Transportation.

There are few things in life which can transport you to an alternate universe and music is clearly leading the charts by leaps and bounds. No, I doubt even drugs can do to you what a few simple notes of music can. But then again I'm an amateur so you can blame my inexperience.

Watching someone perform live - someone as enigmatic as AR Rahman, Grammy and Academy Award Winner was never going to be a mean feat. But to be completely wowed and mesmerised into oblivion, I did not expect. To have goosebumps and tears and shivers down my spine - singing with him, yelling rather, not knowing happiness from sadness or joy from misery was a sort of self actualisation of its own.

A mention of how humble he is, is an absolute necessity. Punctual and so down to earth. It was like watching one of your best friends perform which made the whole experience feel even more out of the body. The musician next door if there can be such a thing ever. He defines talent is another matter altogether. From the piano to the harmonium there was not an instrument on the stage he did not grace. No false airs and a beautiful smile which brought the audience to its feet every single time.

Every song was better than the previous and you realized just how little studio time this guy must need for his songs are perfect the first time he sings them. A guy so connected to his roots that he visited the Darga while in Rajasthan, and ensured that he sang in Tamil. I found myself at a loss of what to do - record his performance, clap and cheer, sing or attempt to anyway for in his wake I doubt anyone can even delude themselves into thinking they can sing or just sit there like a statue mesmerised and watching him as he blowed life into me through his notes and symphonies.

I'm so happy that I had the honour of having him as my first concert artist. Rahman, you're truly a legend, the work of a genius. I came as a fan of your music and left as one of yours. The fireworks that went on endlessly as the night was drawing to an end with Jai Ho as a soundtrack, I found my feet follow those of the hundreds with me as I stood on makeshift heightened chairs. I'm not a fan of the song in particular but I have to admit it was like being of something bigger - something that meant something to every single person in the stands. 

It was like watching Sachin make a century, or Bindra win a medal. Rahman, your music has united every indian. As for me, it's an inspiration. You're an inspiration. For the first time ever, Thank you for the music.

Rahman said, "When a song becomes a success, it doesn't belong to you anymore. People won't let it."
You don't need the song. You define success. You are success.
"Jab kahin pe kuch nahin bhi nahi tha, wahi tha, wahi tha, wahi tha.."
I think you meant music here Rahman. For yours superseded God and all his subsidiaries.
#respect #concerts

A surge of memories.

That's the funny thing about visits and travel and vacations - odd moments take you back to long forgotten memories. Or memories you've tried hard to forget. It has a term in psychology. Episodic buffer. Recent events remind you of old ones since they tend to trigger episodes.

It's so funny as to how neatly my life is now wrapped. Into compartments. I only open one at a time and I'm quite content but sometimes, some rare occasions do cause me an emotional explosion even now. When the past meets present and haunts the future and I don't know how to link the dots or gather the pieces to this unsolvable puzzle.

I'm happy with a few of my life choices though they still have a long way to go in proving me right. But somethings just feel right. And even as I type this I know the naïve me is back. I just can't shake the fear of being let down. Thank you, you. For ruining love for me forever.

But a coward I never was and never will be. And this time around when the time comes, the leap of faith I will be ready to take. Jump all the way. Cross this divide of uncertainty.

For nothing but me this time.
Let's see if I've learnt afterall.

Table No. 21

Hidden motives that are deep rooted in our subconscious aren't revealed properly for a long duration of time into our life. We rarely realize the meaning behind some of our major actions and decisions. The cause. The reason.

Today, as I watched the movie and howled like a baby after (wait, before you roll those eyes) it wasn't because of an immaculate script or brilliant screenplay or even impeccable originality. It was because it finally portrayed in an Indian context how the weak are always exploited.

Hold it right there though. Not the weak. The vulnerable. Or more correctly, in today's society - the innocent. The predators always preys on sheep and lamb and gazelles, for they're an unfit match. Inequality screams all around us in the animal world and we justify our actions by the same. What we ignore very casually is the fact that whereas animals do it for survival, we do it for mere sadistic pleasure.

Just because you can exploit the innocent, doesn't mean you should. Just because you have the power to hurt someone, doesn't imply you use it to cast the final blow. It's sad really that man is an animal that preys on another man. That society teaches us all across the world to step on the shoulders of others in order to climb a personal ladder. 'Progress for the sake of progress must be denied' rings out in my ears for I've been an avid Potter fan. But I'm not just talking about the mad rat race we're all a part of. I'm talking about exploitation and extortion and humiliation of the innocent. The rape of a person's self esteem and respect because he is your junior. I'm talking about any sort of pleasure that we derive in demoralising and ridiculing another human. Any sort of abuse, physical, sexual or mental that we inflict upon another person just because of a personal bias for which we ourselves are responsible.

