Novocaine For The Soul

Some people shoot up or inhale; some people drink; some people have sex; some people do extreme sports; some people fall in love.

I search.

Sometimes I wonder if it's a sort of transference - this eternal looking for a book, or a song, or a toy, or whatever - if this never-ending search is a physical manifestation of the vague feeling that something's ... missing.

Or maybe I just do it for the kicks. Goddess knows, there's never anything quite like that burst of exhilaration, of joy, when the looked-for item is found. Suddenly, the world is perfect, and life becomes a celebration; there's so much happiness in you, you feel you must be exuding it like a fragrance. You can't stop smiling, and, like the movies, you want to skip along the streets, randomly grabbing strangers for an impromptu little dance; you want to tell everybody what you've found.

I don't know ... maybe this is what I live for - the intoxication of giddy delight and momentary contentment.

And with a successful search comes possession. I'm ashamed of it, but I like owning and collecting things - another Art Noveau poster (with any luck, a Mucha or Beardsley), postcard, book, CD, or DVD ...

I suppose it's because these material, inanimate objects are safe. Two years ago, Jaya passed me her two little pots of plant to take care of when she flew home for the summer. I watered them faithfully, made sure they were placed in the best possible position for sunlight; I even talked to them. When they started getting green (Jaya always forgot to water them) and started growing, I was so proud and happy, I swear I felt almost maternal.

But then Jaya came back, and I gave her plants back, a little sad to see them go. When Jaya saw that they were all pretty and healthy, she said I should keep them because they'd only wither if she took them back. Suddenly, I was terrified - not in an ohmygawd there's a lizard over there! sort of terrified; more like a panicky, fight-or-flight reaction.

I thought about it after declining Jaya's offer; I thought my reaction might have to do with the fear of being responsible for a living thing, and of getting attached to it. I realized then I'd unconsciously been keeping a three ps rule: no plants, no pets, no people. This sort of pre-emptive measure makes life ... safe.

Getting attached to a living thing and then having it gone is prolly the worst sort of feeling you can feel. I remember that one time when we were flying back to Singapore from spending a couple of weeks or so in Sweden. I'd gotten attached to Timothy and his (complete skunk of a) brother then. I'd cried saying goodbye, cried on the coach all the way to the ferry, moped about in Copenhagen, and finally, having fallen asleep on the flight out of Amsterdam, I had a dream in which I was happily walking towards Timothy and his (complete skunk of a) brother, only to have them fade away when I neared them. I woke up in tears and couldn't stop crying.

I was met in Changi Airport by my aunt who told me my grandfather had passed away two days prior, but if I had been grieving, it wasn't for him. I wasn't close to my grandparents, especially not on the maternal side. I went to the funeral in a numb daze. When I got home, I sat naked in the bathtub talking to Hagen who'd called me as soon as I got home, almost crying, and almost freaking him out. When he hastily got off the phone, I took a bath, but didn't feel better.

It was a shitty, painful feeling (and not at all worth it - at least not for that complete skunk); not one I would particularly want to repeat ever.

So, anyway, inanimate objects are safe - the safest. For one thing, your chances of getting rejected by a non-living thing is lower (albeit not all together nil); for another, a non-living thing can most of the time be replaced (not always, but chances that you could are still higher compared to that of replacing a living object).

Today, I'm on a search for an original track of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's 'Dam Mast Qalandar Mast Mast'; tomorrow - who knows? - maybe a copy of Meena Kumari's I Write, I Recite.

Sometimes I find what I’m looking for (in a matter of days, months, or years); sometimes it seems I’ll never be able to find it. Sometimes, I set aside one search for another, but I never really give up.

When I find what I’ve been searching for, there will always be something else I can - and will - look for, and I'll always be living from one ephemeral joy to another.

Oh well.