Revisit

I used to think I was good at expressing what I felt, atleast with the written word. It used to be true until this situation I got stuck in. Literally like stuck between a rock and a hard place. But after a whole lot of miserable existence, I’ve had enough. After all, how long can a person whine and complain and be negative? My fourth grade teacher had labeled me as a happy camper, and I’d like to do her a bit of justice.

You were the best thing to come my way, in all my life, but for some reason, I couldn’t reciprocate. I’m sorry I became sidetracked. But it all became so overwhelming. I don’t want to write for sympathy. I’m not asking anyone to feel sorry for my position, because I deserve it and I’ll take my dues. Happily. Shout at me. Yell. Make me feel like the lowliest piece of crap on the planet, because I know I deserve it. But you didn’t do any of that. You couldn’t be mad at me.

Cue in the biggest guilt trip ever. Part two.

I still don’t know what I want. The thing is, if you and I.. if we lived in the same city, I would come back. Does that make my love seem shallow? Should I be ready to face all hurdles? I know you are. You’ve always been ready. And I was too, until I started looking for the little things. And they were all missing. They just weren’t there. Meeting you felt like a special occasion. And that was something we both knew from the start. But then, I just didn’t know how I’d feel about it six months down the line.

When my friends would complain about not seeing their boyfriend all day, I’d secretly grow angry. I hadn’t seen you in three weeks! What right did they have to complain when I never did? Celebrating anniversaries became passé for them while for me, it was still so new and exciting, because hey! We were going strong! I guess with the distance, I never took you for granted.

That’s why I never wanted to let you go. You understood like no one ever did. I felt more comfortable with you. No one understood my moods like you did. And you know, despite every impractical, illogical, crazy, bitchy mood swing I threw at you, you were right there by my side. Who does that? It felt incredible.

That’s why I still don’t want you to go. Or if you do, please come back. There’s no one else I can see myself with in the future. And what with life taking me in directions I don’t know, I know that having a claim and then not having you – that’s hard for me. Then temptations come and I think, wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who I can see every day? So what if, you know, the connection wasn’t as amazing as ours? It’s good enough.

Good enough.

Good enough with someone there, or amazing with someone not there? That’s the decision I’ve been trying to make.

Maybe I’ve been running away from something so deep. That could make sense. This new relationship that’s sprung up… it’s not as intense. It’s very in the moment. It’s like that moment when you’re underwater for a really long time, and then come up for a breath. Because I can go back to being in my shell. In my comfort zone. It’s a relief because I know he doesn’t have that power over me, not yet. I spend time with him because it makes me happy with no strings attached. We don’t have tags, and more than anything, we’re friends.

I want you to be happy. I want you to know that you have me whenever you need me. But right now, I can't come back. I need to do this for myself.

I’m tired of trying to keep everyone placated. Of trying desperately not to hurt anyone. I’m tired of thinking.

The Third Stage

Bargaining. Already.

I don't know why I'm writing again, when I have nothing to say. Nothing's changed. Except I realized, somehow, somewhere, something's not the same. It's like I've been falling, all this while with the certainty that there's a mattress down there, ready to catch me. It's still there, but now I never wanna reach the bottom.

Wow, my writing's started to suck. Ok, ignoring all the eyes I feel are watching me, or would watch me as I publish this, and talking only to myself.

It's KILLING me right now to not pick up the phone, to make everything the same as it was once. Maybe I can call ceasefire? Maybe you really won't be such a weak willed bastard the next time? But you know what irks me the most? You didn't even try to stop me. I left and you accepted it.

And HER. For the LOVE OF GOD! There was once a time when it was alright, she was allowed to be mad at me. But now, she's this delusional psychopath who hasn't got any remains of dignity left. And I realize maybe I can't ever let this blog become public. But for god's sake!

I'll delete this post. But for now, let me vent. There's oh so much to vent.

In his memory

So... you know that story I was telling you about? The one that I said wasn't a fairytale? Well, you know why? Because in that story, everyone did not live happily after. People died in that story. Don't worry, they were imaginary. Too bad the rest of it wasn't.

Lately I've been introspecting. What kind of a fool was I? Yes there are varieties. I came up with an answer too. I was the masochistic kind. Once, a friend told me that I seemed like a cold hearted bitch (he meant it in the nicest way) and that comment.. well it stuck. I felt like I really did have no emotions. That was scary. Did I not feel? Was I cold, apathetic? Just like the rest of my family? No, of course not. I could feel... I'd show them.

So I came to him. And they told me he'd hurt me. And I didn't care. Because I wanted to see, you know? See how much he could possibly hurt me. How far would he be able to break me? Ah, but this one was cruel. He didn't come with a sleek blade. No, he came at my heart with a dull axe. Bouts of pain, but hey, I made it through! Until the last one. No, that last attempt really pretty much cracked it. So I withdrew it; my heart, that is. Now its slightly deformed, slightly mangled, in need of repair. It needs to catch its breath, but it's still there pumping. But I showed them. I was capable of emotion! Who's laughing now?

