Unravelling the Seams

Sheets of snow crunch under my boots. The winter shiver makes me light a cigarette. Random wanderings lead me to think about all the broken promises inside my chest. My patience withered into a haggard ship. There’s no sailor to manoeuvre this abandoned fleet. You’ve sunk deeper and deeper into the cold dark waters. My heart had place for two, and you knew. I am to you how Rose was to Jack. If only you knew that you’re all that I ever wanted.
There’s nothing around me but endless white. No home, no civilisation, no stars above. The sky is an early morning hue, while my fingers are an evening blue. Frosty wind freezes my body. There’s nothing to kill the already polar heart.
Your lips tingle the nape of my neck. Fiery, desperate, in want of love. The ravenous passion warms my soul amidst all the bitter biting depressing cold. I reminisce your sweet talks, the now sapped attention, and the smile that’d linger on your full lips. I giggle thinking about your dishevelled hair, your cherry lips coated with my lipstick. There’s nothing more I want than pressing my mouth against yours with our tongues intertwined and making their own sweet love. It’s all that I think about because you gave me none of it. The kisses I craved have drowned along with you.
In a time where a text can end it all, let’s just be friends sunk my titanic of dreams. Let that iceberg be damned, it cut my soul into two-one stayed behind, the other walked away with you.

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Run boy run, bask in your glory. You played my love like a video game and rage-quit my longing. I am the Empress from the tarot you picked in the carnival. I’ll come at you like a siren and have my heart whipped with your ardour.
The coffee I brew isn’t the same. My garden now green isn’t the same. I now see red campions growing in the lane and my father is baking a cake. The house is filled with an air that I can finally breathe in after my restrain.
If only I could reach out to you one last time to thank you for giving me a chance, a chance at a new life that croons in my ears and puts me in a trance. I want to embrace you lovingly one last time to turn that semi-colon into a period. I don’t love you anymore. That’s all there is for you to know.

The Girl On The Train #BookThoughts3

I know, it’s been a while since I talked about a book, and I think I’m done with the hiatus stuff I prattled about earlier. Months? I can’t stay away from writing for a month, let alone a few days.

Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is-

I finally finished reading a book (hurray!) and here I am, all set to bore your minds.

Okay, on a serious note, don’t take what I said before seriously. I’m not that boring, am I? Never mind. Let’s just get on with it.

Psst! This isn’t really a ‘book review’. I write whatever comes into my mind whenever I think about a book I’ve recently finished reading. Cheers!


I love trains. Dad and I have the same passion for trains. He probably loves them a little more than I do.

As a kid, my father always made sure that we travelled by train when the journey could have been a lot more shorter and less tiring with a plane. And, I’m grateful for that.

Thanks dad!

There are so many stories of my own from all the train journeys I’ve had so far. Thinking about them brings a smile to my face.

However, it also pains me to think about all the people with whom I struck a strong cordial relationship during the journey. It makes me wonder if they remember me at all, or look back at those times just as I’m doing right now. That little girl who’s now grown into a beautiful young woman, does she remember having a silly childish fight with me over a comic? That young man who told me all the stories his creative mind could conjure to put a restless 7 year old kid to rest, does he remember how my small head rested on his lap while listening to him intently and marvelling at the ingenuity of his story’s hero open-mouthed? And, when the train halted in the middle of nowhere with wilderness everywhere, does he remember how I made an attempt to push the train forward while thrusting my little palms onto his seat’s headrest and he laughed, my dad laughed, my mom chuckled, and they all coaxed me into trying harder? Once the train started moving idly, does he remember how I jumped back into the seat, put my head on his lap and went back to staring at the window, at the beauty of the vast fields stretching out, inviting me to run toward them and into the unknown? The old man and woman who were headed to another city to meet their son, do they remember me singing them rather raucous songs? Yet they bore with it, told me I was talented for my age, filled my ears with the kind of appraisals that people usually do with a child and make them believe they are unique, smart, beyond their age, even if it’s not the same.

The bridge so thin that it made me feel like I’d topple over. The thick big trees hiding a world behind them from a child’s predatory eyes for an adventure. The farms and the huts. People looking right back at me from the other end as I rode past them. The train station filled with the aroma of fast food. The time dad and I almost missed the train because I couldn’t decide on which packet of crisps I wanted, but luckily we were quick enough to get on-board, and I’m glad there was a man to pick the tiny me up. My mother and I switching our seats so that I could feel the train dragging me back rather than pushing me forward. I’d do it over and over with her, it felt like a game, and my mother was never once annoyed with this game.

The people and the uncharted places, places that could never make it to the map but somehow managed to leave a mark in my mind’s map. Green. Lush. Brown. Barren. Blue. Dark. Mysterious.

I picked this book up from the rack not for its promising summary, but the five words in white on the cover, ‘The Girl On The Train‘. It sounds silly, ridiculous even, to go for a book without having a look at what the story might be on . I wanted it. I had to make it mine. I was once a girl on a train, and she wanted to hear her side of the story, to be there right beside her, revelling the train rides once more, the train rides I’ve been deprived of for a long time now.

She isn’t disappointed.

For once, I could see the story unfold as if I were an outsider which made it all the more stimulating. I wasn’t Rachel and Rachel wasn’t me. Rachel fantasised about Jess and Jason; I imagined all the possible things Rachel was leading me into.

I am inclined to think that I’m the female protagonist whenever I read a book. I still don’t know why, but I’m speculating it’s because I want to feel whatever she feels, it’s because I want to feel the same zest and the downfall as she does, it’s because I want to feel perfect or get everything perfectly right for once. But, this one time, I didn’t. I didn’t and I already feel like I accomplished something just as Rachel did in the end.

It sounds crazy. That’s one of the things me and Rachel have in common, we sound crazy.

The other thing is- we like to involve ourselves in things that don’t matter to us at all, but we will find a way in by weaving a story that will intertwine with our lives, even if are living in a whole another World. If it’s something that captivates us, we’ll lie to wriggle ourselves in and eventually find ourselves being strangled as the situation gets deeper and darker.

Fine. I raise my hands mentally and admit that I’m just exaggerating. But I’m obliged to confess that I always try to be a part of a story wherever I go, stories that never find themselves in front of the public’s eye, stories that are only enjoyed by the people of the story in their heads, stories that will always remain a mystery to the outsiders, and I wish they weren’t.

This story, on the other hand, tells me that there are dangerous predators with prying eyes and venomous canines that always lurk in the corners, waiting to bite into your sanity and emotionally abuse you without you even realising it. They’ll twist and turn, morph and mangle your thoughts and memories to bring you to your lowest point. They take a delight in that, those insane people with the facade of sane.

There’s a lot a reader can take away with them from this book. There’s so much I could write about, but I wouldn’t want to waste any more of your time if you’re reading this. Honestly, it’s not an excuse for not wanting to write any further.

Now, for the real review!

