Where are you now?

S: There are times I think you might not like all that you see of me.

B: Then show me everything no?

S: Yeah, but even after that

B: I will. Rest easy.

S: If you say so

B: What do you think I would not like?

S: Well.. I have flaws

B: Tell me.

S: Why?

B: So I can tell you I don't care?

S: You may think I'm not good enough.

B: I really don't. I find you extremely attractive.

B: You just have high standards for yourself. 

Security and insecurity.

Every couple of days, I have to remind myself that I am a married woman.

Such heavy words, those. No matter that it has made zero impact to my psyche. :) Maybe it also helps that I possibly have the best husband in the world. (He doesn't read this blog, so no, I am not needlessly buttering).

But this post is not about the good things in life.

This post is about how debilitating your sense of validation and self is, no matter what mental space you are in. It's about how you can have a raging social life (my health will vouch for this), an amazeballs family and generally be considered that wretched hashtag #blessed — but your mind is stubborn and will always rake up insecurities on an unassuming Thursday.

I almost feel bad for how my mind works. There are days when I have to shut down my thoughts.

No good is going to come with this train of thought, i'll tell myself. Stop the pity party, S, i'll say further.

But then something as random as a coworker getting praised, or a late invitation to a party, will get my wall up. Do people not like me?, I will obsess. Am I not doing well enough?

Questions without answers should be banned. Or one should hold the ability to delete the presence of any question in your head if there isn't a conclusive answer in line.

The other day I was watching Girls (slowly becoming my favourite TV show of all time), and in it, a gay character called Elijah (an aspiring actor) was debating whether he should go for a Broadway audition or not. He claimed that he would never have the courage to put himself out there, with the risk that people may laugh at him or his lack of talent.

This is such a genuine concern for me. There has never been a point in my life where i've decided to just "fuck it" and go for it, in the professional space. It's mostly to do with YOLO moments on drunken friday nights.

This is possibly why I had the hardest time telling my boss that I need more money in life. When I finally got the time, I could make no eye contact. I just shot off my mouth like I was asking for a safety pin.

Such a fundamental question to ask, but, when is a good time to not give a fuck and just do whatever the fuck you want in life?

Humanity is a disease

I have 3 tabs open on my browser.

One is a video; a beautiful fruit of an old friend's labour. But also a reminder of one of my biggest heartbreaks from 2015.

The second one is a friend's self-congratulatory facebook status, where he gloats about finally getting published (after trying to get his manuscript read by publishers for years).

The third, is a chat I'm having with my best friend. We're discussing whether we can truly be happy for someone else's success.

It's easier when you're close to them.

I find it difficult even then. 

I think the last time I was truly happy is when you got engaged.

What's a world without validation, right? But it really got me thinking.

How do you stop yourself from making comparisons when you see someone else going ahead in life? It's such a natural instinct to justify your complacency in the wake of someone else's success. No matter how many times you tell yourself "but they worked so hard, they deserve all the happiness and success" — (they really do) — it's very difficult to detach your life/work graph from it.

There are just so many overlapping narratives, jumping above one another, forming angles and tangents; what do you latch onto?

Maybe it's time for that social media break after all. But then is running away the solution?

"... and we tried so hard"

I think what got to me the most is the fact that I never got a voice. That you will never know that I felt as betrayed by you, as you did by me. Maybe in another universe I could live with that fact, and live with it comfortably.

But in this universe I could not.

I had to protect myself from the monster you were making me out to be. I was almost starting to believe the perception you had of me. I was starting to feel like a criminal. And I know that I fought so, so hard to let you go off it. But you didn't. You sat there, wallowing in your expectations of me, and refused to keep into consideration a lifetime of happy, loyal, supportive memories.

Would that not make anyone feel betrayed? That the most random people remember the smallest things I did for them, and were nice enough to call, text and keep in touch? And those people who I thought get me, would turn around and behave like a complete strangers?