We as a society are ruining lives. We as humans are failing to live up to our very name. The deranged and attention seeking individuals will find a target, any target to douse their constant need for pain infliction. And is there a solution ? What does cinema offer us ? A revenge plan which is unachievable and far too fancy to ever be put to action by a common man.

A Wednesday gave us a solution to terrorism. Khosla ka Ghosla gave us a solution to property theft and forceful ownership.
Revenge (a drama series from USA) gave us a solution for wrongful incrimination.
Now Table No. 21 gives us a solution to ragging.
The one thing common to them all ?
They are all impractical illusions of the creative mind.

These solutions are more frustrating than the problem itself. What are we as a society accepting then ? That only power and money can bring us justice or somewhere close enough to make the actual criminals realize their mistake ? That this is a vicious cycle with no end ? WHAT exactly ?

The real and only solution is accepting the existence of the abnormal in human behaviour. Identifying it, classifying it and then treating it. If a 10 year old could decide to become a psychiatrist just because she saw what all was wrong in the world, then it's time we as a society and nation embark upon the age of psychological awareness and right the wrongs that we have been committing.

If not now then when ?
If not like this then how ?

Until we can change the psyche of the polluted and imbalanced minds - the horizon which claims of a new tomorrow is going to remain just that - an impossible meeting point of land and sky which cannot exist in real life.

What was it like ?

My shuffle reminded me of him this morning. You could say I've been having thoughts for a couple of days now. It was so odd.. An out of body experience of sorts where I didn't even remember why this song meant so much anymore. Such a distant memory that instead of gnawing at my insides with nostalgia, it left me sort of haunted for the lack of it. I don't remember feeling what I felt.. The butterflies, the jitters, the love.. It's as if my favourite memory of us has just vanished into thin air.

It was always this long vacuum of nothing without you, a nothing that eventually led to my something - namely you. And now as the notes washed over me there was no pain, no twinge of sadness, no numbness even. An absolute nothing.

It scared me.

If the one thing that meant so much to me has lost the power to affect me have you managed to kill the little girl afterall ? All these efforts to keep her alive but is she the distant memory I should be weeping for ? Has the world finally gotten to her ?

It's alright to miss him, I tell myself. Just to evoke an emotion. But it's not coming. I replay all the harsh words, the unnecessary slandering and the self-actualization reaches a new peak. There are no tears for I cried them all. There is no pain for I've felt it all. There is no looking back.
If I look back I'm lost.

So are you, isn't it ?
This is why we keep running forward.
Further and further away from each other.
Ensuring in our own complicatedly dubious ways, that our paths never cross.
That we never chance a glance upon in the other in the terror as to what it'll unfold. The eyes. The smiles. The love.

And that's the biggest tragedy of them all.

The streets of my lover.

I try and speed by but I find myself slowing down as I take the turn into your lanes. There is so much history here that I can't seem to just pass it by. There's a white temple and stray dogs and an army sign.. There's us. If I concentrate hard enough I can see us walking these streets, hand in hand, not a care in the world. We were so simple then. Innocent. The world had yet to scar us and leave us forever in doubt. I can't avoid feeling pity for our young selfs. How deluded were we ? Did we actually kid ourselves into thinking this would last forever ? That the circumstances wouldn't take their toll and redefine life for us altogether. Did we honestly believe that we'd never question motives and needs and desires ?

I hate these lanes and yet I find myself walking them often. They're home. There's such a thing as familiarity and the comfort it brings. So much so that I don't even need you here - just these streets are enough. I remember running up to you and hugging you when you'd turned around to leave. I remember being kissed on the forehead for the first time. I recall the morning when I dragged you out of bed just to watch you sit and grumble about it. I remember all our shades of innocence.

Of all the times I have been in love (or believed I was in love anyway) I don't think it was ever more innocent. Much has been said about a girl's first love. I find myself wishing I were an exception but I'm not. This is your month darling and I carry you with me. You never could leave me behind you know. Our hold was just too strong and my pull... Well you never could stay away.

I secretly wish you never can.

Hello, world.

It's been a good sixty days since I took the time to put words to my thoughts. Were there none, you ask. Ofcourse not. But everything was happening at a lightning fast speed though through my lens everything was set at a snail pace - extreme slow motion. I've missed you.

