Total Pageviews

Follow by Email

Thursday, February 2, 2017

I'm going to smile.

I'm documenting that I smiled today. Today was good because I found smiles where none existed. I got a good night's sleep and found comfort in the arms of my friend. I teased someone till he was red and I listened to Lazarus after years. I fell more in love with my professor, I sang to myself, I checked up on the people I care about. I survived. I lived. I flourished. 

This is to document a day of normal, routine happiness. In the drudgery of life, I think I forgot to notice the tinier details that make me happy. I'm happy. And for today, that's all that matters.

My David don't you worry, this cold world is not for you... So rest your head upon me, I have strength to carry you... 

Monday, January 30, 2017

Let's Hurt Tonight.

I'm so done.

I'm so fucking done with myself. I don't know why I do, what I do anymore. I don't know if I'm just going through the motions or if I have some purpose in life. I want to curl up in my sheets and not look at the world outside. I'm not strong enough, not tonight. Tonight is for hurting. Tonight is for weeping. Tonight is for locking my doors. Tonight, I want time to stop. Tonight, I want to freeze. 

I wish I could be sure that tonight is all I need but I'm not so sure. With me, I never am. Because when I break, there's no putting the pieces back. There's an uninterrupted shit-storm that hits the ceiling.

Over the years I have learnt to deal with it by myself, all alone and so it's out of character for people to be here for me. I had got used to absenteeism to the degree that presence now annoys me. I want to be left alone. And after all, if I project it enough, you will introject it and turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy right? 

And the one person I got used to having - well, life came between us too. Of course it did. So I do all these things, in an attempt to find some comfort but I only burn bridges all around. I've set myself on fire and there isn't any water in sight. How ironic that he used to call me rain. And today I am my own worst enemy, unable to extinguish the inferno within. 

I know what I'm going to be told...

It's going to get easier, easier somehow.

But, not today.

Today I am done. I'm done with me. I'm done with my past. I'm done with getting screwed. I'm done with screwing up. I'm just done. What will it take? What more must I light up to be set free from this hell? What do you want, you evil one?

Tell me now, where was my fault. Tonight I can take it because tonight I'm particularly mad - at myself, the world, just about everyone. Where was my fault in loving you with all my heart? You, the first one to twist the concept of love in my mind? Or you, the one I called my sister but you never really considered me one? Or you, the one I truly gave myself to only to be jilted and left out on the curb - cold, alone and clueless? 

What did I ever do except love you? Why was it never enough? Why was it too much? Why? Why did you ruin me for him? If knowing love means knowing pain then I'm done. I'm done with love too. I don't want to love because now it means I've become the monster I so hated. I've become all of you.

I'm not the naive three year old who told her mother, "If bad people don't change, why should the good people?" Little did I know, they're forced to. The world doesn't leave them with a choice. But now that I'm one of you, I disgust myself. I didn't match up to the one ideal that I held close to my heart for as long as I remember.

And yes, maybe that meant getting hurt and being broken down and taken advantage of but that was still better than being the one who inflicts the pain. I am not okay with being "practical"... I miss the un-scarred, un-tainted, un-wise edition. 

But you know what this practicality ensures? I will get up, brush this off and keep moving forward. That much I have taught myself in these years. Because getting over you, and getting used to having no expectations from you, and always getting bypassed by you for someone else taught me this - I am all I will ever need. And this, has been the saddest realization of them all. 

If you're reading this, don't call. If you haven't all this while, a call tonight changes nothing. It's too late. 

I can't be saved.

Not by you.

Friday, December 9, 2016

The Scientist.

We take breathing for granted and yet it is the one thing that sustains life.
I think when I met you, I forgot to breathe.

You blocked my lungs with your smell, my head with your eccentricity and my heart with well, you. You were all encompassing and omnipresent. I couldn't run away, I couldn't hide - I had no choice in the matter. It was the opposite of coming to life - it was like losing all my senses, one sensory neuron at a time.

I think when I met you, I forgot to breathe.

You clogged my arteries with uncontrolled blood flow in and out the aorta, damaged my liver with unknown levels of intoxication and broke my indestructible walls. My bubble was penetrated and suddenly, I was bare - exposed - vulnerable, in a matter of minutes.

I think when I met you, I forgot to breathe.

You drowned me in music, waltzed me into a dream and ensured that I spend this lifetime reliving that one night, over and over in my head just because of its indescribable serendipity. I couldn't ever forget what I felt through every second of the night that changed my life forever.

I think when I met you, I forgot to breathe.

For once, I fell in love almost instantly. There was no pre-contemplation, no afterthought, nothing at all. I just fell in all the way before realization could hit me or reality could pull me back from your strong hold. Your grip on my present never did loosen.

