Today I learned that it will hurt a lot to have your own perspective of things. I learned that even though we might see our unique interpretations as something that sets us apart, they also pull us back to believing the illusion that everything we see is exactly what it seems; that there aren’t more parts to a story than the ones we choose to read.
But there are. In a world where every element exists in pairs: night & day, fire & ice, real & virtual, matter & antimatter, perspectives too, occur in more than one ways. I always thought I was capable of looking out of the box that limits me to my opinion, that I could see what someone else might want to take out of the situation.
I was wrong. You never really know.
I learned that a confrontation can help in more ways than it can cause harm. There was a lucid, brilliant clarity, a lightness that I felt about myself as I talked out loud about something that had been pestering me, lingering on in my conscience so ardently.
I am fine, to state my mood in the exact terms. I’m learning how to deal with difficult situations. It is a little hard for first timers like me, but it’s the lesson of a lifetime. I’m trying to keep my emotions in check and not muddle up what I feel and who I am.
So far, this is working out.
Things are changing faster than I thought they would. I hate change; I resist it, I try to stop it the same way insulators try to tame electricity.
Crying became my savior today. It could wring me out of my self hatred, of how much I was suddenly beginning to despise myself. It feels good when your body gets rid of poison. I was holding onto poison inside.
I do not want a confrontation. I’d prefer to run away, as always. Addressing the situation uproots too many seeds that transform into tiny nuclear bombs. In the end, we will be the casualties.
Who am I kidding?
We already are.
Today was almost reckless. Like a sea wave that wipes away your scribbles in the sand. Pretty scribbles.
I woke up feeling as if something had eroded my happiness away. Somehow, I Won’t Give Up by Jason Mraz was reverbrating within the hollow chamber of my body, bouncing off of my bones. I almost found myself wishing someone would sing it for me. Someday. So I played it on my phone as I lay in bed: warm, externally but cold, internally. My shuffle playlist turned out to be great, so I began to feel better.
I gathered all my notes to finally sit down to study. Studying is hard because focus is not a choice. My mind flutters away like a butterfly, being the non physical entity it is; landing on my past at it’s whim, lurking over my present, with it’s cynical eye turned towards my future. I sit at my desk with the utmost dedication, but my mind fails to comply.
It astonishes me how nothing much changes itself around me, but everyday I wake up feeling a little different. Sometimes, like waking up as a new person. What I feel guides what I do.
But I do not know how to control what I feel.
I Won’t Give Up by Jason Mraz
I woke up today and listened to the birds outside. There were crows and pigeons croacking instead of the sparrows and the songbirds singing. Smoke filled the sky, the gloomy grey replacing the brilliant blue.
Which Google form did we fill to sign up for this hell?
Stand at the terrace alone, look up and in that exact moment you will know how our lives have become so self sustained, so isolated. We are all alone, but together. Our smartphones have condensed the whole universe to fit into a screen, and that is more than enough for a lot of people. Everyone is making haste to get somewhere, to get something. We forget that there are things beyond and above. Above ourselves, beyond our understanding.
The lights of all the four rooms in the apartment are on. One for each member, separately. There is no laughter in the evening hour; no boisterous ten year olds running around chasing each other. They’re probably stuck doing homework. Watching TV, consumed in a tablet or a mobile phone, fingers tapping on a screen. There are the screams of a couple fighting across from the apartment where I live, and then there is a ghostly silence which almost makes me hold my breath. I am afraid that he is going to hurt her. He hurts her. Almost fifty feet away, his words hurt me.
I am here, stuck staring at the 3 am smoky sky, seeing the city lights desceding it’s purple into orange, wondering whether the stars disappeared because no one made time to look up anymore.
To make a classic
anxiety-stricken city girl,
One bowl of a painful past,
two table spoons of self loathing;
one cup of anxiety up to the brim
and a pinch of wavering self confidence stirred with a raging inferiority complex.
Then, the most important ingredient:
some fresh, homegrown melancholy reaped from her personal farms of depression,
and stir it the same way butterflies chase their rear ends inside her stomach each time she has to confront someone;
let it simmer on the gas, until small bubbles show up like
stress-related acne struggling for space on her face.
Now pour this mix into a bowl, slowly, carefully, the way she never can;
and season it with the toppings of your choice-
my personal favourites,
fake laughter and hopeless positivism,
then throw it in the trash, where it originally belonged.
I’ll meet you
when I’m in a place where
my peace and mourning touch,
intertwined in each other’s ends and beginnings,
stinking of remorse
in the perfect balance of white;
After having moved on from all that was,
waiting to trip over your imperfections.
Before stepping over the line, for once,
to seek a love that feels
more like sympathy and less like affection.