The land of dragons and fireflies.

I woke up this morning realizing I had too quickly and far too suddenly grown up. The age bit is hitting me just now and everything has the word 'future' in it. As clichéd as it is and we all know how hard I work to stay the hell away from that, it seems like yesterday I was imagining flying dragons on the wall of my bedroom, or like yesterday I was wondering how useful intentionally drowning....ookay it's not been all that great. But still, I feel like I'm running out of time in some cosmic way. Tick tock. How ironic to be running out of time for immortality. Where do I fit in all things greatness-related? In the past it seems things could exist for the simple act of existing, now it's all how they fit into life's equation. But why should any of it have to change, I know I die the day I conform, the day I accept, the day I be a victim of anything other than myself. Like Aragorn says in return of the king ' There is a day you will fall. But it is not this day.' or something or the other. I want the freedom of my own mind again. The freedom to be at odd intervals in a world where I'm the fairest in all the land and I have a tiny cottage by the lake (my current house is also by a lake just btw) and where people I hate can be beheaded in a violent fashion. Ah, the possibilities. Life might just start reeking of them and there's no reason to stop now.

I call bluff.

I've always been somewhat constant. Everything has always been measured in forever, as if everything goes on in some way. That I'm always supposed to be something, some kind of something till the end of it. So constant that I should already know how it ends.I should be sure of what I want and it should never be denied to me. The natural order of things as they call it. But I'm wrong. I always have been. I'm on the verge of realizing something except I'm not ready to allow myself that, because it might mean I'm on my own again.But I was always alone. Does the pain keep me away from a bigger emptiness? Is that why I cling to hurtful things now, why I've stopped craving freedom, why I just can't wake up even now without the thought of it? Like I told one of my friends once 'either someone will mean everything to me or nothing at all.' Did you know exactly what you felt, were you sure of it when you felt it? Did you wake up every morning knowing with absolute irrefutable certainty that this is what will finish you off, what had a right, what was meant for it? I'm calling your bluff. You can't possibly be me, even I can't be me. Somewhere less than human and yet crippled in a way no human can know. Worse part is, it's a hell of a decision to make.

Oh no.

I have a sneaky feeling that my blog posts are infinitely less awesome than before. It's an irrefutable sign from the universe that I must end it all in some poetic manner preferably Greek tragedy-like. I have now nothing to offer my inflated ego.

The spill addict.

It's addictive spilling things when you're faced with people who understand, who know you and who don't judge. It's okay to need people every once in a while, it's okay to need help but if you aren't careful you might become a spilling addict or an advice junkie. But even though I sometimes feel better, something deep inside is not quite right. I was made to...as they say, wander the path alone perhaps. I have been sharing stuff for a while with people I don't doubt like the rest of everyone else, sharing things that eat me up inside but it's too simple. Too simple to believe I can just be set free as if nothing had ever happened. I'm not sure I deserve it. It's awful thinking you don't deserve pain and yet knowing it's the only thing that fits. Maybe I'm wrong. Who knows. The one month I was told I should wait and analyse is drawing to a close. Yes someone I trust recently told me the human mind flushes everything out in forty days or less. But that's where they have it wrong, they mean the 'human' mind? yup....thanks a lot.

Down that road forever.

Lately it's been a very difficult job being me. Sure, being me wasn't a picnic before but people like me grow up in strange ways. We evolve and without knowing, all that we are is exemplified. I've been at my school for about twelve years or more I should imagine, and now that it draws to an end and graduation sneaks near I find myself repeatedly playing all the past years in my head. I'm not sure I'm ready for the world outside, for new people though I've despised most of the ones I grew up with in some way or the other. I'm probably rambling. My track record would show I have something of use to say every time but not this time. I feel so many things. Like I've jumped many many years. Things were so simple last year. I knew exactly who I was and what I could do. I never had to doubt my judgement in any thing that mattered. It was all plain black and white to me. There were never any minds to pick apart, no one was ever important enough to go through the trouble for, anyway. I don't wish that I could go back but right now is not a very good place. It's not all my fault you know. It's not that I didn't try. I tried everything that my nature would allow. Now I'm sort of a shell that's balancing itself on a cliff, just one turn of the wind and there it goes..far into oblivion. Far beyond help and pity. I'm a shell because I've smothered all I believed was essential to my existence. Pride, ego, the never ending need to own things and people, anything worth having. When you have to kill off those things to survive, you become quiet. You don't fight for anything, you just watch it walk by, with a hurt in your being so strong, no words should be able to describe it and no words ever will. I don't even cry any more. In my soul I keep putting shovels and shovels of sand over what hurts me because there is nothing I can do. I don't feel like I've won. Maybe it's finally happened. Maybe I am gone for good. I was telling a close friend how superior it made me, having finally overcome my ego. That sentence is a miserable oxymoron and I knew it. This is what the world did to me. I wish something would put a stopper to it. I've done my time. But I'm still not free.