The book seemed a bit bleak now and then, frustrating as well because I felt the story moving at a much slower pace in few places. Some of the characters can be a bit of an annoyance too. One of them managed to make me shut the book and put it down on my desk with a thud and walk around until my head cooled down. I may sound dramatic, but it did happen.

And that’s how you know it’s a good book. I didn’t even realise I was so invested in the story.

Nevertheless, I wanted to know what happens in the end which made me not want to give up on the book just yet. As much as it was vexing sometimes, for me, it had me at the edge of the seat all along, guessing, and it has excellently accomplished in maintaining the air of mystery and suspense until the climax.

 I’m  impatient. I have always been short of the much needed patience and passiveness. Maybe you should just pick up the book ASAP and see for yourself and let me know how you found it because-“I’m not the only one who looks now. I don’t suppose I ever was. I suppose that everyone does it-looks out at the houses they pass-only we all see them differently. All saw them differently.” Well, it’s not really the houses we’re talking about here but it works just fine with books too. You get what I mean? That’s a quote by Rachel. It sounds great, doesn’t it?

 Chilly, nail-biting, and a breath-taking end. It’s commendable, how the author connected the distinct pieces and wrapped it all up to reveal the unimaginable skilfully.

Exquisitely written. The book satisfies one with a good amount of beautiful poetic quotes that I jotted down in my note-pad.

In the end, trust not what people feed you. They could be true to their words, they could not.

My ratings for the book-3.5/5

I’ll end my review…but not really here (Is there anyone in here who watches Ryan Higa? That’s actually a reference to one of his series on his second Youtube channel.) and you probably have realised by now that I’m pretty poor when it comes to keeping my word. I’ll just slowly walk away from here and leave you to yourself.

Teehee!

 

To End The War Raging Within You

Dear Me,

When life tells you that none of it is going to be okay, don’t believe it like you never believed some people on other occasions. Many a time, you are compelled to think that this is how it’s gonna be for the rest of your life when life tosses you around with its spatula in a black bubbling stew of troubles and doubts. Imagine a football field where life is the ground and you’re the player. There are hundreds of spectators out there, near and afar, who are either booing you down or cheering you up. Which ones are you going to hear out? The boo-hoos? Or the go-get-’em cheers? It’s up to you. Just know that you yield the prowess to  filter the unwanted and leave the icky stuffs behind on the sieve.

Sometimes, you’re the ball on the field and the other people surrounding you are the players. You get kicked around and picked about-hard and fast-that’s how it is. Everything is out of your control and you can’t even stop doing what they do to you because remember, you’re just a ball then. A ball can’t lash out at people or harangue them with piercing words. A ball can’t roll around on its own unless it’s pushed forth by a force to a certain degree. A ball can’t bite back with a clever comeback to put them in their places. At times you want to be pushed by people. You may, in the beginning, think that it’s pretty weak of you to even entertain the thought of people shoving your back to reach the borderline. But, it’s the kind of truth that tastes like bitter lozenges and I can’t sugar-coat it for you. I’m the last person on this planet filled with deceits and lies to lure you into a world of illusions that will eventually add up to your already existing sadness. I know it sucks. All of it. Believe me. Not them. Not any of them, not even the ones who keep assuring you that it’s all going to turn out well because they all leave in the end. You have only you to yourself.

It works most of the time. The players push you to and fro, up and down, side to side, and finally make you hit the goal post. SCORE! You will revel the triumph for a few games, but all good things are tarnished by the shortcomings of departure. Heck! They all leave. Your mates. They eventually desert you. It’s the kind of ramshackle that fastens your limbs with manacles and you can’t get up, you can’t move and it feels like there is nowhere to go. You have ridden  on their backs for so long that you have forgotten how to walk on your own two feet. You get up and fall. Get up and fall, THUD! No broken parts will you have, but you will have a  broken heart. You’re back to being an infant. It’s back to square one of life.

Then, just as a baby matures and passes through the various stages of physical and mental developments to grow into the adults we see in our sphere, you do too. The only difference between you and the baby is that the mental changes are literal in the real baby while figurative in you. You’ve passed all of them yet here you are shuddering and coiled up on the floor because you’ve failed. You think you’ve failed everyone you care for. Look at me now and listen close, you never fail. One never fails anyone. You only fail you, but you will have another attempt at winning this shot.

In the process of becoming stronger, you will believe many a thing that are utopian. Things like ‘it will last forever if I am determined enough’ or ‘I don’t need anyone to stitch my heart whole’. Love, you’ve never been more blatantly wrong.

You’ll find yourself breaking apart after every cycle of rejuvenation. You’re made undone and done. You are opened up and filled in again. You soak in stuffs and expel stuffs. You are ever dynamic, and just as the summer gushes in after every cycle of winter, you’ll welcome euphoria after periods of depression. It’s just like the day and night cycle except it’s more erratic than the Earth’s rotation. However, if there’s one thing I must tell you, it’s that don’t be pivoted to a particular issue. Don’t rotate around the axis of what causes you much pain. Let it glide through. You’ll be at ease.

I have told you to believe me and not others. I have told you that all of them eventually leave. I have never been more wrong.

It’s true that you will have to believe me because I am you. This is you. But sometimes, you shouldn’t trust your own instincts which led me to write the otherwise. People do stay. People do care. People do see and feel what you see and feel. Don’t you ever think that you’re all alone in this world teeming with unique life-forms and thoughts. This place, right here, is a kaleidoscope of emotions-it brings out the worst and it brings out the best. If you have this notion that people will never be out there for you, it’s because you either haven’t opened up completely or you just haven’t come across the right kind of people yet. There are plain old fools and then, there are the thinkers- and- dreamers. The latter group will liberate you from your remorse and sorrows. They will welcome you into their circle of strong-will if you would just muster the courage to open up your wounds. Tell them, tell them all of it. Even if none of it makes any sense and even if you don’t know where all of what’s making you feel a certain way coming from, let it all out in front of them. People are there, honey. People will be there to pull you out while you’re drowning in the deep dark waters of such sadness. They’ll be your life vest.

If all of this makes you feel any vulnerable or feeble, you’ll have to stop thinking that. I’m not forcing you to be open to everyone and anyone around and to not put up the tough girl act in front of the audience. Do it, but do it at your will. If you feel like you can’t act out any more then take off that extremely tight corset of toughness. You’ll feel lighter then. You have to expose yourself to the world out there to experience anything anew. It doesn’t matter if it’s abrasive or soothing because you’ll have to take the chance as it is, not wait for it to tone itself down a bit for your comfort. It never was any comfortable when you finally resumed your one hour work-out session after two years. Every muscle in your body was pulled taut and you were left gasping for breath. With your lungs on fire and body sore, you let your body drop on that wooden chair and you smiled. You said you’d do it again. You said you’d do it everyday and you did. It was horrible to begin with. The next morning, every part of your body was aching and the cramps were horrendous. They felt intolerable, but you had the determination, that will to make it easier for yourself by doing it again and again and all over again.

