This, this music makes me cry / It sounds just like my soul … The things they see in me, I cannot see in myself/ When you get bored of me I’ll be back on the shelfGrimes
Do we really listen to people, can we hear them? Mieko Kawakami in her book ‘Breast and Eggs’ explores the ethics of artificial insemination, and one of the points she brings up how many couples actually know each other? Is there really a difference by insemination by a stranger, versus a human being you don’t understand? What does it mean to know a person?
خود سے ملنے کو زمانا چاہئے
khud se milne ko zamaana chaahiye
It takes an epoch to meet just one’s own selfHairaan Hua
If you listen hard enough to yourself, buy the mantras of the wellness industry, what does it mean to know yourself in the limited time you have on earth, perhaps we have to exist with the unknown of self all our lives and just be ok with it- a sort of negative capability. Perhaps some artists who become self destructive step past the shroud that keeps us all sedate. How do we forget that we as humans struggle all the time, self administering opiates to keep going? How do we do this living thing. We is generic. Are some people just not aware, or is there a general ennui in the ‘hivemind’?
I often feel misread by people, but when I think about it I wouldn’t know what to tell them I ‘am’. I just know it is not the idea they have of me. Is that flawed? usually I then reason myself out of it with the logic it doesn’t really matter. But lately I’ve come to realise it actually does matter what people think of us whether we like it or not, consciously or not.
Ultimately we all want to be heard. We want to know our existences are ‘real’ that our small impacts on the world create indentations that are real, despite how quickly they are filled in. To know we were here, when we aren’t. Maybe being ‘mis’-heard is a superfluous detail, what matters is that another person listened and your sphere of existence overlapped with theirs. Maybe that is all we can hope for anything more would operate on some other plane that transcends the everyday. Does such a plane exist? Can we listen properly, maybe yes for a short period of time. I’ve had some conversations that I think could fall into that category, riddled with non sequiturs and silences. Not conversation in the conventional sense. The best type. But we need a balance of both, mundane and celestial, we aren’t creatures made of ether. Everything expires, hold onto things that sound momentarily like our soul for some sort of solace.
people are strange, Jun. They know nothing lasts forever, but still they find time to laugh, cry and get upset, labouring over things and breaking things apart. I know it seems like none of it makes sense. But son, these things make life worth living. So don’t let anything get you down.’ I was just a kid but I knew what he was trying to say.Breasts and Eggs by Mieko Kawakami