The wrong sort.

I don't know what needs to be overcome. I don't know what has to be done. All I know is that I suffer from holes in the web of my existence so inconceivable that all my life has slipped through. My ego, my measly heart is so much more important than other people, isn't it? More important than their friendships, than what they have done and taken for me. It's always been all or nothing. I've always operated in extremes and that created a false sense of idealism than even I can't live up to and no one should have to. No one should have to live according to my ideals. The balance needs to be found. Or else I stand here, ready to lose everything I love, simply because it won't mould itself into what I want. Where the hell do they create people like me and for what end game? I'm obsolete. And in pain that I can't recall ever having been inflicted before. I'm in the business of survival, but self-preservation is becoming very very costly. 

And then there was light.

This week I realized two very important things. Firstly that I'd thought I was guilty and overall something terrible except I have only recently been woken to the fact of how truly terrible human beings can be. So I don't really think I'm so bad anymore. Second, no matter what happens there is always something redeemable to be found. There are still so many beautiful people in the world that have more goodness in them than I ever thought possible, so yes I might never entirely lose my way. Take my best friend Tanya Husain for example.She's the only person who I would hold on to after everything is lost. I never frighten her, she never needs explanations, she's like an island that I can anchor to when I'm slipping and she is constant, always there...smiling that twisted smile in the distance. Kinda like what Lexi is to Stefan in the vampire diaries. I didn't really want a place in this world, but now I will live like nothing has ever lived before. There is a solid weight of rock underneath all my pain, underneath the crumbling surface and I will have to choose to see it amidst all this darkness. And for my sake I will have to remember who I am. And I will. I will very much. :)

Hellish remorse and all that jazz.

I'm blogging too frequently nowadays. I think that's supposed to be a good thing but it feels SHAREY. Sharing never solves stuff for me, it brings out a million repressed things that were better left dead. I've been crying. Maybe it's because at home I feel lonely as well as antisocial. Don't know where I am, I'm not thinking of universities or moving on with my life, I'm stuck where everything hurts. Disturbingly, much of which that bothers me is long past. Something's happening. No, I'm not sure what. Ever thought that if you cut people free they will be better off, ever thought they'd be better off without you? I do all the time. But nothing is simple, how can I need them and not need them so much at the same time? Some of them are like sheep in a ranch. Even if you open the fence wide they won't move. Even if you scream and usher them out they stay right there. Are the ones sticking with me those delusional sheep? I'm afraid, you know. I don't like to be afraid or weak or lost but you can't save me. Sometimes you set people free, untangle the chains and they still keep coming back for you. Maybe they found something in you but I don't believe it. No one can possibly care about me. I'm too different. Too cold. Too sad. The tiredness is back and soon winter will sink in and inflame many of my joints and fill them with fluid. Rheumatism you see. Face your fears my mom always says. Face them all the time. You know what happens when you face them too much in too short a time? They eat away your resistance, they wear you down. And then it takes far too much energy to try and decide whether you are worth saving anyway. I'm tired of questions. Of explanations. Of solutions. Maybe I need a long vacation....maybe a new life...maybe a new place..who knows? I don't want to think. I don't want this anymore. My part in this story needs to be over. And you will forgive me of course, for not sticking around for the ending.

Infestation.