Life is a lot like that, love. It throws at you something outrageously difficult and you have to shed your patience and courage to make the baggage feel like it’s a lot easier to carry around. You will have regrets pulling you down. Anxiety stalling your progress. But remember, none of us are perfect. We’ve all made mistakes that we can never forgive ourselves for. Nonetheless, we can accept them and strive for better to prove the world that we are much better people than what our mistakes made us seem like. Get over it, sweetie, and get to the other side.

Contradictions are frustrating. This place is filled with them and so are you. At times you feel like you’re all that’s left for yourself and the other times you just know that the others have your back. Paradoxes pull you apart and push you in and it can be nauseating. You’ll want to bang your head on the wall and scream out of anger that’s welling up within you because you just cannot make up your damn  mind on what you really want. It’s okay. It’s okay to feel that. It’s completely okay to feel so contradictory. Take it as a gift and use that ability to expand your vision to multitudinous perceptions. You will be wrong yet you will be right. You’ll say something and you’ll say another thing against it. What’s making you so irate is a boon in this realm of bigotry. Think, ponder, prod various possibilities on something even if you contradict yourself. It’s okay. It’s all okay.

You want the nirvana? You’ll get it deary. Even if you have to put on that nirvana shirt to feel good, then do it. Do more of what makes you feel happy, confident, and peaceful. Don’t ever step back from what you have a strong urge to do at the moment. But, don’t regret it later. Don’t bite your tongue and curse at the mirror. It’s okay to be zealous for a short span once in a while.

Lastly, never hesitate to ask for a hug. If you want it, just go for the damn thing.

Sincerely,
You.

