Spaghetti alla Carbonara

I think I can feel the world passing by. One minute at a time. While I sit here and desperately seek out something to do. Searching, searching, eyes glancing from one thing to the next, hands fidgeting.

Seconds cease ticking by. Even the clock has stopped working. No joke. Restlessnessness.

So, writing seems to be the best alternative to avoid premature symptoms of high blood pressure and insanity. Thank god for the invention of the written word. Or rather, thank some old, white bearded, bored man for deciding to encode the language.

Or maybe, they’re the same person.

We’ll never know.

All I know is, you like spaghetti alla carbonara. Talking to you is like talking to myself. Which is weird, but kind of amusing at the same time. I wonder if it will ever get annoying. I wonder if we’re just lying to ourselves. We’re too practical, you and I. Biggest hypocrites on the planet. And maybe the biggest cowards too, who knows. You call me a kid and that scares me. Because you know what, I am. Because I don’t want to take things so seriously. Let’s be kids together. Be stupid together. Let’s play and laugh together. Splash in puddles. Run so fast our legs seem like they’ll fall off. Hello-hello each other like idiots. Forget the world and all its problems, because like you said, no one comes out alive anyway.

This restlessnessness.

Where the heart is

Where, when you step inside, the familiarity overwhelms you.

Where you wake up in the middle of the night, and go to the kitchen in search of food, and you actually find some.

Where people rip the blankets off to wake you up in the morning.

Where you somehow know where everything is, even when it's pitch dark.

Where people cook for you.

Where you're allowed to watch cartoons all day.

Where all the clothes are washed and the food is made, as if by magic.

Where you have to tap the bathroom light switch hard because it doesn't turn on otherwise.

Where you're allowed to look your most horrible, in the foulest of moods, and you know you're with people who are biologically tuned to love you.

Where you know which stair to skip over because it creaks.

Where retro Hindi songs play on Sunday mornings.

Where evenings are spent laughing in the kitchen.

Where you occasionally have to chat with your brother online to get his attention, because he just can't seem to tear himself from the computer.

Where you can sing and play the guitar as loud as you want.

Where no one drinks from this one mug, because its yours.

Where you have pizza nights on Fridays.

Where you fight about which movie to watch while eating that pizza.

That's home.

I think that, in life, there are two kinds of people. Ones that disappoint you, and ones that are about to. Maybe they were right. Maybe we have too many expectations. Maybe the problem is within us. Maybe we disappoint ourselves at one point or another as well.

Moral of the story. Fuck your expectations. Because people can never live up to them.

For You

Can Stone Heart be gentle? Can he be passionate impulsive, soft, caring? Is he pure stone?
Is he all heart?

Can he hear what the wind does not speak? Would he want to? Would he dare? Would he mock it? Would he roll past or would he pause?

The leaves, are they in the way? Does he need to meet a river? An ocean?

Listen to the voice, Stone Heart. Pause for the gentle wind, the roses, the leaves which fly in a multitude of hues in celebration.

Of you.

For you.

Are you pure heart? Or are you all stone?

Some more weird thoughts I had.
I should really stop slacking off at work.

Akane?

She looked out of the window of her majestic emerald green palace, sipping a goblet filled with the kingdom drink, Yakult, while she pondered over the fate of Steven Taylor’s infamous locks. The ones on his head, that is. Cursing in Japanese as her Yakult gave up its last few drops, she turned on her heel and walked, painfully slowly, swinging her arms erratically as she went. Lost in her own world, she started humming the words to some unheard of band called Air-o-Smeeth, dancing her signature dance with lots of slow motion head banging and arms moving in some strange circular motion. She went along this way, that is, until she turned the corner and bumped into a tour guide, along with twenty other people who’d come to visit the palace ground. Frozen in mid-action for a second, she blinked twice, mumbled something incoherent, and ran off.

Thirsty from her escapade, she went in search of more Yakult. The servants, not daring to meet her eyes, announced that the kitchens had run out of stock, but they could offer her some sushi if she so desired. Harrumphing at their incompetence, she returned to her room. Turning the lock, she opened her cupboard and, out of a secret compartment, took out another box of Yakult which she kept for emergencies. And if anything, this evening definitely required the drink.

For someone was coming. Someone special. Someone who’d enchanted her with his first sadistic smile. With his first maniacal laugh. With his long, lanky, sallow and pale figure. Those seemingly heartless eyes had caught her heart. And she alone knew that he was misunderstood. All he was looking for was a compassionate soul. Who would understand his true genius, his love for the audio-visual art. He was looking for her. He just didn’t realize.