A while ago we suffered a bookworm infestation in our house library. A bunch of multiplying little white insects ate away many pricey books in secret. Yes, I found out way later because they were inside the books that I hadn't touched in years. And now they're all lost. Many of them were beautiful with sparkly covers and given by my nani who has as I have grown up, spent a fortune on books for me. She was adamant that I be THAT sort of girl. How safe I had kept them, how I had loved those inanimate things, how I'd keep the newer ones under my pillow as a kid because I missed her. Now that I think about it, she's the only one on Earth that's ever really taught me stuff. Table manners for instance. I look exactly like her,when she was young,though a much less finer version obviously. We have her wedding picture in the tv lounge and I've never seen any human being so regal, so untainted by the dirt of the world. She stares into the camera with that same innocence I have inherited. Except mine cost me everything. Sometimes I think she sees something of herself in me, perhaps she has found peace in my company because of it, but little does she or anyone know, how I am to spend eternity without it. I'm sure dear reader, you are hoping there is a point to all this and you're right... There is. And the point is this, that I'm eaten away just like those books I loved. Eaten away in bits and most of the time I can't tell which parts are gone. The good bits or the bad ones? Which chapter is lost, which character have I killed, what doorway leads where? I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be, and to make who happy. But one thing is for certain, one's gotta deal with their bookworms before they eat away the good parts in us. All is more fragile and easily lost than you think.

People suck. So much so they've got me using the line 'people suck' and saying LOL. Save my soul someone!

It is highly vexing to realize from time to time that you are the least abnormal of the human species but must indeed use the word too liberally to be characterized differently from them. 

A Moment Of Clarity.

I love that concept explored at the end of Avatar The Last Airbender (how gay it is of me) of how he had to let go of his emotions and set free his guilt to be able to exercise his power. I find myself now at the threshold of having to do much of the same. There is no freedom to be found in who I am. There never was. But my best bet at surviving me is to accept it, the accept the circle of no-control and well frankly not give a damn. One of my friends, after reading my blog couldn't believe it was written by me! She said that I'm so fun-loving and exuberant that it was quite impossible...the whole thing. I found myself smiling and saying something I'd read or heard somewhere ' what if you're seeing only what I want you to see?' What if I manipulate your little minds to think things that aren't true? I'm so self-obsessed, I should be shot without delay. More often than not, we're dough in someone's hands or the other. I know I've been, yes I can be stupid just like the rest of you. Except I've always had the clause, the escape hatch, the get-out-of-jail-free card. But the rest of you are....well pretty much screwed. :D

Retribution is swift...just for the wrong people.

Never think things can't get worse because most of the time your imagination falls short. Bless me father for I have sinned. Before I confess in some typically vague way I want you to know and just you that I am a horribly sinful person for thinking I exercised some sort of right in other people's lives. In all truth, you can't create in these human beings ideas that you were gifted with and most definitely did not inherit. You can't make them respect themselves, you can't show them that lost idea of greatness and make them appreciate it, you can't save them from their petty choices. Most of all you can't live with them knowing that somewhere you're something better and that that can never be enough for those you have chosen to love. They are lies. Not liars, mind you but hideous little lies that someone should have protected me from, that I should have protected me from. I have fallen short and I have failed myself and there is nothing that can grant me forgiveness and peace.

I remember those days when all I felt was an emptiness...a void. Well now it's a wound. Right there in the center of my chest and it bleeds and cries and I can't block out the screams anymore. I can't feel hate or anger, just the relentless screaming like that of a little child left bleeding in the street. My soul feels choked to the brim and I'm knocking on all the doors around me but nobody lets me out. I keep telling myself every single day in the mirror that I'm something proud and beautiful and that no one can take that away from me but what if they're winning? What if they, with their common, mediocre ways are outrunning me and in all truth I don't really care. None of it matters anymore. I don't want their world, all I want is for them to let me go. We all get over our losses and achievements and fifty years from now there'll be absolutely no difference between the two. 

Drainage.