A Bedtime Story

Ah, you haven’t fallen asleep yet?
No, mama. I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.
Why not? What happened?
She’s leaving for another school tomorrow and- her plump pale face turns a lighter shade of pink and she starts crying.
Oh! Ardita. Don’t you cry, love. Want me to tell you a story?
Yeah. But, I want a happy ending. The other night, you told me about a mama pigeon which lost its babies, and it was so sad! Tears well up in her shiny big eyes and she clutches her plushy baby elephant, Alfie, giving it a firm hug and caresses its back with her tear-stricken cheek.
Tell me a lovely sweet one, like how Aunt Colourful tells me, she whimpers. 
Hmm. A happy story, you say? Do you remember Aunt Colourful’s little tale about a red balloon and an orange balloon?
Ahan! Her face lights up with a tint of excitement and she sniffles. The red balloon was an unhappy balloon because no balloon in the balloon land wanted to be his balloon friend. But, one day, an orange balloon goes to him and says Hello, Mr.Red Balloon! How do you do? and Mr.Red Balloon was veyiee suprised because no one EVER talked to him. The other balloons were suprised too because orange balloon was a beautiful orange balloon and the red balloon was a wei-yed balloon. Soon, both the balloons became veyiee good friends. One day, the red balloon asked her Why do you want to be my friend? and she says Because you love me and he asks Do you love me? and she says Yes. That’s why I am your friend. They both float away in the light blue sky happily ever after. The red balloon was once again veyiee happy. She looks at her mother with those glistening protuberant eyes and takes in a deep breath. Her lips start quivering. I-I miss Aunt Colourful, mommy.
She promised you that she will be back soon, didn’t she? I will make you talk to her first thing in the morning, okay?
Thank you, mama.
That’s a delightful story, honey. I’ll let you stay back at home tomorrow, but you’re going to have to listen to my sad and happy story  without any interruptions. Is that all right?
Inta-ruptions?
Int-er-ruptions.
Intuh-ruptions. What does  it mean?
It means a break.
Ahan.
It also means you will not stop me in the midst of my storytelling time.
Whaaaaaa?
While I’m telling you the story, honey.
Oohh! Yeah. I get it, mommy. I promise me won’t Inteh-rupt you. She flashes her white teeth and rests her head on the pillow.
There, there. Let me tuck you up in your blanket. Look! You’re a burrito Ardita now!
Ardita giggles.
ARE YOU READY PILOT ARDIE?
Yes Cap’n! I’m ready for the take-off!
ARE YOU READY FOR THE TURBULENCES PILOT?
Yes Cap’n! I’m ready for the rock n roll!
Then off we go on another great escapade!
Mama? 
Yes honey?
I’m thirsty.
All right. Stay put. I’ll get you a glass of water.
No, mama. I will get it myself.
But you are all rolled up in your blankie! I will be back in a jiffy.
Mommy?
Yes?
I’m not thirsty.
What?
Just stay here with me and tell me the story, mama, She pleads.
Ardita, don’t be silly. I’ll be right back and you wait right here. The mother hurries away to fetch a glass of water and soon returns.
I love you, mama, She whispers before gulping down the water.
Something’s the matter Ardie, and you will not tell me what it is! What’s bothering you sweety? You’ve been acting so strange lately!
Ardita puts the glass aside and lies down on her bed. The mother tucks her up in her blanket again. The story, mummy.
She sighs. Yeah. The story.
Yep!
Once upon a time, lil Ardie, there was a young boy named Obedient. He was called so because he always listened to his mother and father. There was never a time when he mistreated them, didn’t listen to them, or shouted back at them no matter how much they scolded or scorned at him for doing something naughty. Even the most obedient kids have a playful side to them, don’t they Ardie?
Yes, mama! One time, Cooper squirr-ted pink paint all over Lionel’s face because Lionel wouldn’t stop teasing Cooper by calling him a girl because Cooper likes pink. Cooper became very angry and painted Lionel’s face pink, mama. She sniggers. Cooper is a very kind boy, but Lionel wasn’t being very good with him and that’s why he did it! But the home-room teacher gave Cooper a detention because he was being naughty. It wasn’t Cooper’s fault at all, mama!
Oh, Ardie. That’s terrible! But you must know that life, my dear, is not always fair with people. It will make you angry. It will make you want to bellow-
Bellow? THAT IS SUCH A LOVELY WORD!
Hush child! You’re too loud!
Sowie, mama! But what does it mean? She mutters softly.
It means to shout.
Oh! Okay. What does it make you want to bell-low?
It makes you want to bellow WHY ME LIFE? I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN SUCH A GOOD GIRL! WHY MUST YOU BE SO MEAN TO ME?
Ardita titters at her mother’s agitated actions.
But that makes you stronger, Ardie. No matter how unfair it is to you, if you keep getting up every time life pushes you down saying Nah Nah Ardie! You’re weak, you’re miserable, you’re petty, it will make you stronger and powerful.
Life was never fair with Obedient, Ardie. He was always chastised, or scolded, by his father. The father was a very very grumpy man because he had to look after his big family and for that he had to work extremely hard in the scorching heat so that his family could live a comfortable life. He always returned home tired and whenever his kids did something stupid, he’d get angry because he wasn’t getting his much needed rest! Nonetheless Ardie, the father loved his family immensely.
Obedient had two elder brothers and two younger sisters. So you see, it was a big family, wasn’t it?
Yep!
One fine day, one fine shining shimmering day, when the Sun was gleeful and enjoying-
GLEEFUL!
Yes, Ardie.
Does it mean happy?
You’re a smart kiddo, aren’t you?
YES I AM! She smiles. Go on, mommy.
Ah! Yes. So, that day, the Sun was very happy and seemed like it was enjoying the view of people hustling and bustling about and little kids rolling in the mud filling the air with their shrill laughter. It was a beautiful day, Ardie, and that day, Obedient’s family decided to go to another city by train.
Soon, they boarded the train and after what seemed like a century! The train finally left the station, choo choo! Ardita grins.
Obedient loved  choo choo trains, lil Ardie. Every time he sat in one, he felt like he was racing against everything and anything outside. The humongous tress, the tiny shrubs, the wide hills, and the bright Sun, he’d whiz past them like a Superman! And even the mighty roaring wind that beat against his face would say No Obedient! I’m faster than you! You can’t beat me in this race! But our Obedient would smile and say O sturdy wind! I will not falter at your mightiness! I will zoom and vroooooom towards the finish line, and you can never stop me wind! Now, watch me get to the finish line!
Did he win, mama?
He never won, Ardie. Nature always beat him to it. He’d get to the finish line all right, but the Sun would be there already, the trees and the wind too! He never gave up though. He would enjoy every single bit of the race and its thrill whenever he travelled  by train.
The city was quite far away from his town, Ardie. It was a very long journey and as night dawned all the passengers in the choo choo train fell asleep, except our dear lil Obedient. He was wide awake and stared at the window for a long long time. The voice of the train was peaceful. He wanted to sleep, but he kept his eyes peeled because he wanted to listen to the sound of the train as it drove forth on the railway tracks. He even pressed his ear against the floor of his compartment and woke his father up. What is it child? The father asked. Where is that sound coming from, papa? Obedient asked. Ah, it’s from the engine Obedient. The train’s engine is underneath you.
Really, papa? he asked astonished. That is so amazing, papa! I love listening to the sound it makes!
Oh! You foolish child. Do you believe me for everything I utter?
Yes papa, I do.
Then don’t, Obedient
. You mustn’t believe everyone for everything they say.
But, why not papa?
Sleep, child. We’ll reach the station soon, the father says and soon starts snoring. 
The mother makes low grunting noises and Ardita laughs.
Mama? Why does the father say that?
Because he was joking, Ardie, and he did not want Obedient to be so naive and believe everything that was told to him, the good things as well as the bad things. But, that doesn’t mean you must stop believing everything, Ardie. It means you have to be smart enough to see through the lie.
How, mama? How can I be smart?
You’ll learn that soon love. Obedient was smart. He knew that all the harsh things the father told him whenever Obedient climbed his neighbours’ trees to steal some mangoes, or read a book in the company of dark, or break the neighbours’ window while playing cricket, he knew his father never meant any of it and he’d scold him because he cared for his child and didn’t want anything bad happening to him.
Obedient knew all of it and he quickly drifted away to his dreamland with a smile.
Years passed by and our lil Obedient grew up to be a handsome young man. He moved to another city, far away from his home, to study in a college.
I WANT TO GROW UP AND GO TO COLLEGE MAMA! Ardita squeals excitedly.
The mother smiles. You will, Ardie. 12 years seems like a very long time, but time certainly does fly by quickly!
One day, he decided to pay a visit to his old mother and father. He missed his mother dearly. Obedient was the only one among his siblings who’d go out and buy all the groceries. He’d sit beside her and clean the vegetables. He’d watch her cook from afar and help her with all the daily chores. His lovely mother would even save some extra chicken curry for her beloved son because he loved her curry so much! She was a beautiful, poised and a very graceful woman, Ardie. All the good manners and good thoughts that Obedient imbibed, I mean learned, were from her. She once told Obedient that one must never be mean to anyone because we all, in the end, seek kindness and love, Ardie.
Even a big bully like Lionel, mama?
Even him Ardie. He’s still shrouded, or covered, by the dark to see that there are people who love him for the good person he is and not for the bad boy mask he wears.
You think he’s acting?
We all have different characters within us that surface in different situations. They are all tied to the Oh-so-many! emotions we harbour.
Hmm…. Cooper and I will say sorry to him, mama. It wasn’t that nice of us.
 What did you do Ardita?
I laughed at him and called him Porky the pig. I feel so terrible now! She closes her eyes and exhales slowly. That’s the first thing I’ll do once I reach school-apologize.
The mother ruffles her hair. It all takes time, Ardita. It takes time to put things in their places.
Yeah. It takes a lot of time to put my toys back in their proper places. I don’t like cleaning my room because it is so boring!
Then you shouldn’t create much mess in your room love. When there is less clutter, you have less things to sort out.
But I have so much fun while playing that I forget that I’m making a mess mommy!
Ah! It happens to all of us here, doesn’t it? We lose ourselves in doing something, we forget the consequences it brings in its wake.
Ma, what happens next?
Oh yes! The story! Ah. Yeah. So, where was I? I’ve forgotten where I stopped….
You were telling me about Obedient’s mother and how much they loved each other.
Did I tell you he decides to pay them a visit?
Yep!
Aha! So, Obedient booked for a train ticket and the day for his long journey finally arrived. He didn’t call his mother up to tell her that he had already left for the station because he was going to see her the next day anyway. However, during the train ride, Ardie, Obedient gets a call from his eldest brother. He told Obedient that their mother….
MOMMY! NO! PLEASE DON’T TELL ME WHAT I THINK IT IS! Mommy no she didn’t….she didn’t…. Ardita covers her eyes with her palms and tears roll across her face. No! No! No! No! I want a happy ending mommy. YOU MAKE ME CRY ALL THE TIME! YOU ALWAYS DO! YOU NEVER TELL ME HAPPY STORIES LIKE AUNT COLOURFUL!
Ardita?
You always do. She sniffles. You always make me cry.
The mother stiffens and stares at her daughter.
I saw you and daddy fight last night. I-I-I wasn’t sleeping then. It was so horrible. You made daddy cry. You make everyone EVERYONE CRY. She screams.
I-I’m so sorry you had to see all that, baby. She whispers and tucks a lock of Ardita’s hair behind her ear with her quivering fingers. I promise that will never happen again. She breaks down sobbing.
Mama! I’m sowie. I’m sowie. I’m so sowie. Please don’ cry. She wipes her tears with her little palms and hugs her mother. You won’t leave me and daddy, will you?
Never, Ardie. She says and kisses Ardita’s head. I’m always here beautiful. I’m always by your side. Do you want to sleep with me and daddy tonight?
Mmm. She nods her head.
We can watch Inside Out too, if you’d like.
But daddy is already asleep!
He’d love to watch a movie with you.
Won’t he get mad, mummy?
Well, he’s not Obedient’s dad, is he? Lil Ardie’s dad is always excited about watching a movie with his daughter, even if he’s awoken from a deep slumber. Let’s hop out of the bed and shake your snoring daddy awake.
But you’ll have to finish your story before that, mama.
Do you want me to?
Yep.
All right! Obedient was devastated, Ardie. He had a chance to talk to her one last time, but it slipped through his fingers and thereafter, he never could hear his mother’s voice, or see her cook, or taste her food, or feel her touch. She passed away before she could see her precious son. The mother looked forward to meet him, Ardie. But death arrived at the scene all too soon.
Ardita’s eyes glisten with tears.
Obedient was grief-stricken for many years. He had friends. He married a beautiful clever woman and had a lovely daughter whom he loved very much. He’d tell her stories about his childhood, his mischiefs, his mother and father. Every time Obedient talked about his mother, the memories that resurfaced in his head would make him cry. His daughter would cry along with him too because she longed to meet her wonderful grandmother.
He soon realized though that it was time for him to move on. His mother would have never wished for him to feel such pain and sorrow.
Obedient remembered his little daughter on a swing. He remembered how she always pleaded with him to push her high up into the air. Once more, daddy! Once more! She’d say. But one day, he saw her pushing herself to and fro and go up up UP into the air and laugh with delight. Obedient soon realized that he had to push himself too to move on from his
sadness.
Did he, mama?
 Many a time he was thrown backward, but he always gathered the strength to push himself forward. Sometimes, his wife would, and sometimes his daughter. But in the end he’d strive and he was always happy despite all the hard times. And whenever he was unhappy, he’d watch a lot of train videos and remember all the good times he had in trains. Obedient and his family lived happily ever after.
I miss Grandpa.
Me too, honey.
Obedient’s grandpa, isn’t he?
What makes you say that? She asks astonished.
Because grandpa told me lots of train stories.
Oh! Is that so?
Yup! He told me that those stories were a secret and that’s why I never told you. Don’t tell him mummy, this is our secret. Okay?
The mother laughs. All right, all right. You can count on me Pilot Ardie! Now let’s go to bed. It’s too late already.
WHAT ABOUT INSIDE OUT?!
Ardie, I’m sleepy!
MOM YOU PROMISED!
“What’s going on in there?”, I say as I open the door wholly.
DADDY! Ardita exclaims and rushes toward me, taking me in for a tight hug.
“Ow! Ardie! You’re too strong for me and my bones are cracking!” She chuckles. “Besides, I’m not sleepy at all. I bid Mr.Sleepy Sleepy good bye and wished him good night so that we can watch a movie together. Inside out, did you say?” May raises one of her eyebrows and looks at me suspiciously.Oh yeah! I wasn’t supposed to know that! I bite my tongue at my idiocy. Way to go Parker! You just blew your own cover.
May finally gets up from the bed and says Well, I can’t say no to that now. This is going to be a long night.
Ardita runs toward the living room and I stand there staring at my wife. I smile. “It’s going to be a memorable night May. I promise.” She gives a weary smile and says Wanna hug it out, chump?
“Chump, eh?” And I go for it, leaving all that had happened last night behind.






