It is a monstrous thing that I will say, but I will say it all the same: I find in many things more restraint and order in my morals than in my opinions, and my lust less depraved than my reason. This burning, fervent lust for life to have a purpose, for life to serve as an abattoir of ignorance. For life to not be reduced to a pathetic charade – just going through the motions from cradle to grave. What is life without the odd pothole to dodge? What is life without a couple of setbacks?

Flamboyance is short lived. Grit lasts. Be gritty. And grit is not flipping the bird to someone whose ways you do not approve of. Lunacy with a method to it is better than a stupid rut. It is better to be a depraved dissenter than to be a pathological people-pleaser. Gandhi was one such man. A lunatic in his own right, trying to unshackle the throttlehold vice grip of the British realm by being civil and tolerant. It was effective albeit eccentric. In an era where violent revolutions were in, his methods worked. That’s grit. Doing what you believe in. One often refrains from giving it their all because they’re afraid of falling in their own eyes. The fear of losing keeps them from even trying. The doubt “hey, what if I give it a 100% and still fail?” is one that makes a moron out of many an intellectual.

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. If you lived your whole life sans moments like these, there’s a special section awaiting you in heaven. It’s called hell. That time when people say they looked into a girl’s eyes and lost themselves, when a man burning with cancer sold part of his life to spend some time with his daughter and went through with excruciating chemo, when a sprinter pulled through the last few meters of a 100 meter sprint in spite of a torn hamstring to win a gold, the rush they get, its not all talk or poetry. It’s real. Perhaps the most real thing there is. Creating moments like these is life. The measure of life is to live without measure. Life is too damn precious to blow up in smoke or soak away in booze.

Make living your purpose and not existence. Fungi exist. You’re flesh and blood, man! It’s all there for a reason. The intuitive mind is a sacred gift. We have created a society that has forgotten the gift. Wake the f*** up.