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.