About

When I named my blog asymmetrical thoughts I had no real reasons for doing so. It just felt like a name that is given. Like my parents named me Abdul Basit without justification or my explicit permission. But eventually, there is a chaos in my writings, an anarchy, that at times accurately reflects the turbulent storms that I have weathered. On my odyssey that is. Of course, physically I have laid on my bed and not moved, but I have soared and I have sunk. Where ever I have been in my life I have had this feeling that the past was perfecter and the future would be more degenerate. If by some deus ex, the Basit of say seven years ago, perchance appeared in front of me, I would have no option but to lie down on the ground, cry and beg for his forgiveness, for what I have made him into. He deserved better. I have also been sure, that I would be forgiven. See because growing up is basically dying by degrees. It is rotting, corrupting, and the realization that the moment you are born and have left the unblemished state that you were in your womb, there is no return. The grave is often equated to the womb. This is a gross misrepresentation. Carrion fodder is not the same as a sleeping fetus. When does our consciousness develop, when do we become us? Am I yet to become me? Can I ever be me again? These questions are the crux of all my inquiry and inevitably boil down to this: Who or what am I?
There are so many ways to answer this question. Yet every way to answer this question, is a particular way of looking at the ephemeral phenomena that can be assigned the linguistic label “I”. So have all the modes of inquiry been exhausted and reasonable conclusions drawn from them. Am I already bound in the chains of definitions. Can I be something other than what I am defined to be.
Or does an answer to any of these possible inquiries serve to suffice to define me?
In other words, this is most embarrassingly, and in all probability a very boring blog.