When everything you know is proved wrong and your struggles mean nothing because you have achieved nothing,
You thought that you’re putting your investments in the right place, you’re giving it all that you could ever give
But it amounts to nothing and that’s where everything falls apart.
I have understood and I have learned and I have failed over time.
Now they come back like a ghost and I look at their silhouettes and am reminded what I lost
A part of myself and not the person themselves because they chose to go and I chose to stay.
I stayed because I did not have the strength or the courage to leave. I had to go through the burns, I had to go through the pain in order to gain some clarity.
Through all of this, all of the pain and the sorrow, a bubble was made around me, not a wall.
It’s because they always burst the bubble. But if I had walls, I would be safe or so I thought.
I’ve spent months trying to figure out where I stand and every time when I think it is making sense, it moves away, it becomes transient, it becomes shallow, it becomes a whisper that is lost in the dark.
There is no Halo, there is no light, there is just me waiting in a dark room. I’m not looking for a savior. I’m not looking for you.
I’ve always been alone and that has been enough because I never betrayed myself. I never had the intention of being broke.
What I’m left with is what I’m working with, it’s a half picture that nobody wants to take home.
The oven is pre-heated and I am ready to cook the last supper. It’s finally a goodbye, the end of the road for me. With you. As you’d anticipated and I watched in dread. Ticking days off calendar boxes until the day of the end. For me. With you. And be as it may, I was prepared for my half-baked pie to be spit out in disgust. Food analogy seems appropriate for self gratification and condemning myself to a heartbreak I have never experienced before.
It’s gory, it’s dark, it’s something that I see but do not understand. I agree with most of the logic you put forward but did those arguments ever stand between us, I often wonder. Decode why you’d want to leave, why couldn’t you just stay. Why indeed.
Maybe I’m not the perfect fit, maybe I’m not the lost puzzle piece, maybe this was how it was supposed to be. And if, and only if you’d stayed to give me another chance to prove that it is worth saving, I wouldn’t have believed you.
Lies is all I see, a trap before me stretched indefinitely. I willingly hang myself at the altar of your games and I play into your hands, like clay info potter’s wheel. Why don’t I just break the wheel, you ask. I stayed of my own will and I’d choose the past of thorns again, maybe try to do things differently. Play by the cheat codes, the pirate way to go.
If only I had the tools I need to unclog the drain. Let the murky waters pass so I can see you for what you are.
There comes a moment in one’s life when the picture becomes complete, the last puzzle fits and you get to see what all it’s been moving towards, all the plotlines and all the drama, it all meets at that picture.
Gazing at it, you’ll know why what happened in the past and how you overcame the good and the bad to be where you’re meant to me. I’ve felt it and so have you.
I often wonder where the power comes from, something to cherish, something to live by. And it all comes together one day. And you’re filled with an immense sadness, like regret?
I wouldn’t know, I’m still looking for missing puzzle piece. Life doesn’t make sense until I find it. Till then we binge on food.
I don’t have many thoughts these days. I don’t think anymore. Day in and day out, there’s a creep on my balcony as I watch over my shoulder every time I take a turn.
I get a dreadful text message that has my coordinates. And I wonder when the torture will stop, when the harassment will stop.
This world does not belong to me, I do not belong to it. We’re strangers sipping red wine in the backyard where you hid your funeral. I attended. And so did they.
I felt sorry. They were there for free lunch, I believe. I prayed for your joke and I hoped it’d be a dream that I wake up from, holding water, not wine. Holding you, not divine.
I see incomplete pictures and I wonder if they’re beautiful. I hate that they are. You see it too and yet you don’t look at me. I’ll be your picture if need be.
Can you believe it that two months of 2021 have already gone?
It just struck me today, while I was minding my own business, that we are way into 2021 and it’s no longer a new year. I am yet to make the mistake of writing 2020 instead of 2021. LOL. I seemed to have made enough mistakes to remember what to write now.
But that is beside the point. Time is flying by and before you know it, there will be a couple of grey strands of hair sticking here and there and you’re wondering where the “green salad days” were, that were promised?
Just like the forgotten prince that was promised in Game of Thrones? Remember Azor Ahai? Yes, I am still mad about the ruined storyline. No, I will never get over it.
We are still wearing masks and I don’t see it changing any time soon.
Anyway, thoughts for today … I want to be … What do I want to be? I honestly have no idea. I used to … Once upon a time but now … It’s a haze. It’s nothing.
I want to go back to Existentialism that I once read about, brush up my skills on Kantian concepts … I’m sure I’ll find them more relatable now.
What about Nihilism? I could get down with that as well. Once I know how much I know and relate to, I’ll share my thoughts.