mother_and_daughter_by_kyrie0201-d63li51

(Source: click on me!)






 

 

Childhood

Letter to the Stranger

 

 Dear fellow human,

Often, it feels like the whole World is closing in upon me and torturing me with the daily routine I’m forced to live by Fates. Sometimes, I think that my life story is probably the most boring and mundane one out of the lot. No surprises. No gusts of excitement. Everything is constant and even the ever flowing time seems to be relatively at rest because I don’t, and can’t, feel the subtle changes. This place has nothing to offer me and here I lay behind a screen, rotting away to the monotony of my life.

But one day, you came by and a conversation ensued. You will never know how relieved I was to finally break free from the constancy I’m bound to again, even if it was for a while. It was light and engaging. It was like two old pals catching up with each other again. It was refreshing to finally be in the company of someone new and someone remotely strange.

I have to let you in on a secret, things bore me easily. I may sound conceited and probably heartless when I say that I try my best to dodge the radars of people I’m extremely close to because of the sameness and the repetition. Don’t get me wrong. I love them all immensely, and I’d do anything for them and their happiness. But, at times, it weighs down upon me and I’m forced to resort to solitary to ease me off the burden of boredom. Fates are so cruel to someone who wants to seek out new experiences everyday. People usually say that a person can’t have everything in their lives. What’s lacking in my life is an adventure and opportunities to create long-lasting memories that I will take with me to my grave with a smile.

Wake up to the cacophonous and shrill alarm that is merely carrying out its duties dutifully early in the morning. Freshen up. Eat. Study. Blog. Talk to your parents and friends. Go out. Visit the same old worn out places. Eat. Study. Blog. Talk. Type. Talk. Type. Sleep. Wake up. Repeat. It’s a loop. It’s an iteration loop without a terminating statement. It’s a C++ loop gone incredibly wrong. It’s a loop of tedium that frustrates and pulls at every fibre of my brain.

I want to pulverize what confines me within and feel, touch, see, hear, taste, and satisfy this sense of impulsiveness. I want to be on the brink of old to usher in new. I want to dance along to the rhythm of transience. I want my bare feet to grace the barren land and feel the sands of Bondi against my skin. I want the tranquillity of the Mountains and the chaos of a  First-World urban. I want to pry open the different Worlds in our World and experience each and every one of them. I want the solitude. I want the spotlight. I want new people. I want the old ones. I want both the extremes.

There are so many desires welling up within me that it seems hard for me to constrain them. Passion for different is a rabid dog. It has bit me and now I’m infected with its disease. The only cure, therefore, lies in seeking and feeling strangeness. That’s why I held onto you because you were an embodiment of unfamiliarity to me. That’s why I liked talking to you because you were a harbinger of change in my life.

Soon, you’d wear out too. That luminescence due to unknown will lessen due to known, and I will yet again embark on another journey to scrounge for the different. I sound vain. I’m aware of that. But, it’s now how you think it’s like. I’d come back for you. I’m always there for you. I love you, and always will, but a person like me only wishes to touch every element of this World before her time is up.

Come with me if you’d like. We can intrude upon the hidden together with our wild untamed hearts thumping for  exhilaration. If you don’t wish to, that’s all right too. But, I’d never be able to thank you enough for stalling the humdrum for a while. I want you to know that my wildness will never be the death of our relationship. Ask me what I want, I’ll tell you that I want everything. All of it.

Yours Sincerely,
The reckless.

