heres what i've lost.

desire to wake up
desire to get out of bed
desire to make breakfast
desire to eat

desire to talk
desire to laugh
desire to sleep

and repeat.

never been more in the mood to give someone a piece of my mind. someone. anyone.

grrrrr.

half of all the world's family drama would end if, at dinner, families watched cartoon network instead of a soap opera.

i play so far away by dire straits a million times each night because it expresses everything  i want to say to you about how much i miss you. then i get sick of it. then i turn it off. then i play it a million times again the next night.

white

it's a funny thing, having a place in your heart, or your mind, or whatever, that's reserved for a ball of white, pure, hot anger, that never ceases to burn, that will never run out, that keeps you fueled for life, and that no matter what you do or don't do or think or forgive, that place won't go away, and its existence pains your existence, but somehow keeping it for all these years has made you form yourself to a shape that can accommodate that anger, and keep it within you but without you, keep it hidden yet very much alive, like a crazed convict with a maniacal laughter that resounds off of dungeon walls, but that you shush in the presence of good company, that you keep quiet in the presence of any company actually, because this secret of yours, this precocious secret, it can't be let out, no matter how much it tries to break through from within, no matter how angry or upset it makes you, no matter if it makes you want to tear the head off the person that has caused its birth, because it's your secret you know, and you're scared what kind of rampage it would cause were it to be let out, and if it were let out would it lose its power, or would you lose your fuel? is it even the right kind of fuel? you've tried to quell it a million times over the years, try and try and even then when you see the face that caused it you can think to yourself that you may be over it, but then the white, pure, hot ball of anger starts to bubble and cause trouble and you hope that your eyes don't leak out the secret that they have to withhold, because if they do, no, that would be a catastrophe and families would burn down, or would they, maybe no one would actually care, maybe the reason for the fuel in your life is meaningless to other people, so no, this secret you hold on to yourself like a lunatic till your grave, and perhaps in your grave before the sand finally covers you, you can point to someone, and whisper this horrible secret into their ear and finally die in peace, hoping that perhaps some justice will be brought, and that anger which caused so much suffering will bear fruit, but even if it doesn't, you did your part, you didn't hurt anyone, you kept it within for so many years, and now you can let go in peace and close your eyes and not be haunted by memories that make you scream in humiliation, but instead dream in the blackness of your mind of a white light that is going to comfort you in your final moment. where you will finally be safe.

on being home

I don't know why mothers never seem to think that their child eats enough. Never will a mother say, "Gosh, beta, one more roti? Don't you think you've had enough?" (Except for my aunt, who's got a child as heavy as a baby elephant. Seriously, no joke. And he's eleven. He's on food patrol.)

So, following suit, when my mother saw me after a year, she immediately pounced on my emaciated health, raggedy clothes (both of which, I'd thought, were perfectly fine) and general pathetic state of being. You know you've slipped low in the world when your mother refused to be seen with you in those chappals. That, or a severe generation gap.

I knew she meant it all in kindness, however. So I begrudgingly (haha) went for the shopping trips, bought myself a decent pair of shoes, some new pants. (Another weird thing about my mother (and I could go on and on) is that she always insists on buying clothes that are size S. Now, I don't know if she's making up for when she had to buy XXL clothes for me when I was ten or what, but damn those clothes make it hard for me to breathe! And I came home to eat, not to worry about love handles that would be going to waste anyway!)

Another awesome thing about my apparently anorexic form (which in itself is laughable because I weigh ten kilos more than some of my other friends) is that I now get to take vitamin supplements. Lemme explain to you why they're awesome. This means you can eat all the junk in the world, and be sure that your body is getting the nutrients it needs. Calcium, magnesium, iron, vitamins A to Z or whatever. It's awesome. And, just by the way, it starts making your hair and skin awesome! Goodbye frizz, hello healthy shiny hair!

Sure they nag, crib and whine about they way you're wasting your life away, but in the end, if you know how to balance it right, being with family can be beneficial for both parties. Never thought that was possible.

Discovering books that you used to read when you were twelve is like reuniting with your old best friends.