I’ll go to you when the weather is nice. A good story. A calm, slow paced romance mixed with reality and a bit of stretched drama which doesn’t get overbearing.
It’s warm, ironic because it’s cold season in the narrative. And it makes me feel warm. Interesting storytelling technique. Really good looking actors playing deep and complicated characters.
I would half wish to have as boring and amazing life as depicted in that story. Life would be fun if I was watching it in 2D, I’d be safe in the seats
I’ll go to you when the weather is nice is a story about longing and one-sided love that stays hidden inside the heart of a boy who turns into a man without ever confessing his love.
It is a story of a girl coming to terms with her reality and complicated relationship with her family as well as finding love in a long lost friend who had always been watching from the shadows.
It’s about a domestic violence survivor and a defence that goes way too far. It’s about accepting the mistake and paying the price, lawfully and lonely.
It’s about betrayal of a friend by a friend and the hope that they can make peace. Sometimes there is nothing to salvage and in that moment, it’s best forgotten for the sake of all those involved. It’s a tale of learning how to forgive.
It’s a story of a mother who accepts a child not from her womb, gives him a home and nurtures him into what he is today. It’s a story of resilience that is a gift from the support of family. It celebrates love.
I have started to re-watch it a second time. It’s just like a lullaby. Soft, well spoken dialogues and deep, deep feelings of complex characters comes to play. It’s a reality mirroring the drama and I love it.
I do not recall the exact year, but maybe it was 2008 or 2009 when I first logged on to Facebook. To make friends? Lol, no! I was a nerd. I wanted to play a game that Facebook was hosting during those days. My sister used to play and I was hooked watching her play. So I wanted to try as well.
I remember using my yahoo email ID to make an account. I do not remember my first profile picture but I remember what the first thing I did when my feed was set up.
It was the game that got me to Facebook. Of course, it was followed by Crazy Taxi and Farmville. But Pet Society was the real deal. During those days I was a Twilight fan and of course, I named my pet Bella.
Bella was a lucky pet. To this day, I don’t know what breed or what kind of animal she was. But my guess is a bunny. Anyway, Bella had a two-storey house and it was fully furnished. If I didn’t log in for a few days, she would have flies around her. Hahaha, the game was pretty creative.
No matter what, people never believed when I told them why I joined Facebook. I don’t know why it is important. But I remember that game very vividly. I was invested the same way streamers are invested in their games these days. I used to do it way before it became cool.
But what is the point of it? This memory. Trivial … Not important but it was a milestone as well. Fleeting moment in the long stream that is slowly winding down the mountain to meet the ocean somewhere.
Marking it as my own. A coping mechanism. A distraction. A denial filling with inconsequential moments. Glorify the common, the dismissive ones.
A year later, they shut it down. It was a personal loss that no other game similar to Pet Society was able to fill. I play scrabble these days. Meet me in the battlefield someday, guys. We may end up becoming friends.
It is a special diary. I have kept it with my as far as I can remember. I wrote about everything on it, there is even something about coffee and tea. 👌🤣 I envy those thoughts.
I still have it. Although, I don’t visit my home anymore, I know it’s there in the top drawer of my desk which used to be right next to my bed.
Now the desk must be in the attic. And so is my childhood. A vague cloud hanging on top of my head. A memory. A good one. Before all hell broke loose.
Since then, I have had many diaries. I’ve written a lot of stuff. And stored them in different pages. I used to have a travel diary, a poetry diary, a diary to write my novel ideas in. And to everyone’s surprise, I also had a hate diary. Although, I had to get rid of it because it’s too dangerous to have such thoughts on paper. I never started another.
I have a special relationship with my diaries. I had one which I started in 2007. It was a calender journal of sorts. It was beige or brown in colour. I don’t remember exactly.
It had my first 100 poems I wrote with all seriousness of a budding poet. With time, it became heavy with words I was too young to carry but it bore the burden well.
Years went by, and 2011 was the year when I started writing on this blog. For a while, I coordinated between my diaries and this blog. But ultimately, digital won me over. It’s convenient and accessible.
I never was the ‘Dear diary’ kind but I always had more than three to write in at some point or the other. And they never started with formalities.
No honorifics. Nothing. Brute, angry language for a long time.
During school, in my sixth grade, we had a class project. It was to make a glass painting. For someone who is not very artistic, it was a great opportunity to make something that could be displayed.
It was an exciting time and I was excited. I specially had glass cut and made into squares so I could paint different things on them.
I still remember using tracing paper to jot down the art. And copy it using the glass paints and outliner. It was not that difficult, even for me.
