Curiospen

I had been traveling for more than a week now,  thousands of kilometers away from Home, sitting on a beach with cool breeze hitting my face and the loud ocean waves hitting the rocks, I was completely lost. I didn't know where I came from, where I was going to go or where my "Home" was. My mind completely blank and the only thing I knew at that point was the small hotel room that I had reserved. That was my home. I forced myself to remember where I came from, where I belonged and I saw my home, in a small village in Gaya. Being there, having travelled through so many places, it was hard to even believe that I belonged there. For some reason I just didn't feel like I belonged there. It felt like its been years since I left that place.  It was such a weird feeling. Something I had never experienced before. I have been struggling more and more with mixing in for last few years. I stand out like a sore thumb everywhere, and its hard to  even imagine somewhere I truly belo...

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - Dylan Thomas

 Recently I came across this Quote by Franz Kafka.  “All Language is but a poor translation”.  Or as I like to say it, “A language is nothing but a poor translation of feelings”. And the more I think about it, It makes more sense.  On first thought, this idea seems conflicting. We made the languages, and every culture in the world should have perfected this skill to be able to express themselves completely, right? Well, Not really.  I am fortunate enough to know more than one language and I can see this gap between languages where no one is really perfect to be able to express ourselves completely.  Even with my native language, Urdu. There have been times when I have felt a certain way towards someone or towards myself and did not know how I could have expressed that. And I am sure you must have felt this way too. There are some things that just can not be expressed in the most perfect way that we would like to express them. No matter which language we use...