The whys don't even matter anymore. All I have going for me is the ability to draw parallels, and claim with all my heart that if matters were to have turned around, I would deal with it much differently. I would accept apologies, I would let things go sooner, I would focus on the macro rather than the micro, I would put different things at a priority than you did. But does it even matter anymore?

Why am I still fixated with this? Turns out, I'm tired of bottling these feelings, like they're something clandestine; something I shouldn't feel. It's been a while. Life has moved on, and we've all become adults, but the same demons haunt me even now. Turns out, heartbreak doesn't just evaporate.

And you, my darling, broke my heart into tiny little pieces.

You know why? Because you'll never acknowledge it. And I can't live with that. I can live with a void, some guilt, lots of tears, and sporadic loneliness but I cannot live with that image you had of me. I am more than that, and I thought you knew.

I'm tired of walking on eggshells. I'm tired of trying to gauge the situation from your point of view to breakdown what went wrong and how I contributed to it. I'm tired of taking the blame. I don't deserve this. But so much of being an adult is about realising that one has to learn to live with things one doesn't deserve. Maybe life has something better to offer?

I will get there soon; to the place of numbness and nonchalance; to the place of not giving a damn, and not feeling like I'm completely alone (i'm not) because it's so unfair to the wonderful people in my life who do matter, who have stuck around for years, who have been there unconditionally, who have taught me the true meaning of friendship.

I will get to a point of acceptance someday; to a point of gratitude that this has made me closer to the people who matter. I will get to a point of understanding; that this is brought me closer to myself. That my relationship with my soul is far more spiritual, far more meaningful now, than ever.

But today, I am mourning. Today I am down. Today I feel betrayed, upset and sad. And I'm not going to hide from saying it out loud, with the hope that maybe this will make me feel better. 

Why?

Am I ever going to be happy with myself?

I know they say that the key to truly living a productive life is to never be happy or satisfied and to miss the complacency boat altogether. But I'm starting to wonder if the same can be applied to self esteem.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy. Probably the happiest I've ever been. The more content I get with work and personal life, the worse standards I hold to myself.

FAT FAT FAT
LOOK AT ALL THAT FLAB
Whatever happened to my skin?
Why can't I just be 3 inches taller?
Why is my hair so thin? Am I balding?
Why can't I also not give a shit?

I write very often on body positivity and celebrating your individuality for work, but I'm yet to get there by myself.

Can I truly disassociate losing weight with being fit? Can I truly be happy with how I look? Are these problems even worth my time?


My wedding is in 6 months. Everyday I tell myself I will eat right and work out. I manage to do mostly only one of the two, owing to my busy job, and predictably, I feel terrible at night before I sleep.

Is it always going to be this hard to practice what one preaches?

(Typing this as I make fitness plans for the next week. I'm incorrigible)

27

Back in college when I would indulge myself with back to back Amy Winehouse/Kurt Cobain sessions, I always thought by 27 I would have it figured out. (I don't know what it stands for.) 27 always felt like a get-rich-or-die-trying date.

It's a day after my 27th birthday and no, I don't have it all figured out yet. I haven't even attempted to get there. All I can do right now is take a step back and watch myself sprint around in circles, looking desperately for answers to the amazingly, confusing way in which life works.

But it's becoming increasingly difficult to write about emotions. I don't really have one definite emotion at a particular time to expand upon. I have stories. I have so many stories, and I hold the right to live in those stories as a treasured privilege and a continuous birthday gift. (Staunch believer in the writer stereotype: lazy, creative, selfish)

Someone on twitter asked me to write a birthday review, and my first thought was, "yeah, right," and then I started to think about the long gone days when I would need to write a blog post in this ever-so-illustrious blog of mine to cohesively understand my thoughts about the year that passed me by.

Over time, I've realized that it's all in your head. That sentence has the power of many comprehensions. And so, on the day after my 27th birthday, here are my top questions of 2015. Because being cryptic is my thing, and the topmost learning I've had this year is that people don't change. We just learn how to put on new faces as per convenience.

