In praise of slowness

Well, what do I do when I cannot find anything new to post? I plagiarise. Now don't give that despising look. I actually copy from the pages of my own old diary and pass it as a new post. That's not such a crime, I presume. So here it goes:

"There's something about slowness that is particularly attractive. And here I'm not just implying physical slowness, but our mental slowness as well. Slowness, often derided as a negative attribute, has its own charm. It resurfaces at unexpected turns and reveal to us a whole new world, a world that moves in its own indifferent way. And those among us, who are more susceptible and sensetive, may even fall in love with this slowness. They may be just as happy to let the world pass them by. There seems to be a beauty in slowness if one pauses to look at it. But, in a sense, slowness is also about the way we perceive things. Indeed, most of us, when confronted by slowness, feel tremendously bored, rather than getting enticed by it. Therefore, slowness is also supposedly a mental state of being. Not everyone is capable of extricating the pleasure out of slowness.

Now, this same slowness also applies to our emotions. There's always an inherent sense of slowness in all our pains, yearnings, and dreams. And it is this slowness that lends poignancy to our feelings and makes us understand them better. Happiness, as we commonly perceive, is a fleeting feeling. It never stays long enough to make us really happy. But our moments of despair, failure, and loneliness never seem to leave us in a hurry. They seem to fit better into the definition of a friend."

Here, I'd like to give just a little background about this piece of writing. I assume this was written on a foggy winter day when I was depressed, confused, and jobless. (I assume because I cannot ascertain the date; my diary entries had always been erratic and haphazard.) That was a dark period of uncertainity and I was almost on the verge of a breakdown. Well, it is again a flawed piece of writing (most of my writings are flawed anyway) but I like the whiff of melancholy and despair it carries -- reminds me of those lonely, desolate days.