Friends and Change

It’s hard not to fret over unwanted changes because you’re absolutely content with this moment. Those furrowed eyebrows, beads of sweat kneading your forehead, bouts of anxiety that accompany the slightest contemplation of something and finally a panic attack unleashed in its full glory. They’re all few symptoms of your resolute no to life’s mysterious plans that plays along by rolling its dice. Sometimes, you wish your mind had a sturdy armour to deflect these pointed strikes carried out by fear. Unfortunately, for almost all of us who aren’t ready to step into a foreign land yet, it’s not possible to hinder despair or anguish. Everything comes at a great cost. For what you gain, you lose something. For all the grandeur you’re showered with, know that there’s downfall awaiting. With happiness comes equal amount of sadness. That’s how life levels itself. It always tries to play fair. However, we let ourselves ingrain specific moments into our heads that either inflict too much misery or keep us high with ecstasy. Well, that’s how I think it is.

I see how I’m drifting away from the people I love. No matter how hard I try, the currents of change are too strong for me to reach out to them. I lash out at transience, beat about and kick my legs around just so  it can let me out of its tight and suffocating grasp. If these are the consequences I have to bear for moving along with this wretched entity, I’d rather perish to stillness than witness the loss of what I cherish. But, change is inevitable, and immobility impossible until it finally chooses to take me along with it. How will I fight against this then? I don’t. In fact, no one can. It’s just not  possible to overcome the hold change has upon us.

You may ask, ” Well, if it causes you this great a misery, then why don’t you stop emotionally investing in people?” Don’t you think I tried? Snipping off all kinds of ties from people and dwelling in a shack all to myself surrounded by solitude was the first thought that crossed my doleful mind. I hardened my heart into a rock and put up a mask of intolerance. I thought that an act of biting coldness would sap people’s warmth and send them scurrying away, far away from my presence. In the end, the rock ended up weathering due to the strong forces of people around me. Like it or not, life is hell-bent upon moulding and morphing you into a new character every day by adding a new twist to your story as you proceed. You can’t see anyone more stubborn than life.

Even people whose faces are marked with a noticeable indifference aren’t that impassive toward others. They may not feel those pangs of emotions just as much as you do, but everyone has their own weaknesses  and nature always has something in store to send a ripple of feelings in every one of us. Some people just happen to have mastered the act of concealing things and pouring forth the troubles in dark with the four walls bearing witness. Change has that ability- to make a person worth the splendour or completely wear one out from within. It doesn’t matter if you’re a loner or a social butterfly. We’re all victims to reformation. There’s no running away from this one.

Whatever it is, I welcome it with my arms wide open. As much as I don’t wish for it, there’s an inner voice that tells me to stop brooding and let myself adrift for change to take me along. It certainly took me time to conciliate myself and pacify those rumbling memories that are probably scorning at me for making space for the new ones. Life has, and is, taking away my friends with it. In spite of that, it brings  new people into my story to make up for the void left behind by the former just to turn that frown upside down, and I’m forever indebted to the fates for that. I don’t think I have to be, but we won’t ponder over that.

This is how one survives life’s gut-wrenching twists. If you keep lingering in the past, you aren’t really living because you aren’t turning the pages of your book to live the adventure.  Moreover, a true survivor is the one who has finally made peace with life’s brevity. That’s my opinion. Yours could differ.

Change may have changed the relationship over time, but if there’s one thing it couldn’t, it’s my compassion. If we run into each other in a busy street at some point in our lives, it wouldn’t feel like how it always did, but this notable difference is only acting as a detour  in our lives which may or may not be that thrilling. I’m never too far gone. You’ll always find me lurking around the corners if you ever need me, and once you give me the signal, I’ll always be there to pull you in with my arms. Then, we could clank the cobblestones with our high-heels and revel in our companionship for each other,hand in hand, until the Sun goes down and we call it a night.

 

Relationships and Conflicts

He let his bag drop on the floor and plopped down on a sofa. The last thing he wanted to hear was his wife’s rambling, but here he was listening to her periodic babbles, although he didn’t want to. Sweat trickled down his forehead and he heaved a sigh of anguish. How he wished for it to stop. Even after all these years, times hasn’t lessened their usual conflicts. He wondered what his two kids might be going through. The teenage daughter locked herself up in her room and cranked the volume of the stereo. She was listening to the usual punk-rock music. That was a good way of draining the unwanted things out. The son, on the other hand, was with his mother, persuading her to stop bringing about chaos. Unlike the daughter, he was quite mature for his age. He was five years younger than the girl and seemed to genuinely care for the rift between his parents. The father wouldn’t blame his daughter either. She has been around for longer than her brother and has witnessed things far worse than this. He pitied her and that’s what he could do-to sit and feel sorry for his two kids.

Every relationship starts off as a story in its own fairytale land. Love and hope adorn the land with blooming flowers and sweet scent. It’s mesmerizing and enchanting to be so indulged in that ecstatic feeling. You’d never want it to end and you’d wish it to be this perfect as long as you’re around, but that’s only a utopian feeling. Things wane. The same love which was so alluring turns out be an utter drab with time. I always think of love as a rose-its beauty irresistible when young, but dreary when withered. However, there’s a mysterious beauty in a withered rose too. You would be able to see it, if you want to see it.

Some people just choose to stick together no matter what happens. They are so adamant that they will struggle to see the happiness in bleak times even if it stabs them every time.

“Honey! The tea is ready.”, he called out from the kitchen.
You have your tea. I don’t want it.”, the wife replied terse.
“I made it especially for you! Just the way you want it! C’mon now, don’t let out your anger on tea. We all need a break here.”
“If you think this is going to make me feel any better Josh then forget it. You can’t make up to me with TEA.”
“Think as you please. Have your tea first.”
The wife took her cup tight-lipped. Josh watched her drink her tea. She cast him a stern glance. He shot a goofy smile.
“It’s okay.”, she said.
“I’m glad you like it!”
“I never said I like it, did I?.”
“Eighteen years Nat. You think I can’t see beneath that serious face you’re trying so hard to keep?”
Natalie smiled. She would bellow all sorts of nonsensical stuffs that came into her mind. Accuse Josh of things he never did, and all because she was frustrated. The wife wanted to get out of this place that gave her nothing but a boring life. She wanted to be free and this intense desire would switch on the tantrum key every month.
She knew that Josh was working strenuously to keep the family of four as happy as he could, but his efforts were in vain. She wasn’t satisfied at all. It wasn’t his fault either. Some people have huge expectations no matter the situation.
Meanwhile, the daughter peeked into the room and smiled to herself. She was finally relieved that they weren’t arguing any more and were having their tea together. The house, somehow, felt more cosy and serene when her mom and dad were at peace with each other. If only, if only they wouldn’t clash so much. They were a perfect couple. Despite all these years of turmoil and arguments, they continued to be each other’s backbone, where can you find a love like that in this seemingly hopeless World? As much as Via pretended she didn’t care, the thoughts of her parents’ rift always occupied her mind. She just couldn’t stand and witness the scene of bitter conflict unfold before her. That’s why she’d retire to her room and try her best to dwell on things outside the fight.