I think when I met you, I forgot to breathe.

But then again what good is breathing in a prison? And that's what you were building for me isn't it? A prison of every moment spent with you because you knew that night that this feeling that I was committing to, was temporary - you knew that soulmates aren't meant to be.

I think when I met you, I forgot to breathe.

But now that I've met him, breathing, like living, comes easy.
However I wouldn't know its importance if it weren't for you.

Thank you for being the love that got away, because it wasn't the love I needed.
Thank you for suffocating me to the point that there was no option but to let the air inside my lungs.

And boy, is it good to breathe... 

Thursday, June 30, 2016

Caged, by love.

Dear Lover,

I've moved away and lately I feel I shouldn't have. Though this is a dream come true, this is breaking us and I suddenly don't know what matters more... My dreams, or us. It shouldn't have to be a battle between the two but the circumstances will it and here we are. Stronger than ever, we say. Then why does it feel nothing like it?

Why do I feel like I know lesser and lesser about what happened in your life, with every passing day? Why am I certain that you hold off certain words and cut off you sentences midway because you know I'll be hurt? Why do I not voice my irritation anymore because I'm too afraid and tired for a fight?

Everyone is priming me for it - the schedule, the seniors, the teachers. They are all much wiser and they have all been here much longer. But they have never seen us, have they? I want to tell them that! That they need to see Rain & Thunder to understand how we function differently; how we're destined to make it.

Except we're not.

We're just pretending these days, aren't we? Pretending to be happy? Pretending to hold on? Pretending that this works? And who am I to say anything really when I am too afraid to even try, when I'm so eager to let go. The ambiguity of us doesn't sit well with me and you know I am all for plans and lists and execution. However you live day-to-day. Planning ahead, laying down a map for our future (while exciting for me) is too much of a task for you. And hence the wild spirit becomes the eternal chain.

She stops you from pursuing your life's dreams. She puts restrictions on your time line. She demands and demands and demands. Never fully accepting that this will never be the life that you really want. She's made you so afraid to want even. You're afraid to want because the eventuality in which you don't get it is catastrophic. So you keep wanting the easy... You keep wanting her.

Relationships are addictive for this very reason. They make life easy. It's easy to want her, need her, love her even. It's the unpredictable that's more difficult. It's the possibility of a future with everything you ever dreamed of that's bloody terrifying. 

So, you've stopped dreaming. But she's still a dreamer. She still wants. She still aches at the absence of your want. Her desires are insatiable, and yours so very minimalist that they make her feel like a phony in her own eyes. She grapples and struggles with the myriad possibilities, building them up for you, hoping against hope that something catches your fancy - she doesn't even mind if it's across the universe, just as long as it's your want. Because frankly she is burdened by being your only desire.

Tu koi aur hai... Jaanta hai tu...
Saamne iss jahan ke... Ik nakaab hai...
Tu aur hai... Koi aur hai...
Kyun nahi woh, jo hai...

She dreams of breaking free, not because she has grown accustomed to a life without you, she never could. But because she's horrified about what comes after... What happens when the music stops playing and we're left out in the cold? 

Tu jahaan ke vaste, khud ko bhul kar...
Apne hi saath na, aise zulm kar...
Khol de woh  girah, jo lagaye tujhpe tu...
Bolde tu koi aur hai...

She dreams of a happily ever after and tragically now that she has seen a glimpse of it, with you, she will never settle for lesser. This compromise of a dream that life seems to be offering her, was never and will never be enough. 'Nice' has never cut it, she likes to be maddened by desire, taken over by passion and drowned by love. And this alter-ego of yours may fool the world but it will never fool her. Your pretense will always be washed away by rain. It's heartbreaking really since you are quite the actor.

Chehre jo, odhe tune woh,
Tere kahan hai?

So let's give up? We're playing a losing hand here. Fate, circumstances, little lion man and now even parts of us are working against us. I would fight to keep the dream alive except I don't think we're dreaming the same dream anymore. We're under the same sky you and I, just miles away from the horizon we planned on conquering when we first set out to write our legend in blood and tears. I guess the tears will still pave way for many a stories though. After all, unfulfilled loves can make great love stories only as long as they are unfulfilled. 

Saamne aa khol de sab...
Jo hai dil mein, bol de ab.

Friday, November 20, 2015

You wrecked me.

It's funny, whenever I come here I write about the love that was. It's become a museum of unsolicited love. My personal museum of pain. I guess I am not eloquent with happiness. It doesn't become me, or my words. Or maybe I am a masochist deep down.

