Voluntary Service.

This is the thing about voluntary service. You cannot get mad about people not volunteering. Even if they are the people on the board of the organization. After all, some poeple mght be more into something than others. They will devote more time and energy than others. Tomorrow is Youth Pride. and there are so few volunteers for our booth. I lashed out a bit in the morning at people who were too busy to help out, but then I realised my mistake. I do this for I believe in it. I cannot force people to volunteer for that defeats the whole philosophy of volunteering.

When I was contemplating writing a blog, I was told by Scott that it should be for your own self. But is it possible to keep the readers out of your mind? Is it possible to post independent of the thought that someone might be reading this thing, this thought so private to your mind. And does the virtual presence of that reader not alter your very thought process? So that you can never truly put down unadulterated thought into a blog; to extend this further I believe one cannot really express unadulterated thought in language. The moment we try to bind some emotion or thought in words, we change it, for no words can capture in its entirity the complete nuances of even a single thought. The very attempt of expression alters the thought itself.

What language can do is at best an estimate of what the reality is. And under the guidance of an accoplished artist, the medium does estimate the idea/emotion to a great degree. but Reality, can only be felt, lived, never expressed explained or described. (Quantum physics has a direct analogy to this which I find very amusing - that the very act of measurement alters reality)

Its been a year since I have come out. 365 days ago, I was contemplating suicide. A year later I am celebrating life itself. After the love, the heartbreak, the depths of despair, the rescuing of one's own self, comes the celebration of life. Its has been such a journey. HE, the obscure object of my desire, is no longer my present, neither is his absense. He, his absense, his loss are now memories, some sweet some bitter -but a dream, whifs of scent from the past. In fact he is not real anymore. He is just a memory. That's what he will remain, until I meet him again someday. But then I will meet a new him, not the one that I knew. In that sense people who drift away from you in some sense cease to exist - they do so only as memory and you canrry with yourself the image of him that you had when he was with you. In that sense, he is like a photo album in your mind and thoughts - and as real.

But then again memories themselves have a life of their own.