When did I turn into an editor, from an aspiring writer? Flip or embrace? Who wins between risk and acceptance?

Do I know the difference between positivity and excitement? Between ambition and aspiration?

Are we, as urbane, over-thinkers, equipped to deal with constants? Can structures work in a time when being a rebel is a celebrated quality?

Is love a constant? 

Is it time to turn vegetarian? (For real, no bacon clauses)

Can one truly reject labels?

Is loyalty overrated? 

I would end this post with a bunch of goals for the coming year, but like I said, it's all in my head. It always has been, it always will be.

Turning 27 will make you feel like you need answers, but as long as you have the ability to ask yourself questions, find your happiness in knowing answers are right around the corner, but you don't have to run towards them yet.

Time. Time will run beside you. The pace is in your hands, my friends, but the race isn't. 

The tidal wave into adulthood

The other day I was having a conversation with my mom, and she told me something I think I would like to get tattooed on me. (Not really, this is just me trying to reinforce the importance of that phrase)

"You have to learn how to be on your own, and love your company, beta," she said. And coming from her, it made so much sense. I have much to learn from her calm.

I won't lie. Life itself feels a bit like a break up. And it's so typical of me to stall my emotions with any kind of external stimuli, until it slaps me in the face. Some will call this a phase (most loved ones usually do) but there's a nagging voice inside me that is draws out the bitter truths of life with a squeaky white chalk on a black board.

This year has been great, actually. It has moulded me into the person I see myself being for the next couple of years. There has been change, yes, massive change inside me and around me, and it has poked holes into my core, drenched to dry. But change is inevitable, no? I guess that was a concept that took time for me to understand.

But beyond all this contemplative sadness, 2015 has been good. Amid all this change I've managed to identify and retain my few constants and I've kept them in a loosely bolted, treasure box in my heart. I tread every relationship with caution now, but I'm thankful for the unconditional flow of love. I'm thankful to have understood the true meaning of friendship, companionship and responsibility. I'm thankful that I can atleast attempt to let bygones be bygones. I'm getting there. I'm climbing to my ideal place.

Being 27 is tough. And the fact that I'm writing a straightforward journal entry should be proof enough. I've had to grapple with a massive writer's block too, but it's all good. I genuinely believe everything happens for a good reason. And on that note, I'm officially letting go.

It's tough to remind yourself of the good things in life when you are perennially trying to deduce, understand and analyze change. So just don't. Take your time. Grieve. Understand, and put a bolt on what you can't understand. There will be loads of those, I've learnt. And soon there will be a day when those emotions won't have just evaporated, but you will learn to coexist with them, without completely losing your mind.

I think I'm being a bit dramatic. 2015 has been quite great. It's been a year of life lessons, and even though there are 3 months left to go, I am done. When this year is over, I want to look back at it being the tidal tsunami of my life. That bungee jump into adulthood. There's no looking back. There's more to be done, and less to be thought of. More life events, and less cognitive whirlpools. More pride, less skepticism.

I know what I want, and I have to run after it. Metaphorically and otherwise :)

 

I'm worried about how much I'm (not) writing.

It's getting increasingly difficult to call myself a writer now, and i'm being forced to use to 'j' word.

It's the complacency and the unending questioning of every boundary that I myself built (I blame education and therefore subscribe to those charming write ups on the lines of 'date an uneducated girl')

It's too much ambition, but too less moving of one's ass.

It's too much FOMO, too much nostalgia and too little focus on the present.

It's not enough confidence. It's not enough 'go-with-the-flow'.

I want to write letters to so many people, and post it to them via snail mail so they can see my handwriting and perhaps develop a bit of a bias towards me. Also because most of those letters would probably be explainers. I have lots to explain, and lots to decifer, but not enough audience. Wonder why..