Neither did his betrothed.

Sighing melodramatically, she plonked down on her bed. She picked up a book , but threw it away in frustration as the anxiety wouldn’t let her concentrate. Stomach in knots already, she tries meditation. Realizing the futility of it in about five seconds, she gets up and yells in release, calling for the savage hound that roams the grounds, Oregano. The huge beast leaped towards her, growling, knocking her off her feet, yet she seemed unperturbed by his ferocious behaviour. “Aww, aren’t you adorable?” she cooed.

To the normal eye, the answer would be no. Quite the opposite.

Her sibling strolled in, holding the latest version of castle security and ninja training software. Puzzled for a second by her sprawled position on the floor, the giant hound bounding at her feet, he dismissed this event as another normal. Reminding her of the official meet in five minutes, he walked out.

She picked herself up, starting to get ready in a frenzy. How she hated these formal dressed up meetings. Yet she remembered, he would be here.

Walking the fastest she could, which could still be called a slow ambling by most people, she reached the banquet hall where all the guests were mingling. Grabbing a glass of Smeernov, she sipped quietly in the corner, searching for her most awaited. She felt claustrophobic with so many smiling, chirpy people around. How she wanted to just grab a goblet of coffee and sit in the palace library.

But ah, there he was! Standing, signaturely, with one hand in his pocket, and another in some weirdly dramatic position placed on his face, he was like a myth. Too good to be true.

She sighed, blissful in simple observation when suddenly, she caught his eye! He was coming towards her! What was this! Hyperventilating yet supremely excited, she walked extended her hand towards him. But then, there was a loud ringing! What was happening?

Her eyes opened! She opened her phone, and checked the time. Groaning at the lateness of it all, and the unfortunate timing, she yelled across the room. “We’re lateeee!!!” The sound of a muffled “Five more minutes” came from across the room.

She got up in a panic. “Wake up, wake up!” As she started getting ready for another usual day, she remembered her dream. Then she realized.

First lecture.

Him.

This would be interesting.

This one goes out to you. We began as strangers and now we’re…well we're pretty much family. Happy birthday.

Caution: Random Shit Ahead. Tread Carefully

Be gentle, young paduan. For the waters that take you along with them are swift, unwavering, unswerving, and harsh. They will shape you. They will shape you to be cruel and unrelenting as they are. They will storm around you, beat you, break you down. But you must not let them break your spirit. For it is your spirit that guides the heavens. Your spirit that will, one day, cause a break in the clouds, and let the mellow sunlight filter through to light the world again. The waters shall curse you for breaking their rule. They will try to drown you with their strong currents.

I almost didn't wanna post this. What might people think? But then, this is my blog.
And I couldn't possibly deprive the world of such a gem of a rambling.
So I thought, let's post! Let's post like no one's ever posted before! Let's....

Erm. Never mind.

Incessant Buzzzzzz

Everything seems plastic.

All the "love yous" and the hearts and the "I miss you!"s. And then all the "You don't love me anymore, you didn't comment on my new status!" Somehow it all seems fake. Too much of a utopian-Barney-the-purple-dinosaur type of society. I don't know why, all this love seems like a desperate plea for attention, for acceptance. Like, underneath all the glitter and sparkles, you're saying "Please, remember me too!"

Humankind is thirsty for love. Fact. We hunt for it, beg for it, cry for it, fight for it, steal for it, kill for it. Why? Because as humans, we want to feel assured of our social....likeability. (Yeah, no, I'm not sure that's a word.) Is it that suddenly, having tons of "friends" on Facebook denotes how popular you are? Is the red notification sign comforting somehow?

Yeah, actually, it kinda is. Makes you feel wanted, in the loop. In some strange way. Yeah, I know it's stupid. But I always thought humans were not the smartest of primates anyway, contrary to popular (not to mention misguided) belief. So what does it matter.

Social interaction is a necessity, for the most part. If you disagree, you wouldn't be reading this blog in the first place. But. Butbutbutbutbutbut. There comes a point when social interaction becomes obsessive. When you can no longer function without your phone without getting twitchy in a matter of seconds. When you refresh your homepage every few seconds to catch up with the latest "happenings." It's a sad state of affairs, and we're already hurtling deep into they abyss that is social networking. Which has a no-return policy, by the way.