Day 0

Hello, I've decided to become a proper writer and write. Er, yes. So basically it's the end of an era, college is over, my relationship is over, I'm in a new country, and there's not much to do here near the North Pole. Writing becomes the only escape. I'd promised myself that I'd write every day, and I will try to stick to that as much as I can.


Here's something from during commute.


5th July, 2012

Well here I am, finally writing in this diary almost three years after it was given to me. I finally made it on time for my flight to S, which never would have happened after pretty much one of the top ten most fucked up travel experiences ever. Been crying on and off for the whole flight because of the really weird last conversation I had with him before I left. It's kind of my fault for not charging my phone. Hence I couldn't talk to him throughout the whole ordeal. It was horrible, the last conversation. And because of stupid Air India!! Fucking telling me they're overbooked. Fucktards. Anyway, I've decided to write everyday for this grieving period that would mark the expected yet still tragic end of the relationship. And to rant about the missing fucking period. I detect a lot of anger inside me. Nooo, my phone died! AGAIN. Great. Hopefully my parents have faith in my arriving to Stockholm in one piece. Every blonde kid looks like AR, my God. Small gene pool this side of the world.

Funny thing is, when I got off at Vienna, and saw outside the really large windows, all I could think was, "Great, this again." I think I heard some Malayalam in the bathroom just now. Made me feel happy. I miss India. And everyone. I hope I don't sulk away this vacation.

Cheers to plans of swimming! Now when will boarding start??

(Must write about failed hair straightening attempt and airplane journey later.)

blah

sadness is overwhelming. i really hope that's the PMS finally kicking in. and I hate this city, filled with self righteous, overly dressed women who stare you down as you walk down the ladies compartment of the metro, as if mentally slitting your neck for wearing those shoes with those pants.


You know what I realized. This city has never been good for me. Never. Not with my family, not in school, not the people. Nothing ever seems to make it work. Can immorality really be a city wide endemic? Are they really all out to get me?

Down, Stalin-esque paranoia, down!

There should be a time limit for the amount of time I spend here. Three weeks till insanity wears me down.

You know what I like about blogs? You can be self obsessed and not talk about anything else but yourself, and no one is allowed to have a problem with it.

And right now a little jealousy is getting the best of me.

Down, Snow White's mother, down!

Gasp, I just compared myself to an evil stepmother. Overthinking, brain going into overdrive.

Must get away. To a New Castle.

An Ode to my Desk

I hate that irrevocable feeling of anxiety when you feel your world slowly spinning out of your control. When after three years of constancy, you don't know what tomorrow will look like.

And when you suddenly realize how much that desk you had with you for two years meant to you, but you realize too late because it's now in the hands of some juniors, who might desecrate it with ash and loud metal music. Oh desk, I'm sorry I wasn't there to bid you goodbye! I know I've dumped a lot of baggage on you, but you've always carried everything, the good and bad, with great storage capacity.You and I had many memories together - I cleaned up the bird shit that I found on you after two months apart, you held my empty liquor bottles right from the very first wine, I kept my best secrets with you, and you took away all my useless papers with so much good will. I'll always treasure the times we spent together.  I know I lost the key to your drawer, but you'll always have a key to my heart. I hope those boys find as much happiness with you as I did.

:')

incomplete.
like sleepless in seattle.
like naruto.
like plans.
like bets.
like
us

The rain always put her in a good mood.

The air was still clean from the rains at dawn, the earth still smelled like fresh mud, the wind cool and undecided, blowing her hair all around her as she stepped out of Mass, walking among people she didn’t know.

She was heading home to her still sleeping husband. Her gaze was turned down on the pavement when she had that inexplicable feeling yet again that there was someone watching her. As she walked past the gate of the church, her eyes, as if with a life of their own, searched for his.

It had been eight years, six months and fifty seven days, and when her heart and mind had given up hope, her eyes continued to search fruitlessly. Amidst the crowds at the market, the families at church, or strangers walking past every day. Searching, hoping, despite the fact that they bade goodbye a lifetime ago in the dim room on the second floor of a rickety make shift hotel. She could still remember the faint smell of sweat and sex in the room, the beard on his face prickling her hand as she stroked it, his vicious bites of affection, the unruly chaos of hair on his head, the smell of smoke in his mouth and the increasing darkness as he cut the cord of their still infantile love.

Eight years, six months, fifty seven days and three hundred letters that were left unsent, still piled up in a shoe box in some deep corner of her cupboard. It took that long for her eyes to set upon what they searched. There he was, in a worn out overcoat, with the same prickly beard she remembered. The lean contours of his body from their days of murky love making had given way to broader, mature features. The glint in his smile was replaced by a thin line on his lips. But his hair was still as unruly.

Her heart beat so loudly she could have sworn he’d heard it. From her mind to her heart to the core of her being, everything ached to hold him again, to feel him around her, on her, inside her, to complete herself in a way that only he knew how to.

Why wasn’t he moving towards her? Why wouldn’t he say anything? Her jubilation was slowly melting into anguish, turning to guilt as he appraised her from head to toe, pausing at the bump of her child yet to be born. Rooted to the spot, she battled between her desire to rush forward into the past or back to her present. Her eyes thirstily took in every ounce of him. His one undone lace, his trousers blowing against his legs in the wind, the rising smoke from his cigarette, his undone collar, the thin thread of his scapular peeking from behind his neck, that beard of his, and what she’d feared most, the stoic expression of his face as he looked straight at her with controlled eyes.