Basically, universe, could I just wake up tomorrow having lost 10 kilos? (among other things)

Thanks.

Thank you, N

He reminds me of scrappy doo.

Like a little puppy with all the might in the world. He's ticklish near his neck. He gets lost in a car, looking out at the wonderful sights that he is working very hard to process. He'd be happy with the basic four things: Food, sex, sleep and play. Like literally. Give him a ball, or a bat, and one can leave him alone for hours.

Off late i've realized that a lot of posts are about him. It could be for various reasons. a) I never imagined I'd be one to be in a relationship of equals. b) With someone practically 12 days older to me. c) Never thought HE would become my best friend, but he is. d) This is officially the longest I have been with someone.

I want to say he's the love of my life, and/or that I've never felt this way before and that this is for life -- but all of it is cliche.

What I really want to say is that he is my virtual, emotional and physical home. Thank you, universe. 

It's time

Remembering, deleting.
Erasing, re-composing.


Letting go,
Letting in,
building a wall,
whirlpooing.

Words. Words are all I have to be cryptic about. Words are all I have and yet I can't say what's on my mind. Why? Because you'll never get it. I can't say I tried, but I can't say I didn't.

But words are what I want to convey to you. Words are what I want to make you see what you're so conviniently delusional about.

You'll open your eyes someday. Or maybe I hope you will.

My hope may be delusional too, but my feelings are real. I can sleep at night.

It's my battle to fight. It's my heart to protect.

And I have no choice but to let go.

And I have no choice but to erase, because I want to continue sleeping at night.

I met my match 2 years ago, and it wasn't fun.

It was riddled with hot and cold moods and intimate nights that became mornings with a stranger.

He first kissed me at 3 am on a random week night.
"Are you attracted to me?" he asked I nodded.

Here, I was setting a standard for the next few months. One in which he was verbose, always ready to talk about hurried, flimsy emotions, and I would weigh my feelings with shrugs, nods and hugs.

I saw him wholly the minute he let his guard down, but I can't say my guard is completely down yet. He's WAS the quintessential bad boy; friends would ask me if I was going to continuously be pulled into his charming manipulations, and I would experience a range of urgent waves of feelings when it came to him : unpredictable and strong.

He's the person they will tell you to stay away from. He hurts unintentionally, which is the worst kind, because you'll always want to give him another chance. He won't even realise how much he puts you through. He will frustrate you and melt you at the same time,

Soon enough, something magical happened. I let him go. I won't flower this for the purpose of prose. I simply let him go. Hard, stone, truth.

And then, earlier this year, I met him again. This time, he had shards of all of the baggage, but so did I. I won't talk about electricity, chemistry and the inability to not be intimate with a person, because we all know about those wonderful things. I'll tell you what happens after. Magic. And when you see unadulterated magic, you pull your faith into it and mash it together until you can't tell the two apart.

When you mix magic, love, faith and patience, you get him and I. We're quite traditional now; a typical couple (he probably doesn't read this, so phew). For him, the last unsuccessful time we tried to shack up is a big, un-inspirational blur, but for me it's a life lesson. One that taught me to dream, but to not be delusional, to love, but yourself first. Only then can you love someone else for their whole. Cliches are true :)

The other night, I was stressing about a work deadline, which meant I was rambling.

"I have faith that you'll finish it even one night before, baby" -- his words weren't dismissive, but loving and straddled with faith.

And I thought to myself, everybody deserve this. Every single person deserves to fall hook, line and sinker in love with someone and have them fall back in love with YOU with equal intensity. This is my way of saying: hold on, or out, until you find it. It's worth it, even for a short duration. It's like your first hallucinogen experience (or for those who don't do drugs, let's say your first spiritual experience) -- it changes you, but more importantly, it brings you closer to yourself.

It was an afternoon text.

She had a bit of a post-lunch shut-eye, and when she snapped out of it on her desk, he was on her mind.

I suddenly feel very aroused by you. 