Life is becoming a chore. There is a tiredness in me that never goes away. Most days I just lie on my bed staring at the ceiling wondering how I'll survive the next day and the day after that, and the day after that. It doesn't seem worth it anymore. For a while I would try to act all petite and normal in the company of people especially friends,being all assholic and acting excited about new clothing lines and shoes and all other kinds of crap. But now...I seem to have lost control. I blurt out how I want it to end so badly and they laugh or ignore it completely. They are people of the world after all no? But sadly of shockingly little use to me. I don't really want it anymore,you know. I don't want them, I don't want myself, I don't even care about the worldwide fame I dreamt  of, all this time. Now all that holds me to anything is a strange sort of guilt that I must not let go because I loved that particular something or someone once. But things have changed, now I can't possibly love anything, now nothing can mean anything because the time for it to prove itself is up. Entirely up. I keep getting myself out of this and it keeps coming back and each time it's worse, the games my mind is playing on me keep advancing, as if they know exactly what my next move will be and that I don't have the will or the power to stop them. A terrible thing is a great mind because it is in such eternal conspiracy against all that exists, including its owner.  I had started my novel but now the very thought of it wroughts me with fatigue and a sense of loss. If I go back now, I won't be able to end it. I can neither fight nor surrender because both will kill me. There is no way to stay alive. Not even metaphorically. What the hell am I supposed to do? 

One last time.

I'm liking myself nowadays. There's some battles only you know you've won and mine have been dictated by a questionable upbringing, and some undesirable genes. Funny how I have an answer to it all, don't I? But don't let me make you believe that I put all the blame on others, it is precisely my inability to do so, that made me end up in that dump of a mindset in the first place. I have somethings I must do this year. For me. Then at least for a while, the fight will be over. 

Of default settings and the truth.

It's true. All my life it seems i have waited for some sort of happily ever after. One perfect event after which life would be just groovy. In the process of relying so heavily on this preposterous idea, i found myself continually disappointed and disillusioned with life and myself. I was also always comparing myself with others and maneuvering the situation around and about to somehow emerge superior in the end only because there was so much missing inside me. But something has happened. Now i'm not waiting. I'm ready for the yet more painful pitfalls of life, ready for the long haul as i said once. A short while ago i was ready to give up writing forever, i thought it would eradicate expectation from me, it would make me small, inconspicuous and useless, unable to be struck down by fate. In denial i had found anything but peace but there was no escape from the fear, the fear most of all, of hoping again. I wanted more than anything to stand up for myself to myself.  My only true enemy can be me, everyone else is what i allow them to be, their relevance is subjective.

I've also found that humans aren't as simplistic and primitive as i assumed. For the first time they fascinate me and I'm interested in their life stories. For the first time i want to learn rather than have it all figured out. For the first time i crave the experience rather than the seemingly inevitable end. For the first time it seems, I'm awake. 

Bibbidi babidi boo.

Everything is in place. Circumstantially nothing has changed but there is happiness in me again. This time around i will protect it with all i have in me,for i am ready to fight again and fight i will. I ain't suffering from long-term depression, anxiety or fatigue disorders or any crap like that, i will not be reduced to some petty human weakling when nothing about me has ever been merely human.With people like me such peace is transitory and tomorrow i might be back to my pointless suicidal posts but for today...till the clock strikes midnight, i shall patter about in my glass slippers like a delighted sociopath. 

Past lifetimes of thought.

Today i remembered something that i thought was lost to me forever. I had rejoiced previously in being able to get past it only to realize that it was a big part of me and had been for years. Even in its complete and utter exclusion from my life and my thoughts, i had often dreamt disturbing dreams of what i had it seemed so easily left behind. Is it possible to love something you neither had nor lost, how about something you had never known? Without a trace of  tragedy i can't hope to understand it. What is this i wonder, having existed in it in the past for indefinite periods of time i would imagine i have all the answers but i don't. But i am not lost you see. I'm just a silent observer of a mind that works on its own and which i have no hope of manipulating. I was right about myself, i don't have a heart...not really. At the moment i find myself incapable of explaining why exactly,but someday i will. Someday i'll have all the answers. 

Ramblings of an inwardly old fool.

I've been thinking about so many things nowadays. In a certain way i'm regressing, think about it as walking through a never ending line of doors and rooms in unutterable darkness with the haunting whispers of things awakened from the dead that are always terribly familiar. All of this in the hope that somewhere along it all i will find out how to fix what is wrong with me. For some reason i have been thinking about my literature teacher a great deal lately and i don't know why. She did like my work somewhat at some time but she said that i was 'lost in translation' , running the race with both my hands and feet tied, that i was 'holding back', that she didn't know how to help me. I would just look at her blankly, how could i explain that my interpretation of poetry or my analysis of a character had nothing to do with my literary skills at all. How could i tell her that every ion in me was so damaged that my so-called writing suffering was perhaps the most insignificant after-effect. For a while i thought her transient beliefs regarding Bakhtawar Azam could save me. But as it turned out, we were both incapable of it.