Suddenly eight years seemed like yesterday, and yesterday seemed like an illusion. Suddenly it seemed as if life had given both of them another chance to redeem an ill timed love.

She gasped as she felt pain inside her. Her baby’s first kick. The baby of her and her husband, to whom she had sworn a vow of love and companionship. Their love was not torrid. It was not volatile, or fiery or mad and insane. It did not throw her into the void of absolute ecstasy, or the volcanic pits of rage. It did not give her life through every act of love, nor did it drive her to heights of the tallest mountains, only to let her feel the rush of an entire world pulling her towards her as she fell. It did not bring out the urges she had to expel her passion before it burned her away. No, their love is not a ship riding the highest waves during a storm. Their love is a ship sailing on a lake of placidity. Their love is exemplary in its perfection. No scars mar their relationship. They have their routine of quiet breakfasts behind the newspaper, not of walks in the moonlight. Theirs is a love of sunshine, not torrents of rain. Their love is about giving and receiving. It is about taking a deep breath on top of a mountain and never looking down.

But here she was, led to the precipice once again and reminiscing about the rush of falling to your death.

But she wasn’t ready to look down now. Look again into the fire and face it, not with another life depending on her. Not with another love expecting her. The rains were romantic and dashed, but once the skies cleared she did not want to leave decrepitude in their wake. Immature and fanciful whims of a young girl had no place in the mind of a grown woman, or in the heart of a mother.

For every love that is fulfilled, there must be so many that are not. So many silent sighs, quiet wishes, hushed regrets.

This must be one of them. She gave a faint smile, placated her unborn child, walked past him and never saw the flower he dropped from his hand that could have shaken the very core of the earth to drop her from that mountain and return to his life.

Inspired by Marquez, and life.

Once I had a strange love

a mad sort of insane love

a love so fast and fierce I thought I'd die

yes once I had a strange love

a pure but very pained love

a love that burned like fire through a field

That's a song I've heard many times, but it never made such an impact as it did this afternoon. Guess you have to live something before you can truly relate to it, empathize with it. I do not envy the writer who had to undergo such a painful love before writing poetry such as this. I really and truly don't.

I can feel another chapter in my life closing, and instead of the romcom I thought my life had turned into, it seems more and more like a play by Tennessee Williams or a tragedy by Marquez, and I never saw it coming. Or maybe I did and thought he'd be there by my side no matter what. What illogical thoughts. Yes, he's right. This was never meant to be forever. But somewhere, I thought that was because of circumstance, not by choice. Unfortunately it looks like I've pushed someone so close to the edge, that finally he's decided to jump off the deep end himself. I can't feel bad for being in circumstances that I knew I'd eventually fall into sooner or later. 

Yes, I'm insecure, and I have been for quite a while. It's not something that goes away, because it's embedded really deeply in my side of this relationship. And no matter how much I want you, it's just so difficult to uproot certain things from my mind. I know, I know all the things you've said about how stupid my insecurity is. Believe me, I try to fight it. But I don't like it if other people treat you as if you belong to them. I don't like it when I sometimes remember some of the things you've told me, which have broken my heart. And every time I remember them, they break my heart all over again.

It's not something that can go away so quickly. It's something that would take ages to fix. Time we don't have. And why would you want to waste the remaining few weeks here with someone who is bound to act psychotic? I don't trust in myself to make any promises about changing the way I am. 

The things that were said to me yesterday, they'll stick with me for a while. They were like little rocks, or needles right into my eyes. Not really pretty. And I'm wondering how much of it is true, and it is that process of wonderment that is making me hesitant  currently. 

Right now, I want you to be happy. And I know there are enough and more people who can do that. I feel useless knowing that I can't. What we have, or had, was (is?) really really amazing. It's something I'll cherish because I'd grown to love someone more than what I thought were my limits. I've realized so many things in this relationship, and I'll treasure so many happy memories once I leave this place. It's just that I feel like you're done with this, and that scares me more than anything. If that is your choice, then that is your choice and I can't stop you because I would hate to force or guilt you into staying with me, because then, you're doing it out of guilt, not love.                                                      

Ah, the misery of waking up in the morning with the realization that you are, in fact, a horrible person.

There's something to be said about having belief in oneself. I can't remember what that something is right now due to my severe altercation in self perception, but I remember from the fond memories of yester year (or yesterday actually) that this belief gives you the strength to voice opinions, to be yourself and to make everyday decisions. Now that you don't even know who you are, how can you know how you like your eggs?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm dead inside. I mean, there is a mechanism in there that has probably broken down and shut me off from all happy emotions. Nah, that sounds too melodramatic.

Maybe it's something else. I've never had this sort of intimacy with anyone before. Someone on whom I rely on so much. I don't even rely on my parents this much. Instead of being one of my closest friends, he's become the center of my world. And that's really really bad. I think it's destroying both of us. It needs to change.

I can't begin to say how sorry I am for unleashing this on you. I knew it would come out eventually, but I never realized it would be so bad. But it has to stop now, I promise. Not for you, but for me. It's taking me away from who I am.

I want to be the old me again.