He didn't respond immediately to her text, but they met later in the evening with a bunch of friends.

They caught a moment alone, and he kissed her.

"Did you really feel aroused by me earlier?" he smirks.

"Who else do you think would arouse me?"

"Really?"

"Why are you so surprised?"

"I don't know this is new territory for me," he says.

"What is, me being sexually aroused by you?"

He nods.

She turns. Just before she leaves, she says, "I must be doing something wrong."

We're just a box of giddy souvenirs, waiting for the big reveal with bated breath.
We run our fingers through the nothings, to create patterns with our fickle souls.
We're impulsive.
We're all the kisses put together; lips glued, heart-beat triple and the chance of love kept safely at the climax.

When you hold my hand, I urge you to grasp my whole. Take me, surely you can take me.
Remix me to fit your jigsaw puzzles.
Smell the urgency with which I look into you.
Blare the silences, keep your fears mellow.

We're new, old, everything and nothing.
Crash into me. I'm waiting. 

You can close the palm of your hands and still not have any clarity. I type these self-assuring, pieces of advise to myself, being fully aware of how easily I fall in and out of love. You can own me with one glance, and lose me with something as silly as a wink smiley. (If there's anything that correctly personifies the concept of being unnecessarily amorous, it's the wink smiley, but I digress).

I'm complex, he said. I fell out of love with him, too. And yet, I cannot wrap my fingers around the loss of a toxic presence.

2014 has been great. Some years, you know by January itself that it is going to be great. I've made the right decisions; letting go of people who were only contributing negatively to my life, and focusing on things that mattered (however relative that may sound)

I also understood that saying “I'm not judgmental” doesn't add up to really practicing it at every step of the way. Sometimes you can't help your opinions, and more than striving to be non-judgmental, it's far more important to listen to your inner self, I've learnt.

Even if that means not having a clue about where you're headed. Asking the right questions, and turning the right things down at the moment is a good enough momentum.

Because on a sun-kissed February afternoon, when I saw my reflection in a mirror passing by, I saw a mix of flaws and beauty. It was a concoction I wasn't worried about.

Acceptance can be your greatest virtue.

"Meri jawani khatam ab," I claimed, to an anxious, ambitious co-worker of mine, who at 34, complained that she hadn't experience half the "fun" I had.

I type this as I wait for the final few minutes at work, till I can go zooming to my local bar to get wasted. It is friday night by the way, and this is a ritual, in the least.

I've been self-righteously announcing to anyone who will listen that 2014 is going to be a somber content year. A year when I find myself situations and people to settle down with. Funnily enough, last night I told myself that by the end of 2014 if I found myself in the same place as I am right now, in the beginning of 2014, that I was definitely going to make a drastic move away from the capital.

I'm so fickle sometimes. Always running after desires, that when strapped to my feet, can feel like mini-burdens, calling out to me. I never know.

I once tried to point in a direction, and then quickly before anyone noticed, turned around and decided I wanted to walk the other way.

I'm a 20-something stereotype, hoping to be a 30-something stereotype soon.

Someday, I may implode. Right now, I'm just happy circling my whiskey glass and making bad choices. It builds the foundation of maturity, you see. 

Such a recurring, strong yearning to be loved.

We go to so many lengths -- equally ugly and inspiring -- to feel like we have warmth, desire and passion, trapped and nurtured inside the tiny walls we build.

All one really wants from 2014 is to find a person (preferably a man) who'll spoon one to sleep, give bear hugs when one needs it and knows how cunnilingus works.

Too much?

Hey you

It's when you bought those 2 bars of chocolate on a cold January evening, knowing fully well I was watching my weight but secretly craving sugar, that I decided I was going to write to you. It's what we do best, no? Wear our feelings on our sleeve, and still write these little notes of appreciation.