I'll be kidding myself if I say that I never imagined myself in that white coat - that I didn't dream about my clinic. But the price to be paid was one I wasn't willing to. Home feels so good that there are truly no words. So there's one dream shattered. I do weep silently but tears are always a weakness so I've learnt to bottle it all up. Besides I need to be strong for the people around me. If I break, my world collapses with me. I'm the wall that stands and I will make sure now no amount of scorching heat can burn me to the ground.

In regards of the ex, I knew you were trouble when you walked in. But I trusted my heart. More importantly I trusted you. Ofcourse you had to go ahead and shatter and destroy whatever I held dear but you know what ? The hatred you so deeply desire, I will never grace you with. I loved you once. And I know you loved me back. Whether this is all a ruse, I may never know but I will forever stand by my promise. In my hearts of heart, I will never give up on you. But you're not privy to that anymore. You wanted the last word ? Have it for now darling. This I know is not where this story ends. However this is where 'we' end. Forever, this time.

I've come back to the remains of my best friend. Her smile is also so strained that only I know that time has taken it's toll on her. I see in her eyes how she has lived. And I wish she hadn't had to see life.. How I'd always wanted to protect her from all of this. We got a few minutes away from this world and they were enough. But I didn't hold her, or tell her just how much I do love her and how she is one huge reason for my return. Home isn't home without her.

My Father has aged an eternity in the past year. It breaks my heart to see how he and Ma lived without me and how it was all for nothing. He is one man I feel life has been incredibly unfair with. If only I could say to him what I say to myself about him - maybe then he'd know just what he means to me.

Now to the hope. I don't want it. Any of it. I've been hurt enough and I can't take any more of it. The last nail was the boy who claimed to be my soulmate. I can't be the regret in someone else's journal. But what do I do when my stupid heart still wants to hope ? Wants to trust ? Wants to believe ? What then. What when after all these years I haven't learnt a single thing. What if the two words to describe me will forever be gullible and vulnerable.

Home may not be many things but through the depths of the night and the brightest hours of the day, it never ceases to be the abode of your mother's arms which brings with it truckloads of unconditional love and understanding. These are the two things I most need. 

People around me have forgotten how their simple words pierce through my skin, all the way to my heart and leave an acid-burn scar there.

Unconditional love. Is that really so much to ask for in this day and age ? Has man really forgotten what that was like ?

I have always had a knack for wanting the one thing I can't have. Which is why it's time to kill all desires altogether. A numb human may not be a happy person but he isn't a sad one either.

So here's to the old friends I hadn't met for ages. Here's to the (relatively) new ones who shower me with affection. Here's to the extended family which accepted me as one of their own. But most of all here's to the mother who made me who I am and gave me the strength to do what I am doing. Here's to a formal goodbye to medicine. And here's to a the end of a lovestory I never stopped believing in and all the fairytales I was ever told as a kid.
#Khamoshiyan, awaaz hain
Lafzon mein bas inkaar hai..

"If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad."

I'm writing farewell letters as I embark upon another journey of my life. This is me finding my way back home. Home - it's been so long since I actually was home that I've forgotten what it was really like. It's a life changing decision and I'm.. scared. I wake up scared every morning and I go to sleep anxious - for once not knowing what the future holds at all, any more. I know I'm grateful to get this shot at a do-over, a shot at happiness but I have never been so apprehensive about a decision. I know it's not going to be all rainbows and butterflies, I know it a little too well. I need my people to believe in me again. I need ME to believe in me again. I need to pick up a pen and write words that make sense again. I need to wake up because I want to, not because I have to. I need to step out of this ghost of me and try and remember what it was like to be alive.

I've lost so much over the years that my sanity eventually had to add to that list. But this is me fighting with all my heart, for my brain. This is me holding on to that shred of intelligence that I know prevails somewhere beneath all my broken and crumbling exterior. As I stare at all my belongings strewn across the room, I think of a life unfulfilled. I have to pack it all into neat little bags and carry it home. I have to somehow get to the place where I'll be kept safe from all the monsters of this world - the biggest one being my mind. I wish Dad could help me with this - he has always been the one arranging my life's disarrayed bricks into piles that made sense.. Only for me to crash them all over again. I find new ways to destroy myself, all the while waiting for someone to fix me and put me back together again. Maybe it's a sort of sport for attention seekers like me. I wouldn't know.

