observations about the world at large. Politics and film, literature and Chaz Bono. They will quote poetry, or Star Wars, and make oblique references to Nietzsche. There have been times I have understood a conversation years after it took place. Sometimes it's a wonder I have managed to stay alive as long as I have without setting fire to my own hair or something equally macabre, but not without its comic value.
I'd like to point out here that when I was 10, I borrowed a Return of the Jedi tee from my cousin and never returned it because for whatever reason, I thought it was super cool. I wonder if he remembers. It was cobalt blue, which I believe is the colour the loos in Hell are tiled in. This has nothing to do with anything.
For someone who has such an awful little to say, it should come as no surprise that my life features very few conversations, and instead of a story, this is like that Notes From Underground book which made absolutely no sense to me but was my companion on failed escapades in romance and the bathroom. So basically, I live in a sewer and am writing in a journal to be discovered after my death. Fair enough. Karachi is a sewer in the making, though a beautiful one.
I do have one long conversation a week, which is usually with Miraal, the other half of a raging bromance. My other conversation is with Yasmin, who is the loveliest girl anyone will ever meet (she knits and knows Brazilian Jiu Jitsu - I don't know the correct verb for this, okay?) and my feelings for whom are torn between girl envy and girl crush. My third most frequent converser is Danyal, whom I can't pinpoint anything about except that he has dated everyone we know. And yet he complains that his life is devoid of any romance. Why is that, Danyal? You must tell me someday.
I'm that kid at the end of the day, telling her parents, 'of course I have friends! I'm not a complete leper!' And also me, telling you that I am not that Underground weirdo. My dad had almost had a happy seizure when he saw the book though. 'First time you've bought a good book. Here's money to buy more!' I'm going to be talking a lot about this book, because I have unresolved feelings towards it. It's like, why is all important literature such a drag? or Why don't I have the intellect and perseverance to read important books? Don't answer that, I think I need brain Viagra as is.
So I think, what we are talking about today, is the human intellect and its limitations. Why is it that some of us can watch Bee Movie with as much ease as A Clockwork Orange, as any of the Mission: Impossibe films, while the rest of us will forever put down My Best Friend's Wedding as a favourite film? It's because the guys that didn't watch Jules talk down to Kimberly for about 88 minutes were smart. No, really. That was one of the worst films I've ever seen. Who does shit like that? If you're in love with your best friend, stop making stupid pacts and just tell them you want their seven babies, or however many they can have, or give it a test run to see how things might work out. I watched it so there isn't much to be said for the choices I make except for this: I watched it while i was in my very first 'relationship' with a boy I adored but wasn't really into. When I watched My Best Friend's Wedding, I felt like I could end up like Jules at 28, alone, and in love with my best friend, who has found a very sweet 20-year-old to marry. 'I'm never breaking up with him,' I resolved, regret is a bitter pill. I did break up with him few months on, and was very happy when he eventually got married, and not once did I put one of my blind turtles up his wife's gharara.
In case you haven't noticed, we aren't talking about the human intellect, but getting a lesson in mine.
I'd like to point out here that when I was 10, I borrowed a Return of the Jedi tee from my cousin and never returned it because for whatever reason, I thought it was super cool. I wonder if he remembers. It was cobalt blue, which I believe is the colour the loos in Hell are tiled in. This has nothing to do with anything.
For someone who has such an awful little to say, it should come as no surprise that my life features very few conversations, and instead of a story, this is like that Notes From Underground book which made absolutely no sense to me but was my companion on failed escapades in romance and the bathroom. So basically, I live in a sewer and am writing in a journal to be discovered after my death. Fair enough. Karachi is a sewer in the making, though a beautiful one.
I do have one long conversation a week, which is usually with Miraal, the other half of a raging bromance. My other conversation is with Yasmin, who is the loveliest girl anyone will ever meet (she knits and knows Brazilian Jiu Jitsu - I don't know the correct verb for this, okay?) and my feelings for whom are torn between girl envy and girl crush. My third most frequent converser is Danyal, whom I can't pinpoint anything about except that he has dated everyone we know. And yet he complains that his life is devoid of any romance. Why is that, Danyal? You must tell me someday.
I'm that kid at the end of the day, telling her parents, 'of course I have friends! I'm not a complete leper!' And also me, telling you that I am not that Underground weirdo. My dad had almost had a happy seizure when he saw the book though. 'First time you've bought a good book. Here's money to buy more!' I'm going to be talking a lot about this book, because I have unresolved feelings towards it. It's like, why is all important literature such a drag? or Why don't I have the intellect and perseverance to read important books? Don't answer that, I think I need brain Viagra as is.
So I think, what we are talking about today, is the human intellect and its limitations. Why is it that some of us can watch Bee Movie with as much ease as A Clockwork Orange, as any of the Mission: Impossibe films, while the rest of us will forever put down My Best Friend's Wedding as a favourite film? It's because the guys that didn't watch Jules talk down to Kimberly for about 88 minutes were smart. No, really. That was one of the worst films I've ever seen. Who does shit like that? If you're in love with your best friend, stop making stupid pacts and just tell them you want their seven babies, or however many they can have, or give it a test run to see how things might work out. I watched it so there isn't much to be said for the choices I make except for this: I watched it while i was in my very first 'relationship' with a boy I adored but wasn't really into. When I watched My Best Friend's Wedding, I felt like I could end up like Jules at 28, alone, and in love with my best friend, who has found a very sweet 20-year-old to marry. 'I'm never breaking up with him,' I resolved, regret is a bitter pill. I did break up with him few months on, and was very happy when he eventually got married, and not once did I put one of my blind turtles up his wife's gharara.
In case you haven't noticed, we aren't talking about the human intellect, but getting a lesson in mine.
I love it. Please write more and frequently!
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