I remember being proud of it. I remember flaunting the new “skills”. And I still remember how on the day of the exhibition, my painting which was that of a bunch of grapes, slipped from my hand and hit the concrete of the assembly grounds, vertically.
It broke just like the screen of an iPhone breaks when it falls vertically on any surface. Irreparable damage. The painting was lost. And I had half an hour to go for the exhibition.
What a loser.
I remember crying in the line as we were being herded back into our respective classes. It was winter time. The chill was in the air and I was hugging the packet which had my broken shards, now useless.
My teacher’s disapproval, my disappointment and disgust at the clumsiness, it all pooled into the pit of my stomach and I was sick with it.
The day went by, and I was made to dump the now useless Shards of my masterpiece into the dustbin. It was dangerous.
And so was I.
I made other paintings afterwards. They were all shown across family circles but none made it to the exhibition in that sixth grade class.
It’s 2021! The new year is a time of excitement and possibilities. We are hyper aware of time passing us by. And the uncertainty of a new beginning.
The beginnings are timid this year. I am not sure about other people making resolutions this year but I sure as hell did not make one.
2020 was supposed to be THE YEAR for me. Laugh out loud for a minute there. You can also opt for RIP for my peace of mind.
Anyway, the pandemic brought its own challenges and heartache and with time, I adjusted well to the mask on my face. It’s like my face now. No, it is my face now.
A sea of masks if you’re brave enough to venture out to a mall for a change, as a cry for help, tumble into H&M and panic buy some clothes because how else will you keep your spirits up? You have to live through another day to wear that new tee shirt, duh!
Thats what life is all about now. No money and lots of expenses. We’re all on our way down. Hold up, let me rephrase, I don’t know about others, but I sure as hell am circling the drain.
I think I am doing okay. Maybe. But I’m plagued by indecision as you can clearly see the direction this discussion is taking. Is this even a discussion? Am I not just speaking out to the void that is the world? Or maybe, writing out? 🤣
Moving on, I am hopeful that the worst is over and we just have to pull up our socks and prepare for the winter that 2020 has brought with it.
2021 won’t be warm enough. Maybe 2022 … But what do we know? Life is weird. Who even can understand what the hell is going on in the universe! The more I think, the more pissed I get.
Yes, you’ve guessed it right, I have a lot of time on my hands these days. And I am utilising it efficiently. 🤣
My point is … I don’t know what the point is. The post began as a philosophical one … Where I was supposed to vomit out some teachings of Confucius or maybe some tricks I’m trying to learn about how to unclutter the mind. It’s working, clearly. 🤣
I wish I knew what my role is in this stupid play that we play every day. Believe in things that we don’t see and hope for things that may never come. I’ve been waiting for a long time. And I am still waiting for salvation but all I see is desert in front of me.
Mounds of sand … Sand dunes … Shifting shapes, blowing away in the wind as I try to collect what I hope I have, like the camp fire’s flickering flames in the middle of nowhere.
I have some experience in camping and I hated it. I missed my bed.
I saw some fireworks. I may put together some silly, stupid edit of a video for it. Judge me.
I hope your year started out well. And I hope it continues to be either exciting or plain uneventful. Both scenarios are acceptable at this point.
My dad was a unique man. He had unique ideas, different thinking, calm and indifferent attitude, and on the whole an easy-going person. It was natural for him to shrugg off anxiety and deal with issues.
I often thought, while growing up, how he did that. He would not get angry unless really provoked, and even so, he would be more silent than up-and-about.
I often think about his approach to situations and people, and I wonder what he would have done or said if he were in my position.
I have no feedback. It’s a silent line for me, but I often ask, in the hope that I may have inherited some of his quirks.
I wouldn’t know either, even if I tried. There’s a blurry line between fiction and reality. And I often lose my balance.
With a black-coloured, rectangular radio, a small antenna on top right which would expand to catch the range
He would walk around the house, humming, or sometimes silent, find a quite corner of the house, usually my room, and curl with a book
He would often say, “The world of books is a maze. You can get lost in it and I don’t mind wandering through the pages.”
I always understood.
I never talk about it much, but he would buy me books, by a dozen, and challenge me to finish them all in a week, for instance
The loser would have to buy the next batch.
I never lost.
And he knew I never would.
Times have changed, now people wait and watch for me to fail. But that’s okay.
Dad used to believe in “forgive and forget” policy. He would say it keeps heart light and mind free of negativity
I never agreed. We were never on one page either.
Balance was always about to tip.
But he would always call out my name, when it was dark, to see if I’m okay, I wonder why I forget
What it’s like, to be remembered, after you’re gone, no trace but the memories in their minds.
And I remember, I remember to keep you alive. Thats what I do.
Through my thoughts, my smiles and my life, I’m keeping you alive.