The thing is, I'm over it. But only because I have to be. Because it would be the most stupid thing in the history of the universe (except for the invention of the plastic duck for the tub) to go back. I know that. They know that. Everyone knows that. But that doesn't mean I can't keep glancing at my phone every once in a while. It doesn't mean I can't read his old messages. It doesn't mean I can't go through the past in my head.

It doesn't mean I can't regret what won't come back. Oh, and who died? Well, Bob did. Remember him? Yeah a cleaver couldn't kill him, but a kiss gone astray could.

life is extraordinary in the way we tell it.

that is the secret to a more than ordinary life.

Janota

Some copy for a shoe line. Theme: Elements

Fire

Cool flames frolicking in front of your eyes. The sizzling sensation of systematic devastation. The world is set ablaze. Do you have the right shoes?

Earth

Volcanic ash shimmering in the twilight of dawn, simmering down on a silent earth. A thin streak of sunlight escapes from the belt of the horizon. It’s a new day, a new beginning. Do you have the right shoes?

Wind

Many things ride the wind. Autumn leaves broken from their homes, the summery scent of fresh grass, the waft of rain, the flutter of wings, the skip of a heartbeat. Now it’s your turn. Do you have the right shoes?

Water

Tread past the white froth sparking on the rocks. A plunge into oceans blue. Deep, deeper, until the surface is a mirage. A new universe, mystic, mesmerizing, metamorphic. A transformation, unrelenting. Another adventure. Do you have the right shoes?

Ether

Something surreal, something unreal, like the everlasting turning of a diving wheel. Mountains shift, winds change, waters tremble. It awakens, asks you to follow it into the abyss. Do you have the right shoes?

Of Beer till Bob

Yet again I find myself in the awkward predicament of not knowing what I want, undecided if what I want would even be good for me. It's like this. You give up healthy dal-rice for blueberry cheesecake by candlelight. But you don't know if you'll miss the taste of the rice later on. Sure, the cheesecake is sweet and tastes amazing, but can you live in that one evening forever?

It's time I told you a story. A story of innocence. Of quick glances, flushed faces (only hers), racing heartbeats (again, only hers). A story of hopes, expectations that soared, flew high in the jubilation of new love. Love? Only to come crashing, burning one lazy evening. A heart that capsized in one single moment. One solitary moment, one opening of a door. Two figures that weren't meant to be. Atleast not in her mind. Waves came crashing down and walls came up. Smiles and laughter protected the sinking ship. And lifeboats brought the ship to a shore. To catch her breath. Panting.

They say hope never dies. Like a cruel mockery it keeps you dancing. On your feet. But then there were cruel words. Insults. A show of indifference, apathy. Still there were stolen glances. A heart dancing at his sight - a sight she didn't see much. Like a rare gift. When he spoke, she treasured the sound. Still she claimed indifference. It didn't matter. They'd chosen different paths. Running on different tracks. Still, those stolen glances. That proximity which she yearned for. So unattainable. So impossible. Others took her hand, but with the other, hope held.

Years passed. Or was it only a few moments? Things changed. Glances weren't stolen. They were returned. And what more can I say? This was a story, after all. You know how it goes. This is a story. A story of beer. Of challenges. Of losing, of winning. Of new springs of hope. Of dancing hearts. Of smiles. Of warmth. Of hands shaking, spilling lemonade, when he's around. Of blushing when he looks. Of long walks at midnight. Of pitchers by candlelight. Of wine up above. Of getting caught in the rain. Of hopes, expectations. Of guilt. Of talks in the balcony. Of meeting at odd hours. Of learning how to box. Of cheese omelette. Of a conscience. Of blueberry cheesecake by candlelight. Of walks on the beach at twilight. Of sharing. Of sea shells. Of reaching out for his hand. Of sharing a secret. Of sand on his tshirt. Of acceptance. And realizations. And chocolates. And stars.

And cricket matches.

And drunken nights.

And a kiss.

And Bob. Who could forget Bob? No cleaver could end him. From the first beer to the birth of Bob. That is the length of this story.

The disclaimer? It's not a fairytale.

disjointed. so unwhole.unwhole-y? holy? too many thoughts, not enough sense. sense as in consciousness, not intelligence. please. not the intelligence. it feels like being stuck outside a bubble. or maybe stuck inside one.

it's not breaking. it's like it's made out of diamond. unbreakable. i speak and my voice bounces around, in my own head. i yell and shout, still it echoes back to me. laughing faces come and fade away. nothing is permanent except for this bubble. but the air is running out, it has to pop soon.

things are so different now. the world's changed. it's all their fault, i swear. it's cut off my voice, my thoughts. i used to dream, now i float.

this isn't some poetic angst blog. this is me, trying to get thoughts out of my head. trying to reconnect. it's nice to move away, to start fresh. a clean slate. the old one's got puke on it and no one wants to clean up.

but new slates are hard to come by. please help me clean it up. please don't leave me stranded with the dirty slate. i know i can't do it by myself. don't leave.