This empty house is in sync with my empty heart - I don't know what even lies underneath anymore. I try and reach out to people I once called my own and hope one of them has the answers, has a quick fix for the disaster that is now me and that's when I recall how this one boy always tells me that I can't wait around for people to help me - I need to help myself. But what if I was built on a self-destruct mode? What if I just jinx everything and everyone I  come in contact with? What then if I have no home and noone to call my own.

My mother tries to reassure me - she should have been named the Iron Lady. She tries for me to find the silver lining beneath all of these dark clouds. But maybe some horizons are just grey Maa.. Bleak and diminishing into nothing. Maybe I'm a toy that can't be fixed - maybe I am too broken for any sort of repair. It's just a matter of time till you decide to throw me out, toss me out in the cold where I belong. 

Kids get bored of broken things. Adults too. 
Why aren't you tired yet ? I am. 
I am so fucking tired of being me.

"Align my heart, my body, my mind; I've nowhere to stand and now nowhere to hide."

When the inevitable stares you in the face, it has the potential to destroy you. You know there's no more running, you have to face the consequences. Some of us are lucky, we get by without having to live by the rules and terms life makes us work on. But luck eventually does run out and if you're not careful, when it does, you'll not only be stumped, life will not have left you with any ammunition to protect yourself with for you did not work on her terms.

You should count your blessings for the luck having lasted as long as it did. You did bring this upon yourself afterall. But all the whining and pining in the world cannot set right what has once been wronged. You can run from your fate but you cannot hide.

Pray you never feel this kind of remorse. The one that springs from knowing what you could've been, what you were meant to be and how you're neither - just an amalgamation of something very mediocre. You were taught better. You were taught to live.

Maybe in all of life's lessons you forgot what it really meant to live. But just because you stopped breathing, the world did not cease to revolve around the axis which was never you. Life did go on. It was just you who got left behind. While you were stuck in your make belief limbo, your friends went on to create new memories - ones which you were not a part of; the people you thought of like family realized it wasn't blood that bound you; the ever changing world took another turn and flipped so that when you finally opened your eyes, you'd been blindsighted - there was noone and nothing you recognized anymore, nor could call your own.

You didn't believe the cardinal rule that life waits for nobody until you were slapped with it in your face. Nobody hits the pause button to your favourite song - people always want more, they want to move forward. So you have to noone to blame but yourself for being stuck in an infinite loop of nothingness - alone. You were warned.

Cry not for those who remember not thee,
Erase all your memories and set yourself free.

Drunk dials.

"Fuck that. I miss you." He yelled into the phone.
She said to herself "Oh but I miss you so much more."

*

"I love you. You know that right ?" He asked the air around her.
As he threw the phone across the room, she whispered, "I wish I did. I really wish I did."

"I must be fine 'cause my heart's still beating."

Dear Rapist,

So now that my limbs are moving fine, I thought I'd write you a letter. What with all the love in the air today, I thought I'd let you know that everyone might have forgotten this incident in their rush of buying a perfect valentines present, but I never will. 

I think I have finally stopped hurting. There's only so much physical injuries can do to one. I hurt for a long time you know, well obviously you know, you're the one who inflicted all the pain - I'm sure you knew the suffering it'd cause. For days, everytime I walked or as much as moved, my body used to hate me for it. Breathing was too much of a task for every time I exhaled I could feel your breath on my skin, your weight against my body. I couldn't sleep at night, and even when a pill or two was popped in order to help me get there, I was haunted by what you did - you and your friends, were they ?

As you pulled me into that mini-van of yours, I could see it all flash in front of me - my future for as long as you would now own me. I'd once read somewhere that when rape is inevitable, you should lay back and enjoy it. But I didn't recall that until your friends were done with me; which is why you had to use those blades. I remember the searing pain from where you burnt my skin and made me regret for ever having been born a girl. I couldn't fight much for there were too many of you. Keeping me pinned down must've been a piece of cake right ? Did my screams satisfy your insatiable hunger for power ? As your friend made way for the other one, I tried to claw my way out of it. Is that what the kick was for or was that just to teach me my place in society ? I'm trying to get some answers you see.

It's kind of blurry now but I do remember the song that was playing in the background. I will never forget that tune, I think it'll stay with me till my grave. I noticed it first when one of you turned me over and tried to take me from behind, like an animal. That was my worst scream, wasn't it? Or were you too preoccupied to notice? That was when you stuffed my mouth with some cloth or well, you tried anyway. My screams didn't get any softer and you did finally have to turn me over. That must've stung right ? Me being in control even if for the most insignificant fraction of a second ?

