The Basic Proposition
You lost sight of the original state of a deep and complete connection to all others and all things, and came to believe instead that the world abandons you and that something important is missing. So you focus on searching for an ideal love or perfect circumstance to make you feel loved, whole and complete again. In this search for the most unique, special and fulfilling, you feel envy and a longing for what you idealize but is unavailable. Your attention naturally goes to what is missing.
The central issue for healing
Ironically, an outward search for the ultimate, ideal, deep heart connection, and complete fulfillment where nothing of substance is missing, serves only to perpetuate a Four’s dilemma. All your well-intentioned searching in the wrong place only creates more intense feelings of deficiency and longing.
A Romantic’s primary task, therefore, is to realize that wholeness and completeness come with acceptance and appreciation of what is here now, in the present moment – from the inside out, not from the outside in. Disappointments and deficiencies are part of the fabric of life, not an indication of deficiency of being.
Six healing and growth commitments for Romantics:
- Accept that wholeness and realness exist now in the present moment
- Practice self-appreciation based on what is present and not what is absent, on what is rather than what isn’t
- Resist domination by strong and fluctuating feelings while acknowledging their authenticity
- Sustain a steady course of action even in the presence of intense feelings
- Appreciate the ordinary instead of deeming it as boring
- Disconnect your self-esteem from the need to be special or extraordinary
I think the problem with this is that I know that I am ordinary and am doomed to have an extremely ordinary life. My imagination relieves this boredom. I haven't been given a lot to work with in order to make it extraordinary. I probably will end up doing a boring ass job like teaching. Just because it's what I am 'supposed' to do.
Fuck me for being a stupid romantic. As hard as it is to believe, I really hate being this self-absorbed. I really wish I could just take in all the positive traits of the people I know. Genuine positive people about other people. Wisdom. Self discipline. Zest for life. Self control. Assertiveness. Stability.
Anyway, the git just didn't tell me where the Roses tin was and I went crazy looking for it. So I finally ring him after my second sleep and tell him I am going crazy please tell me where it is. He hid it in his brown bag, which is quite ingenious since I didn't even have the patience or the insight to look in it. I only ate four, which is quite good. I guess I really am full of self-disgust that I can't stomach anymore.
Had another of those wish fulfillment dreams. This time I had a blond girl and we were celebrating her 1st birthday. My partner was a young, blond guy who seemed really nice. But I had the impression that our relationship was more platonic than anything else. Like he was bored. No loving feeling there. Stupid, nonsensical dreams. We were taking a picture with us two and the cake, but no birthday girl: how completely stupid. Anyway, that's what dreams are for you.
I think I know why I am finding it so emotionally distressing and just so hard to keep reading Kartography. I think it's because it makes me think of the place with nostalgia. I read these words: daal, Defense, Clifton Beach, halwa puri, yaar, Tony Paan Shop, bijli, KESC, khiskoing, Paki-land, kinoos, chilli chips, Junior and Senior School, Muhajir, Pathan.. etc and they sound so familiar and yet I am completely distanced from it.
I spent 11 years in that city, in that country. I sat in rickshaws, in buses, went to Zainab Market, went to Karachi Club. I know what a burger and a lafunga are. I adore chilli chips/Slims and aaloo samosas and bun kebabs and hunter beef burgers and haleem. I can bargain (somewhat). I can tell the difference in quality of cloth.
I have visited people in Soldier Bazaar and other poor areas. I have been to small hospitals, grand hospitals, grand hotels. I have watch many Paki dramas and comedy programmes (especially when they took away all our foreign channels for two years in the late 90s). I have done Sports Days.
I have spent hours and hours at my mum's Montessori, 'helping' in the office. Playing with that small kid who was the chowkidar's daughter and always had oil in her hair. I just realise I spent a lot of time playing with her; I really enjoyed it. My Urdu was rusty at that time but we used to play in the garden and explore. But I was shy; where she was confident. And there was a 10-year age gap between the both of us!
I moved into that ruddy flat with Mum. I was shit-scared of living there. It made me feel more plebeian. Like she was intent on sinking into ordinary, soul sucking habits and pleasures. Just for the love and security she thought that man would be able to provide for her. No wonder I never really liked him; I could probably sense he was a lying, spineless tosser.
And yet, I have inhabited that city and not lived. It has always been through a glass.
Looking at that poor man who sat in a rubbish heap, wanting to get out of the car and give him food and clothing. But not doing it. The small kids who came to work in our house (there were few, two perhaps) and wanting to sit them down and teach them English. I didn't. Going twice a week to Clifton, yet never going down to the sea or hanging out. But, by then, I had willingly separated myself by wearing the coat. And I never really cared.
All I cared about was saving 5 rupees, so I would walk from Bahadurabad all the way home in stifling heat. My justification? 'All these poor people who can't afford the fare do it. So stop being so spoilt and just do it yourself. You will have saved 5 rupees.' I would look at things but not see them. Correction: I still look at things but don't see them. How the hell does someone like me live in a world like this?
You sent me to the wrong planet. Take me back, please.