I've wanted to write a book since i was 6, had all these ideas that it would be a bestseller, that the whole world would see that i'm good, so good at what i've been taught to believe i can do. My head is spinning. And it hurts all over and recently even eating has become a chore. I feel so done and whatever ambitions i had i've put them on some shaky footing hoping the future will magically take care of them all, completely without my involvement. Save your censure, for i'm embarrassed and disappointed and most of all so goddamn angry i want to run my head through a solid wall... and in the end the only person i can point my finger at is that sad little girl in the mirror who is wondering why she hasn't gotten struck by lightning yet. I realize that i'm in the race regardless and for the long haul and i can run it being afraid, threatened, vulnerable, and haunted or i can run it facing my fears with my head high and failing in some poetic way in the end. The second sounds better, this is precisely it, i always know what the right thing to do is, i do and i do that thing 95% of the time but what if i can't this time around? I don't like myself talking like this but for years all i've done is pace back and forth, yap to myself, write down on little pieces of paper what the solution is...what the process is, build little walls around myself - that is not entirely metaphorical by the way. I'm what is known as a rational, rationals you see according to some tests are the rarest normal personality type on the planet. Maybe i'm waiting for some happily ever after that will never happen, i thought i was brave, i thought i was a lot of things but i've got some of the concepts wrong. 

The time capsule.

It was a very early morning and it had rained the night before. The sky was a dull gray, in fact everything was a confusing dullness that I've only seen a few times in my life. Sometimes i think i'm dead, because death comes in so many forms and yet people still think it's when you depart the world in some ridiculous fashion often leaving behind weeping humans. I realize my views are often offensive, maybe hurtful but does it really matter when you're dead? At that moment i felt almost surreal like i wasn't here at all and then i looked back at my life and realized i hadn't been here, not really...as if i was some kind of forgotten dream whose existence is speculative. Truthfully, i feel like i'm stumbling around in the dark which has no end and where i really have no place to go and most of all i'm heartbroken with a very real pain in my chest that i feel even as i am writing this. As i stared at the little frogs yuppiting about in the garden outside i realized how it was all blank to me. I had these dreams when i was little, these ambitions of being a great writer but how could i have nurtured those lies for so long? Because right now there is nothing and i'm suffocating in it and yet I've lost all courage to leave. I've always had these great expectations from myself, these great ideas about what i am, where did i leave them. Now i look at people, ordinary people, and think about how magnificent their lives must be,while in any realistic universe they should have sold their souls to be me. 

A bowl of rat poison for the soul.

I'll be honest with you folks. I've hated my life as long as i have lived it. Even when it was something like good, the presence of a big, black hole had eclipsed the temporary fits of happiness. For that is all they have ever been...fits. Let me enlighten you as to the primary trait that my upbringing has tried to give me. Fear. Always be afraid. Afraid of people, what they can do to you, the vast world filled with these same beings, all of which operate at some advantage that i will never have. Be afraid of not being enough, for you will never be. Be afraid of places, typically large open ones. Fear the supernatural if you really can't find anything. Also i must let this fear inhibit and crush whatever talent there is in me just so i never have to see myself lose it. All defense mechanisms for something that should never have harmed me. But then again i am not what is in my nature, am i? I sure hope not. 

Malison avenue.

I spent eternity in the pursuit of one idea, only to turn around and realize that I'd never known what wanting anything was like, at all. To find that all the rules had been changed and I was bound to this like the devil has been bound to his boundaries since the beginning of the Earth.

