Excessive ramblings of a fellow who likes to type, and a thing called contentment

Most of the philosophical brouhahas are about life, to define them in a nutshell. I'm not a cynical person and therefore I don't see life as a series of agonising days where my primary desire every morning is to slash my wrists and see how people mourn my plight. Sentimentality is fine. We all need bits and pieces of it to stay in tune with emotions. But when sentimental extravaganza spills over into pessimism-filled distaste towards everything life has to offer, it is, to put things mildly, a bit over the top. One might argue that I, having a peaceful life so far, am clearly too unaware and immature to comment on a matter so serious. Of course I can't defend that. Immaturity is just another human trait in me that I cannot get rid off.

We all hope for something better that's going to happen at some point of time. We look back upon good times with tinges of nostalgia and silent sniffs somewhere around the olfactory area. But let us face it, we live right at the moment. The rest are either dreams or memories lived. Somewhere down the line, I feel it is so much more important to realise that all the hurdles that life presents us are merely an obstacle to clog our greater picture. They are like the small air-pockets that aeroplanes often plunge into. More often than not the big birdie manages to fly alright. (Of course those prematurely deceased due to plane crashes are cursing me from above). I've always wanted to be happy. Till I realised that there's nothing to plan for. I'm happy for the moment anyway. And that makes a lot more sense than what the past gave or what the future holds.

Disclaimer: This view of life is subject to momentary whims.