Hey, you.
I have let you in my thoughts, tonight. Maybe for the night, maybe my brain will be the harbour for our sailed ship a little longer, I don't know. It's funny how all things broken always have you in them. Broken glass frames, broken souls, even heart-broken songs. And this brokenness is my sanctuary. I choose this sanctuary, tonight.

Now that we have a premise, how the fuck are you? It's been a while and I don't think I will ever really know how you are doing. Doesn't mean I don't wonder. Doesn't mean I don't still talk to you in my head or imagine what you would say. I have good imagination but all I imagine from my end is... Silence. All the music and lyrics in this world are already doing a pretty neat job of expressing what I would say. I guess me talking is hence moot. Besides I have run out of words. Since well, my words did drive you away.

I was taught to persevere, not give up. "You're not a quitter" Dad would say. So I thought it applied to love as well. But, not quitting on you? I taught myself. I taught myself to keep dialing those digits in my head when I could no longer pick up an actual phone to do it. I taught myself to chase faint memories when we stopped making new ones. I even taught myself to hold on to your fading voice. But I couldn't teach myself to not want you.

Don't get me wrong darling, I don't want want you. I just... want to know that holding on was not a mistake. I want to tell the daughter that I don't intend to have, to never give up on someone she once loved. No matter how un-redeemable the lover's actions, not even if the whole wide world gives up on them.. I want to tell her to hold on tight because that's when they need you most.

But you... You don't need me at all. You're well and prospering and even though I wish you well I think there's no way to come back from the poison that has seeped in. However, I don't forget. We were almost good for a while; almost had ourselves convinced we were infallible legends. But legends have a way of existing only in fables and tales. We exist only in my thoughts. And words.

 My words will always keep you alive, darling. It may kill my writing but I will continue this library of all things broken, for you... for us. A writer owes her muse that much atleast. You, darling are my pen's favourite muse. Always have been. Hemingway once said, "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed." You provide an endless supply of that blood I need to shed. No matter how many days pass, it is still as fresh a wound. I guess wounds on the heart never do heal. Maybe it's just me. Annoying cardiac tissue, mine.

Annoying playlist too that I keep making for myself, of all the songs that I would have sent to you.

"Mujhe lagta hai ki baatein dil ki
Hoti lafzon ki dhokebaazi..."

I will always find you here, you know. This is increasingly becoming a shrine to you. Despite not wanting your love, your thoughts will return I know. I have accepted that, just like I always accepted you, all of your rage and madness. But you know the one thing that has changed?

I will never say those words to my non-existent daughter anymore. You, darling lover, wrecked me. 

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Father's Laptop, Mother's Clothes.

Existential crisis.

I am about to turn 24 in less than fifteen days. Twenty-fucking-four. Usually this is when the countdown begins in my head (actually it begins on about 8th of May and I acknowledge it in my head around 8th of June and publicly around 10-15 days before 8th of July, depending on how busy the lives of people around me are at the moment). Twenty four is no mean number. I stopped keeping count post 21, and so all forms filled by me were invariably aged 21 or 22. And now, holy shit, here I am, about to hit my own personal quarter of a century. And what do I have to show for it? Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

I have all these outlandish dreams where I travel and write and work but quite honestly what am I really doing? Eating, sleeping and shopping. Then you will also find me whining about how I don't eat what I wanted to, or I don't get enough sleep or don't have quite enough of Zara heels or Armani perfumes. I write two sentences a day and call myself a writer. I work out for ten minutes and grow tired. I roam about the city in an air-conditioned car, the fuel of which is paid for by my parents, and take pride in the fact that I'm independent.

It's disgusting.

It's appalling that this doesn't seem to trouble people around me - people who have joined their family business and take Europe/World-tours on their parents' money without the zeal to work for themselves. We as a generation don't earn our breaks or vacations, we are born into them - some more than others; and thanks to social media even the few of us left who can boast of a spine end up feeling underprivileged in comparison.

I'm turning twenty-four and I don't even have twenty-four friends to call my own. As I left Philippines, I laughed in its face because I was going home - to my city, to my people. In less than two months I was told and retold just how wrong that notion was but I'm stubborn you see. I was relentless in my love for my people, even as they slowly but surely stabbed me in the back. I tried to tell myself it was situation-specific and removed myself from those situations, and yet, here I am, no situation, same dagger. It doesn't hurt as much ofcourse, because of all the already present holes in my body but I find myself furious that it hurts at all.

I'm furious that it hurts me when people behave in a manner contrary to how I believed they would. I'm turning twenty-four and I am still as naive and whiney as I was earlier. What is changing except the year on the calendar, tell me oh lord? I'm still a dependent, demanding, student for crying out loud!

