The Other I.
Alter ego: An alter ego (Latin, "the other I") is a second self, a second personality or persona within a person.
PROLOGUE: Greetings to the readers. Today I won't be writing the post. And I have a pretty good reason for that. A very good friend of mine, someone I've known for as long as I can remember,who perhaps got annoyed by the hours I've been spending trying to come up with something to write, has decided to take up things in his own hands. And he offered to write about me, so there was no way I could have said no. just hope he doesn't reveal too many of my well-kept secrets. But without further delay, I'll pass over the keyboard to our guest writer.
What's all the fuss about anyway? Hmmm....I wonder what his interpretation of "the fuss" is. Is it the world with all it's chaos, or the life we've shared.
We haven't been together from the start. Kenny was there before I arrived on the scene (long story for some other day). But then as per the nomenclature norms, a technical default if you will, I took over. Anant Seam. The world came to know Kenny through me. But out here in the blogging world, it's the other way around. You know me through Kenny, I'm just the name on the email address. And that's because he chooses to listen to the so called "voices in his head" and reveals my life in words for the world to read. Did anyone of you ever got around to ask him why he writes in italics? It's because he's just jotting down thoughts, my thoughts, and analyzing and interpreting them, instead of just making straight forward statements like I do. I live in the world, Ken...well he has his own twisted fantasy world.
Kenny's the guy who won't let me get up in the morning to go to work because he can't ever think of himself stuck in a rut working in a tedious cycle, no matter how detached he gets when I do get to work. I think he's just lazy and unfocused. He's the guy thanks to whom, I'm up at five on a Sunday. He wants me to quit my job, and retire and settle somewhere along a beach in a few years, putting all my plans in jeopardy. He hates the ties I wear to meetings, and it's a big task to keep his hands of my neck to tear it off. He's the guy who keeps me up all night delving deep into his thoughts and mine, asking for reasons and solutions. And he's at it until I get too emotionally involved and am on a brink of a nervous breakdown. But than thankfully, he's also the guy who whispers in my ear, "Just f*ck it!!!" and gives me a pretty decent reason why I should do that. He hates literature, says it's always better to make up your own quotes than to quote others. I think that explains what he's been doing here all this while. I read the books that help him form his own quotes. He's never been the one to be bothered about making impressions on people's minds, and he won't fake it. If he doesn't like you he announces his displeasure. Still, he's the one who makes all the friends. I hate him for that. I have to curb him and be the diplomatic one. Kenny's the hopeless romantic. He's the one who falls in love all the time and I'm the one who ends up paying for it (both emotionally and financially). For some reason he can't seem to stay detached from the rigors of love and all the baggage that it brings along. He craves for it, and he drags me along with him. And I must say he does find some pretty amazing women. Honestly I can't say that I regret being with any one of them. I often joke to him that he hates being single because he knows that if he doesn't find anybody he'll be stuck with me, but then I also realize that maybe he's doing it more for me than for himself. He thinks I'm pretty boring, too worldly wise for his tastes. I think his ways are too wild for me. All his Saturday night's alcoholic liaisons, with me ending up nursing the Sunday morning hangovers. The cigarettes he manages to sneak into my day when I'm trying to quit. The tattoos he wants to engrave on my body. The haircuts he's made me carry off. The nights spent with him wondering what the hell I was doing there. But that's the way it has to be.
Being held together by the physical limitations of a body as compared to the endless limits of the mind, Kenny and I have worked out a system for survival, we know who works best where, so that keeps us from tipping over the edge to what the shrinks would term "schizophrenia". He knows when he's supposed to fade out, I know where I'm supposed too fill in. Want to know how to make a Manhattan? Talk to Kenny. Want to discuss the economy? Come to me. I make contacts. He makes friends. He finds love. I plan the date. It's all a nice little habitat, with each role defined. And that's life as we'll know it. Watching each others backs.Kenny n' me.
I have a hard time taking the easy way
I wouldn't call it schizophrenia
But I'll be at least two people today....
P.s. : I really hadn't plan to give out any of his secrets..but after he mentioned it...the offer was too tempting...so...so he won't be giving away any secrets, cause he's out now, the blogger is my role, I can take over whenever I want. At the end, the words at the bottom will always say "Posted by Kenny". :)