No matter what you do, there are people who are never content with your work. I remember bagging the first prize in an essay competition (I don’t mean to brag here. Honestly) and thought to myself  how proud my mother would be. Writing an essay on Bill Gates was a mind-racking job. Moreover, I was very happy with that feat. However, mother dismissed it as something ordinary. Was I furious at her for this? Of course not! It was expected because what means the whole World to you may be a tiny speck of dust in this vast expanse of the Universe to someone else. It’s the same differing perceptions that develop a chasm between people.

Josh thought the family was content with whatever they had. In fact, he was getting them everything they asked for and couldn’t see what they were lacking. He failed to see what Natalie truly wanted because he was so absorbed in his own perceptions and beliefs that neither could he feel nor see the wife’s growing angst which eventually led her to take the form of a vicious dragon. Ouch.

Love is not just about sticking to each other and scraping yourselves in the process. It’s about understanding one another even when the situation seems like a dead-end. People change and so do their expectations. Why does Via think her mother and father are a perfect couple? It could be because despite the arguments and bitter fights, they still took the time to comprehend each other’s problems. No matter how irrational or illogical the feud was, they took the time to sort things out once the fiery storm quelled.

Sometimes, people just choose to let things go probably because that’s what’s best for them. Staying together and slitting each other’s throats often is definitely not an appealing option. In the end, it all depends on people’s choices. If Josh and Natalie want to stay together despite all that, it’s their choice. If  another couple decides to put a period to their relationship, that’s their choice. What’s essential is a consensus and an understanding. No love is above all and all love is above all. GET IT?! It only means that a particular form of love isn’t above other forms of love because love is technically the same thing, but seemingly different forms of love  are above other kinds of feelings. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

Natalie and Josh walked into the hall to find their two kids playing Star Wars. They seemed so happy while jumping around and swinging their arms about to kill those evil droids.
Hey Kiddos! Your mum and I have decided to go to a park. Switch it off and hup-hup!”, Josh said. He’d always say ‘hup-hup’ for ‘come along’ and Via always found it rather silly. She giggled.
“All right, dad. Just give me a few seconds to change into a better tee.”
Soon enough, the lights in the house turned off and the door shut behind Josh. It was a pleasant night to take a stroll in the park indeed.

*I’m not a relationship pundit. I kinda found it necessary to mention that.

Creativity and Scepticism

I’m writing this after reading an inspiring message posted by one of the people I follow on Wattpad on creativity. I am a huge critic when it comes to my own work and accepting the product of my creativity has always been on the extreme end of uncertainty. Sometimes, I am satisfied with what I do, but the other times? I find myself scorning  what’s in front of me and immediately brush it aside as trash.

I, most possibly, am doing this out of zero self-confidence. It’s zilch. Nada. My mind does not know anything of self-confidence. In fact, the word is a big void that has no meaning to me whatsoever, and that is where my problem lies in.

We’re all creative in so many different ways that it’s absolutely fascinating to imagine the uniqueness we bring about in different areas of the ‘creative sphere’. The World, as we see today, wouldn’t be the same if it weren’t for our minds which have been wired for such beautiful and creative outputs. Yet, some of us choose to deprecate our own works. Like they say, the grass is always greener on the other side.

I’ve been told so many times not to fret and be so sceptic about my own work. They said it’s profound and sets one’s heart fluttering with feelings like all the other poems do, but I can never wrap my head around it even if I could.

Being a stern critic of your own work does have its upsides. You, obviously, tend to strive harder for a better output, as a result. However, the same characteristic can cast a dark shade over your bright work and not let you see what the others may see. It does push you for the better, but it brings you back from what’s YOUR better and turns you into a sceptic.

It’s pretty easy to comprehend what I just stated. If you don’t like what you do, you turn to others for inspiration and imbibe their style of putting forward things. Although, it’s not really a bad thing to be inspired by others because my poetry is a result of all the poems that have inspired me, but there is another interpretation of the same thing-to let go of your way of doing things and follow along the footsteps of others.

This, in a way, kills your creativity because you’re doing the exact same thing they have done. If it makes you feel any comfortable and if it gives you a sense of satisfaction, it’s because you’re already aware that such a style is widely accepted by critics all around the World. It only gives you a sense of security from the assessments. Why? Because trying out something new faces both appraisals and criticism and some of us still aren’t ready to face the possible backlash.

The reason why I am such a huge critic of myself is because I do not want to dissatisfy the people who read my works. I rarely think about my satisfaction. Am I content with what I’ve written? Do I think it’s beautiful without other people’s opinions in mind? No. Neither am I content nor do I think it’s beautiful because I’m doubtful about my own work. This is all based on what others think of it. If I didn’t keep all that in mind, I’d definitely say that I’m quite happy with what I’ve written down.

However, I’ve realized that different people have differing tastes and what’s appealing to me may be a bit bland to a group of people. It’s almost impossible to appease every single one of them. Besides, coming up with a new form of art is refreshing and can also be inspiring. This is an idea that should dawn in everyone’s minds. All right, I may or may not be late to the realization party, but never mind that.

Criticism is not really a bad thing. It can help you hone your skills. However, one shouldn’t give up their style entirely because of the criticism. It only means one can WORK or BUILD upon their style, giving it a sharper edge to pierce people’s hearts with the profound ingenuity.

Creativity is something that is not easily and quickly recognized. It takes time for people to see beneath the different layers of creativity to find yours and laud it for its uniqueness. In fact, there are many prominent people who have only gained recognition posthumously (which is kind of sad, but get what I mean?). Nonetheless, this does not mean that you give up entirely because of the smaller audience you get. Don’t stop doing what you do and keep doing what you do. Losing hope is the worst nightmare that one must never endure, not even you.

So, don’t be so hard on yourself! The most important thing is, you should enjoy and love what you do. Stay calm and unleash the inner creativity within you! You may never know when your uniqueness can kick the monotony away and start a new trend in this sphere.

Here’s the message I saw on Wattpad-

“Creativity is pretty much rare. No I don’t mean to say that only few people are creative nowadays. I mean everybody is unwilling to make something new, try something different, question something nobody has ever questioned before. They stay satisfied with what they have and sadly they are not really satisfied with what they have.

And if ever a poor soul is willing to try something new, he is meet with scorn and loathing for not following the great chain of the majority, cause really everyone will only listen to you if you have some influence or a long list of followers. Basically, its all about the numbers.

Every idea is started small. It is through dedication and focused work, you are able to make it get noticed. You make be struggling for years and more years to come to make sure something you have done, something significant, to get support yet is still left in the shadows due to favoritism. But it does not dictate that your work is less than theirs. Stop thinking right there.

It is hard to have something you have worked for so long get scoffed at or made fun of but, it does not mean it is trash. Only you can decide if it is good or not. And you should be WISE in deciding, cause criticizing your own work can give you new ideas how to improve it. It is a process of hit or miss. But never give up: Be creative. Be different. Be yourself.