Maybe you'll never see this (mostly because the last time I wrote for you, your monosyllabic response drove me up the wall, much like a majority of things about you) -- but you're leaving, and going by how I forget most things, I wanted a reminder of this unassuming evening at work, when my affection for you hit my like a lightening bolt on cocaine.

I remember watching you climb up the stairs of the metro station, the first time we met in my city, with your asymmetrical posture and boyish charm, and I remember telling myself, "you can grow a tree on his afro". Later, when you shared a picture of an actual afro you'd grown on that head of yours, I remember laughing for days. You have the most hilarious "I won't laugh, so you can laugh" face, and when you don't try hard enough, you're downright hilarious.

All our stories, debaucheries, nights-of-passion potentially started and ended with alcohol. But you're such a great listener, I find myself telling you things most people don't know. You're a great, great friend, and a horrible person to fall in love with. So that way, I think I've been lucky. But what I realised very soon, was that you're a big, fat softie. When you're 60, I can imagine you sitting with a beer in your cosy apartment, mouthing the dialogues to Notting Hill and then burping in happiness. 

You're the most one-dimensional person I know, for a writer. It's baffling, but I see where that comes from. You've shared some dark, layered thoughts with me when we've been stoned on weekend afternoons, in that cosy little room of yours in GK2. Almost as if you chose not to delve deep into your clandestine self, but indulge once in while to shock the living daylights out of us.

You surprise me. I've never rolled my eyes for anyone as much as for you, and yet, I adore you to bits. I have no doubt that when you grow up for real, you'll be a fine, fine man. Also, you're such a well-brought up boy, so good with the older generation.

I remember this one time, after we'd broken up, when I felt like it'd just save us so much trouble if we never decided to get together in the first place. Clearly you and me wanted different things. But I can't stay pissed with you for long. I remember when I once told you I can never say No to you, you nodded nonchalantly and said, "that's okay, because I'll always look out for you," and I believed you. I believe you.

Thank you for entering my life. I have a huge smile on my face right now.

I've got a secret and I know how to keep it.

The only reason you over-indulge at the end of the year is so you can detox at the beginning of the new one, right? Right.

Plainly put, 2013 sucked balls. Guess the number 13 is stereotypically unlucky for me. I can, however, boast about having grown the fuck up this year.

All my meagre blacks and whites merged into a huge pool of grey. And I've always, always been about the colours, right? Right.

It's also been a year of spiritual awakening. Not in a obsessive way, but inclusive of many truths; projecting itself on a brick wall, blisters and all.

It seems like every emotional relationship I've nurtured over the years has planted itself in the love-hate bracket. To paraphrase a very dear friend, I love y'all as much as I hate y'all. But maybe that's just me. It's always been just me.

And I'm enough. That's been the primary spiritual realization of mother-fucking 2013.

Pateela, pateela, pateela.

There. I am standing, feet firmly stuck to the ground, with nails hammered between my toes.

You are a manifestation of my weakness. It sucks to have to reduce you to something inhuman, but what's a revelatory decision without a little selfishness (read: delusionless self-realisations)

I must quit you, too. Fact is, I'm so much happier like this. Certain cliches need to be implemented. Lifestyle needs to change, love for the immediate people around me needs to amp up.

Must take these very hands and build myself a life filled with self-sufficiency, gratitude and hardwork. The rest will follow. It always does.

I'll miss you, alright. But this is a reminder to self about how fantastically superb it feels to do the right thing. For once.

Come walk along with me, faith.
 

YOLO

This is the storm before the lull. A game of rugby in my head, where the players are obsessive, negative thoughts that surround the ball: a metaphor for the ray of hope, so to speak. It's a violent match. They won't let me make peace with myself. They carve a way for me, where i'm bullied into making the same mistakes, thinking the same thoughts and having the same conversations in my head. Again and again.

There's no room for whys. There's no room for WTFs.

It's a bloody fight. On one side, there's me, and on the other side there's Me. Both are fucking toughnuts, I must say.

I wonder if 'I' will make it out alive.