Life Itself

That moment, when you have tried every trick in the book, including the very trick that the book advises you never try: being completely honest - and nothing comes of it. That sensation of inching doom, when you have done all you could, other than giving up - and got nothing in return. That uneasy frustration, when you have written, screamed, silently begged - and the only person who heard you is yourself.  That awkward brush of reality, when you admit that every effort has been in vain - and only go back into self denial.

Now dont worry about how made me feel. We all move, just flow in whatever direction we are supposed to. Sometimes our paths cross. Sometimes encounters end in uneven consequences. Sometimes hearts break. I have come a long way downstream and I know that most times we don't intend to be malicious. And I know you certainly didn't. So go ahead and walk away. I am not holding tight or trying to make you stay. I am not wishing on eyelashes or praying till I go insane. There is no pain in the world if you can't feel it. There is no deception if you can't see it. There is no looking back at empty spaces. There is no regret where there was never any hope. There is no yesterday where there was never a tomorrow.

When I sit in silence, often times I find my thoughts crawl in your direction. Its not a conscious, purposeful process. Its involuntary and mostly happens in the background of whatever else is happening around me. What really makes things interesting is that no matter where we stand, my thoughts are usually positive. The silence makes me want to extend my immediate circumstance in a way that it includes you. The inward contemplation usually gets punctuated by a desire to share my thoughts with you and to predict how you would interpret them. But on most days and at most times, you are a different person than the one existing in my head. So I neutralise the apparent conflict by thinking of you as the same person, but in parallel universes, one where you are the perfected version of yourself, and the other that your ordinary self inhabits. This is not to say that I am only connected to who I imagine you to be. All it means is that I understand you are human, but to protect myself from ...

No, its not okay. Not your love. Not your hatred. Not your passion. Not your distance. Not your warmth. Not your numbness. Not your screams. Not your silence. How do you go from forever to never so quickly? How do you despise and need all in the same breath? How do you decide to respect and disrespect the same thing on two different days? How do you turn from someones safe into their loneliness? How do you take the deepest concern and make it the cruelest indifference? One day, I too shall learn.

Laughter can be such a great distraction. While you are in the midst of that momentary lapse of self-control, it is almost impossible to focus on pain. Its easy to drown yourself in the noise and color and forget, if only for a moment, the harshest reality. I am often tempted to deal with my problems by drowning them in happiness. Simply by shifting focus, I effectively deal with anything. This is true. But you know what's also true? There are moments of solitude amongst the clamor that force you to think, to reconsider that smile. Is ignoring a problem going to take it away? Sometimes it does. Most cases, you open those shut eyes, and the problem continues to stare at you. So does that mean that confronting a problem, feeling the pain, experiencing the emotion and dealing with conflict is the only real solution? I wish it was. Unfortunately, some problems have no solution and the faster you drown them in laughter, the better.

"Damaged people are dangerous because they know they can survive." Your silence over the years never came as a surprise to me. I always assumed that it was your way of coping with your mistake. I also assumed that your defense mechanisms had made you forget and pretend that you were right all-along. What I never considered was the possibility that it was deliberate lack-of-action. That you knew all along what you were doing. That your sinister smile was a real reflection of the twisted brain inside your head. Perhaps, my excuses for you were a shield for my own feelings. After all, it is much easier to deal with someone who unintentionally messed up versus someone who connived to bring you down. Today, I am not her. I am not that person who let go because there was no choice. I am not even that person who silently ignored your cruelty. And I am definitely not that person who innocently gave you the benefit of doubt. Sometimes, I still feel the sudden pang of pain. Some...

It's hard to believe in yourself. I realized just how unsure I am of myself as I met him recently. It's strange how some people can play mind games so effectively that before you know that you are being played, you already show all your cards and take up the losing position. I can never know with him. I am never sure of what he's thinking or what he means when he looks at me. I am always left wondering about his intentions, wanting to understand a little more each time. Perhaps it's curiosity, perhaps there is really something there and we are too scared to embrace it. The problem is that each time I am with him, I feel like a little girl being led without her will. I feel protected, yet completely exposed. On most days, with most people, I don't let my guard down. With him, keeping my defenses up is always such a struggle. It's always that point one percent chance that screws you over. I am convinced enough to wrap the idea and discard it in the heap...

I heard you talk. I read what you wrote. I believed every line. I felt every syllable. And then I was convinced otherwise. Now sometimes I go back and read what you said. And I ask myself if you were right. I have internalized your writing to such an extent that part of me thinks its my pain, my anguish, my regret, my mistake. I don't know if you were right or completely insane. But I know that I can never be sure. I almost want to write to you, reach out to you, ask you. But then I let that thought go too. I hope you are happy. I hope you were wrong. 

Who are you when the light's all go out and vacuum takes away the last sound? Who are you when there are no people or mirrors around? Who are you in that last moment before sleep takes over? Who are you the first thing in the morning? Who are you when there is no awareness, not even your own? There are a very few things that have troubled me as much as this. Ever since I learnt the beauty of putting words to my thoughts, I have grappled with the one question: Who am I? I know that this is a vast, bordering-on-boring, question. And I know that I have no real answer. But sometimes I reach the edge of understanding. That little flickering hope of clarity that almost descends before disintegrating. I know that I may never know who it is that I am or what it is that really brings me into this chaotic, senseless, almost-insane, world. But I know with utmost certainty what it is that I am not. My moments of understanding usually happen when I am accused of being someone who is an...

Revenge can be such a horrible place to be in. To feel that clinching desire to payback, to watch as you become the very person you despise, to reach hatred again - and see it directed towards yourself. I have watched too many people succumb to this need. To prove and disprove till such a point, that the premise gets lost. I have seen satisfaction and extreme self-doubt, experienced all at the same time. I have felt pain as it passes from one betrayal to another. I have heard each screaming epiphany over mistakes repeated over and over.  Just as agony apparently dwindles, I have seen regret take over. From one counter-play to another, I have held the tired mind and felt the bated-breath. And as the end draws near, I have seen regret refuel and restart. I have poked holes and filled cement into all these delusions. I have been on every side of this argument. I wish I could say I have learnt my my lesson.