I still remember candidly the sound my clothes made as you'd ripped them off. I remember how each of you felt inside of me with all of your manhood. I remember how it upset you for just a second that I was menstruating before you decided that didn't matter eitherway. It meant more pain for me you know so that's another score for you. But most of all I remember the smirk you had on your face all the while and something more.. was it pride ? 

You waited till the end for your turn, saving me.. savouring the moment.. enjoying every minute of the torture you put me through. Were you proud of the hell on earth you designed for me ? My silence in the end might have ruined that satisfaction right ? Because this is when that old saying did kick in. As I took you in my mouth, did you see the submission in my eyes, did you recognize it for what it was ? 

So many questions and I'm still not done. The most pressing one is, how did you even get a hard on over my corpse of a body ? I didn't move, I didn't so much as make a whimper as I swallowed every inch of you in me. Is that why you slapped me repeatedly? To get a reaction? You must have been disappointed. Score, me ?

I wish you'd been raised better. I wish your mother had taught you a thing or two about respecting women so I wouldn't have to live my life in horror and shame anymore. I wish you hadn't destroyed my diminishing faith in humanity altogether. I wish I could shake the fear that has engulfed my very being now. I wish I didn't understand my real place in this world as a girl, which amounts to absolutely nothing. I wish when you looked at me, you saw more than just a sex toy that you lust  for. I wish you knew I am a real person, with real feelings - there's more to me than just my body - a person who will never feel safe or whole again. 

Once you'd taken me and done me in whatever manner you pleased, I was yours to discard  faster than garbage. You dumped me in some field with my bare nothings and just as your friend was about to drive away, you rolled down the window and threw me a twenty. You sealed the deal, I was your whore.

The aches may have gradually disappeared but the scars remain. I'm wounded. That night lashes in bits and pieces in front of my eyes ever so often. Even as I'm sitting in a crowded room with a beer in my hand, nobody realizes as I phase out. As I watch a repeat of my nightmare with my eyes wide open. Nobody notices the difference in my laughter or the hint of a tear in my eye as I turn every corner. I don't cry on the outside anymore, for that would make you the winner in all of this but I do weep. Because in one night you might have potentially destroyed my life forever. But you know what you couldn't destroy ? My soul. 

And I know you'll remember my eyes like I remember yours. I pray to the God I don't believe in anymore that you treasure the precise moment in which you took the light from them eternally because I sure will. If we ever meet again, you might not recognize me for only my shadow walks in the hollow that is now me. But I will recognize you. Because as I said it, I remember your eyes - I've enshrined them in my memory and if I ever stumble upon them in this lifetime, I shall be the last one to look into those two horrible monsters that enable all your leching before I watch the life get knocked out of them. That, dear rapist I promise you.

Sincerely,
Your nameless victim.

Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse.

After what feels like an eon, it felt like we were a part of something bigger, like we knew each other; maybe even cared just a little - enough to help each other sail through. In this dog-eat-dog world it's such a refreshing change when instead of deciding to be wolves, people step back and be lambs instead. We were a team, or as close as it gets here anyway. Remember what it used to be like ? 

Growing up, it took a while but we all fell into certain teams. You didn't have to be a member of just one but everyone had one for sure. And we had not just our team mates but a team leader, a mentor, and a whole cheerleading squad. Every part of it was just as integral as the next. We'd plan, we'd execute and ever so often, we'd win. The unity minimized our losses as well. Somehow it didn't feel so bad to come in last as long as there were people to share it with as we resolved to shine the next time around.

I remember being very competitive but some of my closest friends were discovered not in victories but in moments of absolute desertion or disarray. We came together to be better than any of us could have been on our own - that was the beauty of a team - the recognition of the fact how two is always better than one. We'd share our scanty supplies needed for the setup, the limited food we could afford after chipping in, our last few drops of water after an exhausting practice .. We shared everything from dreams to tears and everything in between.

Those teams haven't died yet. If only we'd reach out we could all be so much more together. Look around you, there are people just waiting to be in your corner. Heaven knows I found two under the same roof. They'll keep lookout for you as you sneak in a late submission, they'll cover for you when needed, they'll even do their best to shout present in their most convincing impression of you. Find your people, not just the ones by your side, but even the ones rooting for you on the sidelines. We've all got that going for us. 

"If we're all alone, we're together in that too."

