I love new things. This makes me curious and an interesting person to get to know. However, it also makes me someone who is almost constantly looking for stimulation- it might be a sudden, uncharted getaway, new people, new cuisine, and new hobbies, new skills. Of late, I have been aware of this tendency, and I have sat myself down in quietness to understand my possible ‘abhorrence’ for the mundane. Only to discover that mundane isn’t all that flavourless at all!
What is mundane?
Is it that which we have in common?
Why is it so uncelebrated?
Why is the response to it so often dejection and aloofness?
I love finding mundane details that I might have in common with others. Is a quick hug a mundane detail? What if you liked it? What if the memory of how it feels lingers on? A courtesy greeting, a rote expression, but isn’t as it seems.
In fact, I find the mundane, only, pliable. Nothing else seems to matter as much as the description of the mundane details of my life. When they fit, they form a fantastic larger-than-life picture of my story thus far. Constantly evolving, never static, when I fail to put these mundane puzzle pieces together, within the given time, everything descends into beautiful chaos, driving me to magical thinking, playing a tug of war with the cosmos, and so suddenly shocked by the other and the self. So delicately puzzling, I am pulled in and shoved out of this world of despondence, haze, and seeming-sorcery. Sometimes I will thrash my hands, causing the chaotic fabric to churn and get further entangled. Sometimes I will reach my hand out above my head, and grope calmly for that which I may call my anchor and stay. Most times I am entranced by it, caught in a landslide of the subconscious, stuck in reality.
Such irony. Only the nature of time is in common.