I'm in a fog right now. I wish i could say it's as easy as confusion or boredom but i don't really know what it is. Sometimes it scares me, a whole lot of things scare me. In fact i'm not sure that i've felt any emotion in my entire life as recurrent and disastrous as fear. People say it's natural to be afraid, to be hurt, to love. I say bullshit. Nothing is natural to me, because if i was to go on that, you'd be reading something written by a very very different person. What can i really be, i ask, when all i know is how to be damaged? I learned a long time ago to not live by other people's ideas,to leave them to their mediocre preferences but every now and then i can't stop the hurt. Which is why i would prefer their hate for at least they're putting some thought into that. I can't stand their love because they don't love like i do and they will never be able to convince me they are enough. I want out so badly. I don't belong here, in this house, in this city. Nowhere. I want to go somewhere where no one knows me and never come back. Just be like a lost bad memory. Don't you see? I'm one day away from running screaming out of this place. And i would leave everyone i know behind especially my friends without looking back. Because all of them, all of them in their little heartless ways have most painfully disappointed me. All the early mornings i've spent in my balcony looking out towards the river flowing a little distance away from my house, have i wished i was at the bottom of it, to be somewhere where the pain has stopped and i've forgotten everything. Please let me leave. Please let me be done. 

Creatures by the bridge.

Everyday or almost every day for a long time, I have seen a little sickly dog by the side of the bridge. It's waiting to die for no one is merciful enough to kill it. Helping it, they think is useless for it's not of any pedigree value, obviously. But he's beautiful. He's hurt, I can see, for he limps on one leg and makes little faces of pain. But day after day he's still there. Still very much alive. I pass by in my car on some days with a few tears, on others an incurable fascination glistening in my eyes. He seems as if he has survived the ages of the Earth, I can feel wisdom, acceptance and myself in him. Don't be mistaken my young friends, it's not my lack or excess of self-esteem that leads me to think a dog and I are something of the same,but how could I see him and not notice it, as a short stab somewhere in that soul of mine .I have a good mind to go talk to him someday, he'd definitely be a lot better than some human twits of my acquaintance.By now you can imagine that social niceties are hardly my strong suit. Before you think I'm crazy, that to me is an incredibly flattering idea by the way, I'll tell you why I'm attached to that little dog. He is that creature that no one will shoot out of sheer inconvenience. And in my heart, I know I've been that creature too. Just as empty, lost and bleeding as him, but yes.. a lot prettier.    

Consolation girl.

I used to believe in fate but it's all being screwed.what i can't understand is why I of all imaginative beings, crave certainty, why i must know all the ways about everything as if knowing would or can possibly stop the burning. you see, a few months ago i had it all figured out; my settlements, my tragedy. I had hope but a strong sense of realism. i've been given freedom by unlikely components but the plan is all wrong. that's the problem with writers, they think the people of the real world are as open to willful manipulation as their self-written characters. my way or not, i know now that there is an emptiness inside me that nothing can ever fill,that no matter what i delude myself into loving, it's always going to be there. that all these ideas I've nurtured about myself and life (mostly from Dale Canergie books very popular in the 50s) are just so i don't end up as i am, little miss consolation girl who never quite lived up to her own ridiculously high expectations. like i said I've been here too long, it's time to give up,make a run for it before i'm caught again in the same current as i have been my whole life. I know I really am as terrible as I've always known,then what the hell am i doing having forgotten it for so long? 

The Penalty Clause.

Irony. for some of us it's a cosmic joke for being too nice, too miserable, too stuck-up or maybe just too damn naive. but then there's always the unavoidable fact that a few steps down 'im not sure what im doing' lane and you've become the very thing that you had sworn to hate for all eternity. you don't even realize what you've become till its staring you in the face, triumphant. kinda reminds me of the black spider man or even the black swan, anything that deals with ridiculous inner-self mutation. it's all too easy, you know, being wrong, especially when you're in a terribly interesting and at times amusing battle with yourself since the beginning of time. it's not really as simple or as human as an identity crisis, as Hannibal lecter said 'it's psychology is a thousand times more savage.'   

why, hello to you too.

Sometimes you feel like you're going in circles with no end like a strange sort of deja vu except that it's different every time, somehow worse. I feel as if I've been here too long, when I've seen nothing. I feel tired in my heart, something tells me 18 is no age to feel as if your time is completely and utterly up. I always had a direction but at this point of time i feel as if i could not be more lost and i can't fight for that happy, loving girl i once was, whose blood is on my hands today. Never thought my first blog entry would be so morose but then again hiding this part is going to make my happier times seem unreal. For better or for worse, i need it all.