 

If you’re on wattpad and would like to follow this user (Please do. He’ll give you the laughs and the philosophy, and that’s amazing.) then here’s the link to his profile-

William Riverdale


					

Letter to the Newbie

Dear fellow human,

 

Sometimes I wish I could blurt out whatever I hold back. To tell something I truly feel is an arduous task because I can’t help but ponder about all the consequences it could lead to. It seems like a chance I clearly don’t want to risk. What will happen if I say this? Will they be vexed? Will they just shake their heads and think how incredibly ridiculous I am? It’s hard not to over think in cases I don’t want to mar.

In the end, it only leads to infuriating me because all the things that I have crammed within my head start boiling to escape from this rotten cauldron. It only ends up making me regret the things I never did which  makes my World imbibe a darker shade of grey. It’s sad and bitterly pathetic. Why should I stand back and watch the show from the sidelines? Why should I let others push me away to get the same thing they want? Why shouldn’t I grab the chance when I get it? Most importantly, why can’t I muster the courage to get what I crave?

I can’t because I don’t want to come across as someone desperate. I don’t do it because I don’t want them thinking that I’m pitiful and I have nothing better in my life. You don’t find me doing it because I feel like I’m being a hindrance in their life which may or may not be flowing without a turbulence. In short, I don’t find myself as someone who deserves the things they really want.

Why do I think this? I reproach myself for even deliberating such a painful possibility. Am I such a lowly being that I can’t approach one and tell them exactly how I feel? Why in the World do I consider myself so insignificant? I can’t blame anyone for that. However, I still thrust my annoyance on people for doing this to me which is blatantly wrong.

If I want something, I should stand up for it rather than backing off to let others swoop in and take my spot I acquired with great effort. I should stop thinking that I’m not worthy of certain relationships. I’m more than what people take me for and treat me as. If I want the respect and attention, I should work for it and not just drop on my bed to pen down tales and fables on things that affect me because they may help me ameliorate the stress that’s building up within me in that particular moment, but it’s not really a long term solution. If I want this to end once and for all, I should confront the source and let it know what’s it doing to me. I should speak up.

Speaking up is so hard. I wish it was as easy as it sounded like. This is what anxiety feels like. Being anxious about things only makes me fall behind. Anxiety is a chronic pain I desperately want to get rid of.

My heart beats wildly because I want to let it all off my chest. It gets erratic because my mind is chaotic. I could flood their timeline with posts and pictures that reflect the situation, or I could directly tell them that it’s hurting me. This feels a lot like bench pressing and trying to lift a 1000 pounds weight. I just can’t, even if I want to. I feel terribly helpless and abandoned. If there is something I always feared-it’s to be forsaken for someone new, enigmatic and fascinating.

You let them know how loneliness feels like after a few missed calls and I only let out a silent cry when I have to let go of the precious moment for you out of modesty. You bag the chance when you get it and I wait for the right time to arrive at my doorstep. You come in as you please and I come in when they please. You stride right in like a storm and I grace like the gentle summer breeze. That’s the difference between you and me. You know when to strike and I don’t. You make sure you don’t get abandoned and I do, for the other people.

Who am I to blame you for this? I wish I could hold you accountable for depriving me of the attention. My rage wants to make you feel guilty for what has become of this. This biting sadness wants to tell you of how unimportant I’ve possibly become because of you. I want to grab you by your shoulders and curse you for bringing in so much misery in this phase. The mouth only wishes to bellow all the horrendous things that come into this mind.

However, I know I won’t because I know you’re not responsible for any of this. I sit here crying and typing this not for what you did, but for what I’ve brought upon myself. You did what you had to and I didn’t what I had to. It’s as simple as it gets but extremely hard to overcome. I, honestly, dislike you for coming in between us. In spite of that, I look up to you for who you are. I don’t hate you. That’s too strong a word to describe the dislike I harbour for you. I do like you. That’s for keeping the person happy when I can’t and for the kind of person you are. You’re amazing and this awesomeness has brought me down from the altar. Sometimes, I wonder if we could be great friends. Will we? Only time can resolve this mystery.

Maybe, things haven’t changed between me and her and I could be over thinking  what’s in front of me, but it does not stop me from feeling as someone who’s been cast away because you made your grand entry in the hallway. You’d feel that too, wouldn’t you? Of course you would. We’re all similar yet so dissimilar.

I do not understand what it is that I hold for you, but I extend this hand of truce to vanquish this feeling of despair once and for all. This time, I won’t stop myself from telling you what I feel. I have only learnt that from the expert and I hope time has much more in store than what it has unveiled for both of us so far.

 

Yours Sincerely,
The one who wants back what you got away with.

Abandoned

A Music Maniac

Music

The chubby baby wailed for reasons unknown and turned the house into mania because there was absolutely nothing that could calm its worrying whines. The nappies were spick and span. She clearly did not want a pacifier and flung it aside. Was she hungry? The mouth only spewed mushy baby food. Toys and TV failed in their endeavour to distract her. The Mother finally picked the crying child and bounced her in her arms slightly to hush her. This too did not seem to work. Distressed, she started humming a sweet lullaby her mother used to sing. The baby finally seemed to forget her misery and stared at the mother goggle-eyed. The young lady’s slender finger wiped the saliva dripping from the baby’s mouth and began singing the enchanting song. It worked wonders and the baby soon fell asleep.

Years flew by with their usual pace and the troublesome baby grew up to be me. The ears always sought for music and there wasn’t a single day when I wouldn’t crank the volume and turn the floor into a dance-floor. My world was another reality and the reality was another world. Did that make sense? That’s how it always is!

Music never failed to pull me into its vortex. When books failed to trap me in their realm, music was the knight in shining armour and saved me from being distressed. Music was the antidote to the poison that life would feed me in my journey.

I like all kinds of music. From indie to hip-hop. For me, there’s no distinction between the different genres of music and I let myself bask in the tunes whenever I can. However, I don’t like all of them. That’s pretty obvious because a person can’t be expected to like and relish everything that comes their way. Music with its melodious tunes has given me more than I could ask for. Sometimes, I wonder how life would be without a pleasing melody.

Everything around us has its own music. I believe that the Universe itself has its own song we aren’t privileged to hear. The nature has its own rhythmic tune. Hear close and you’ll find yourself treating your ears to the unsung stories from nature’s wildlife itself. From the gigantic whales to the decent ants, there’s music that we may or may not hear.

I walk on the pavement jerking my head to hardcore punk-rock music. It fills me with an energy and a zest to take over the World with awesomeness, to show people the strength I possess and pulverize all the things that come in my way to fill me with sorrow. It makes me want to say, “Not today sadness. You can’t ruin my day when I have my inner punk unleashed. Nah uh! So sayonara sucker!” That’s what music does to people, it sets one on a riveting pursuit they can’t deviate from and it has now set me on a pursuit of glee and adventure.