For the first time ever, I don't want the dates to change, I need more time, I'm not prepared. I haven't accomplished anything and I need more time before I hit this milestone. I need more time before over-concerned aunties and uncles start bugging me about getting married and my ever-empty uterus. I need more time!

As an afterthought, maybe all I need is a cold glass of wine, life does seem better with a wine glass in my hand. But oh wait, I'm a girl. I'm not "allowed" even that privilege. For you see, log kya kahenge?

Friday, April 10, 2015

Oh, love.

"But my words become stained with your love.
You occupy everything, you occupy everything."
-Pablo Neruda

Today I'm going to write a story. A story about such powerful love that couldn't be broken. A story about the moon giving up his life for the sun to shine. A story about the sun loving another, and setting each day only to return with more heat and vigour. A story about the tangents of a perfect love.

Today I'm going to write about a love so happy it doesn't give you time to stop and reflect. A love so consuming that you give it your all - your breaths, your sighs and your life, one slow second at a time. A love so enduring that it doesn't hold you captive but liberates you and your soul.

Today I'm going to write.

I'm going to write because it needs to be written. The world could use a happy story - even if it is just a story. I need to write about a boy and a girl and a love that lasts, a love that conquers all, a love that is just plain-fucking-old love for a change. I need it, and I need you.

I need your love to begin my mornings, it's like the sunshine in my life. I need your love to get out of bed and face another day, it's like the propeller to my motions. I need your love to make it through college, it's my incentive for hardwork. I need your love as I get under covers, it's my only staircase to lalaland. 

I need this love and I need you.
Goddammit, I need you. 

Love is not equivalent to need though. It's quite inferior. I love a lot of things and people and situations and movies and artists and songs and books, you get the gist. However I do not need them. This need is obviously and undoubtedly based on love, but don't mistake it for anything ordinary for it runs so much deeper, it runs hot through my arteries and pumps blood in my body. This love, my love, our love, is beyond okay, beyond ordinary, beyond desire - it is need at it's most innate and natural form - a primary motivator. 

Today I'm going to write about a love that needs no drive or incentive, a love that knows no boundaries of age or religion, a love that surpasses eras and ages. A love that is mine. A love that is ours.

Today I'm going to create this love and share it, all of it, with just one person, you
Desirable, magnetic, addictive, you. 
Oh, you. 

I'm going to create it and you won't know because I'm stupendous at hiding my heart away. I'm going to build us a house and then probably live in it alone because well, I've driven you away. I'm going to write this story with one half of a broken quill and still dream of only one person reading it, you

I'm going to believe in it, 'til kingdom come. I'm going to give us a real shot and then let fate be the master of our destiny. I'm going to work toward the meant-to-be and then have a talk with whoever is up there, one-on-one, because this is something I really want. Really. With all my heart. And I know I don't say it often but it's the one thing that I'm sure about wanting and needing and aching for inside.

So I'm going to write about a love. A love between people who weren't soulmates. A love for people who didn't need to die to be historic. A love of legends.

And I'm going to pray to the heavens and skies that we are these legends.

Friday, March 6, 2015


I learnt the art of pretense at a very early age. When everyone in class would narrate stories about their parents, or sketch a perfect family, I would pretend. I would pretend that theirs still fell short of the dream that was mine. Some dream it was indeed.

Over the years, I mastered the art of faking happiness until I didn't know my real laugh from the fake one - until a friend pointed it out and I couldn't even believe it. Until I learnt to believe that there was no such thing as happiness because no matter what I did, I would always come home to this - this mess of an affair.

I learnt how to stew - how to let the rage rise inside of me and boil over and destroy me. I would break apart and howl and scribble furiously until there was nothing left - no anger, no hate, no tears - nothing - just a tortured sleep.

I learnt how to hold back my emotions - most of all my tears. I learnt how to hurt myself just so nobody would get the satisfaction of getting there first. I would take the blade out and make a two-inch long scar every single time those tears threatened to spill over; then I would wash my oozing blood under a stream of water so it'd sting - sting enough to distract me from the pain inside of my chest.

I learnt how to run away. I knew how I couldn't stand another second in the same room as you so I ran - at the first opportunity I got and as far as I could possibly go. I thought I'd put enough distance between us to drown out your screams but destiny found a way to bite me in the ass and how.

I learnt how to hold back curses - how to not wish ill for the damned person that you are. I would come this close and tell myself I was better, that I wasn't going to be like you, that my love would run on love and not hatred and loathing.

But the lesson that took the longest and sucked the most ?
That no matter how much I learn, you'll still find new ways to break me and teach me some more - that I'll forever be learning... At your mercy.