But you know the funny part ? We are never alone, not even when we pretend to want to be. Because even when we beg and plead to just be left the hell alone, somebody always sticks around. I've got you. You've got me. It's a perfectly symmetrical alignment to ensure when we fall either we're forced to rise back up, or laughed at with such bluntness that we dare not fall again. :P

I'm still learning as to how teamwork can sometimes go awry and how old teammates leave to make room for new ones. I'm still discovering how to to build new bridges to sometimes reach a destination we didn't know even existed. I'm still getting used to bickering and cribbing all the way till that destination with aforementioned teammates and then letting the view shut us all up. I'm learning a lot, everyday, but most of all I'm learning what it means to have someone have your back. It's the most beautiful feeling in the world. 

I hope you know, I have yours too. Always. 

How do you find the time to write ?

Just like I find the time to breathe. Like I find the time to open my eyes, I find the time to write. Like I find the time to whine about immaterial, insignificant things, I find the time to write. I know I don't write anything that makes a difference per say but I write for it's my oxygen - it's my life. It's like music - a day without it is not only incomplete, it's incomprehensible. I don't pen down words to make an emphatic point or a point at all. It's like headbanging to a song - you wouldn't know how imperative the beats make it unless you've done it. Like the tap of your foot, like the spark in your eyes, like the batting of your eyelids. It's natural.

Writing is not a profession. Hell it'd be the last livelihood for me if I ever was to pick one. For I don't believe I could write to sell. Or to please. Writing is innate. Like living. How would you like it if I told you how to live just as long as I paid you for it ? A free bird like me couldn't take it - can't take it. The keys are punched without the fear of a consequence. Which is what makes them whatever little it does make them. If you were to govern my words as an audience, I'd fail you. I'm a renowned failure.

I don't quit. I drag along. Why you ask ? Because I can't be a failure no more. I can't fail at this. It's not about taking a stand at all. It's about letting people down and I think I've done enough of that. Personal opinion, you see. And an opinion is what makes a writer. Take that away from me and I'm nothing. Just a light wind blowing along with the leaves in fall or wait, are the leaves being blown by me ? We know not. For it all comes down to relativity and that's precisely when it gets a shade too shady.

I can do a pretty killer shady though. I was built for it. The tint of grey in my canvas is so much more beautiful than all the pastels that were ever painted on it. Maybe it's my comfort zone. Who knows ? We know not where these steps lead us. All I know is I need to keep one in front of the other. And somehow I manage to walk. Someday maybe I might even run. Stick around for my sprint though, wouldn't you ? I might be the gold medal you never cared to bet on. I might just surprise you. All of you.

Now I just talk to your ghost.

At times life is a little too consuming, difficult to accept and deal with. The farther you run from reality, the faster it catches up with you. You can never just make believe or play pretend (huge drawback of growing up) because that makes you a coward - someone in denial. 

Backspace, backspace, every word I type I am inevitably deleting. The pressure is too much see ? I've been subjected to a microscopic evaluation. I'm afraid of falling into a cliche and am trying desperately to avoid it. A dear friend (whom I want to murder at the moment) turns 25 soon. Another friend asked me what I was doing for him ? I'm quite the maniac when it comes to birthdays. I mumbled something about having bought a pair of shoes. My friend pestered, "And?" 
After some thought I replied, "I might write a letter."

But words don't come easy now. They're forced out, writing like an obligation - a compulsion. I refuse then to pen them at all. Why ruin the feelings ? Yes, I don't write letters anymore. Maybe I wrote one too many and saw them disrespected or neglected or eroding with time to muster up the strength to pick up the quill again. Blogging is easier, it's safe. I don't give anyone the power to hurt me. No replies expected. No preserving required.

There was a time when I was told I could move the moment, now I find it hard to tell one apart from the other. It's one big endless drag to nothing. I used to have an imaginary friend as a kid. He never had a name, I'm not even sure whether it was a he or a she. But I would talk to him when I felt alone. The loneliness is so deep rooted now that even he's not around when I look over my shoulder. I close my eyes and find the words stuck in my throat. I can't even talk to myself. I've exhausted... I'm exhausted. 

This is not saying I'm unhappy though. I am pretty content at the moment - just void of thoughts. It used to be my greatest fear - becoming someone who would stare into space with an absolutely empty mind. Now I find out it's quite alright. Silence can be eerily comforting or vividly disheartening. I'm yet to make the final call.

Among other things, I could really use a smoke right about now. I could really use a friend too actually. Or a parent. But I think music will have to suffice. See that's the thing about morning rants poured out after waking up to a moist pillowcase. It doesn't make much sense,  even to the writer himself when subjected to a reread. Ironically for me though, these incoherent, disconnected blobs of nothing will never cease to make sense. They reek of me.