Tuesday, April 20, 2010


i thrive on feeling, thrive on knowing that there are problems to fix. i thrive on thinking and worrying, and contemplating my feelings. and i thrive on knowing, that there are more paths than one. not the little paths, those are a waste of time. the bigger ones, the ones which you know you can't turn back from. the ones that your peace of mind depend on. and in some twisted way, i always pick the wrong one. maybe its my brains way of making sure i never get bored, my hearts way of making sure that its constantly worn with what-ifs and regret, and my way of not letting myself be 'content'. and weirdly enough, what i was sure would be the wrong path, turned out to be the best could ever have taken. and contentment has solidified into three extra kilos. and boredom hasn't made an entrance yet, but this strange, restlessness has set in. and I'm cursing myself for waiting for something to go wrong. because paradoxically, i never want anything to. i never want anything to break the reflection and I'm too scared to get too close to the mirage to check if its real, or if its going to shimmer away into silver nothingness. maybe having nothing to do is driving me crazy. maybe I'm too lazy to actually do the things I'm supposed to do and i want to be crazy. so what do i want? i wish someone would tell me. and also, while they're at it, explain a whole lot of other things as well. like why i never want to play my beautiful piano, although i love it almost like its a person. and why i never write down the snatches of thought that i know could be something special and different, and only sit down to write in bad moods and end up writing trash instead. and why i bought a blue phone when i should have bought a white one. well, i know its cause it'll get dirty, but now i want the white one, it'll make the purple cover look better. and why mangoes are never perfect. only Alphonsos (alphanso? alfonso? =s) are sometimes. and how the little sucking-ey mangoes that you don't peel but squeeze, are sometimes the yummiest of all. despite all the gross fibre-ness. and what i should do for college, and what i should tell people when they ask me what i want to do in life and go all bug eyed when i say i don't know. everyone has a plan. hell, i ALWAYS have a plan. i make a list of things to do the next day every night before i go to sleep. sometimes i write it down, but even if i don't, and forget by the morning, it still counts right? so why don't i have a bigger plan? why am i so confused and feeling all weird these days? i think i must start pottery classes. and volunteer at an Ngo. and go to colour factory. and download a better version of minesweeper. and get addicted to new shows. and shut up, and get on with my incredibly meaningful existence. blah.


watermelons, are the most frustrating things in the world.
firstly, they are so damn huge, that you have to saw through them. and then sit and chop it all into little red pieces and squirt diluted reddish liquid all over the table.
and then eating them. the reddest pieces taste the best, but they have the most seeds. so you sit and cut them up into tinier pieces, and poke out all the seeds with your fork. or, you can have the less red, whitish pieces with less seeds. but they always taste slightly bitter.
and so you spend an hour on your little bowl of watermelon, patiently poking out seeds and eating tiny tiny pieces, and then finally, when you finish, you're left with the thank-god-That's-over feeling, and nothing even remotely close to hey-that-was-yummy! watermelons are supposed to be a special summer treat. that I've had forced on me every morning for the past week. and I am SICK of them.

I think all this sitting around and doing nothing is getting to me.

I love everything I've written for you

that poem,
that you never read
that still makers me smile when I read it
that poem
you don't know was about you
and then
that last one,
that no one else understood, or liked..
that ones my favourite
because I put something special into them.
I don't put You into them,
I don't know you well enough to.
I don't put myself into them
I don't trust myself to
I weave them around something even I don't understand,
so how could anyone else?
blindingly obvious
yet so intricate, and so ridiculous,
that no one, will ever really see.
and why do i write them?
am i crying out for someone to see,
and call me foolish?
or is it another shot
at 'letting it all out'?
i know;
i know what you think,
and what everyone else does.
and i think it too
but i still
cant help myself,
and i still
love everything i ever wrote for you.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

strange things move you

strange things move you.
i was sitting and doing something I've gotten thoroughly sick of over the past two years, editing. what i started off thinking was trash.
and then i realized that it was far from that. behind the crappy sms language, reams of pages that they DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO SPELL-CHECK, punctuation and spaces in the wrong places, spaces instead of bloody pressing ENTER to reach the next LINE... and the most minute and frustrating shitload of editing (yes, i see that you can tell how annoying it was), i found some beautiful things.
who knew, that a person who I've spoken three words to over the past six (?) years, a science geek who spoke in robotic monotone, could write the most moving poetry? who knew, that the resident bully, had actually cared about people he called his friends, enough for my heart to finally forgive him for slapping me in front of the entire class in seventh grade? who knew that a diminutive little boy who spent fourteen years of his life being the butt of a million short jokes, had enough left in him to put that much of his heart out onto paper?
some people, when they want to, can be shockingly honest.
and that's another thing. writing seems to do it for some people, writing things, and not having to say them, and knowing that there isn't someone judging it immediately at any rate, makes sides of a person come out, that i had no idea existed.
and it feels.. humbling, ridiculous as it sounds. to be editing something someone has put their heart into. for the sake of feeling them smiling as they wrote it, you don't feel like deleting a 'lol'.
and i know I'll feel stupid and frustrated when i get back to it tomorrow.
but right now, i just feel like thinking, about all the people i missed out on. all the people who i made snap judgments about and didn't bother with any more, all the people i could have understood better. all the people who's hearts I've suddenly seen into.
i hardly ever bother with people, who don't show an interest in me first. and suddenly, that feels like the biggest regret I'll leave with. i always scorned the socialites, and convinced myself that all i needed were a few close friends, but now i feel like it was just me being petty, and jealous.
there is this one girl. who's head no one can really get into. she, beyond a doubt, needs a great deal of help. with many, many things.
but suddenly, it hit me, that she has the most relationships. she has the uncanny knack of developing a personal bond with anyone she comes across. and how deep that bond is, how much it means, I'll never know. i have one with her too, from ninth grade. and i always thought i understood her, and pitied her. called her "messed up" and shook my head. but then it hit me, does she care about more people than i do?
there was a silly little quote somewhere in A Passage to India, of no significance, about how emotions are not like a sack of potatoes, that can be weighed out evenly. but you have to weigh them out somewhere, right? so why do i feel like i weighed them out all wrong? i gave too much to the wrong person. too much to the right people too. but i had none left over for the other people. the extra people.
that girl, shes weighed them out wrong too, hers are too thinly spread. but now, i have a sinking feeling that she got closer than i did. in her own twisted way.
regrets are horrible, gnawing things. bitter things.
in a strange way, i regret that no-one will miss me in the same, honest way that so many of those questionnaires put out there just now. yes i know, my friends are different, in their own retarded way. and I've only recently come to realize what an odd thing a "group of friends" is. and how all of these groups are probably as strange on the inside.
i can't put out the same amount of love, if i were to fill a questionnaire. I'm filled with too many thoughts and doubts. and even though i love them all, it's in a very different way, and i know it is for them too. some of them.
but i want to be heartbreakingly honest. and that's the flip side, i know i never will be. there will always be an element of facetiousness in everything i do. trying too hard. and consequently, less real.
i don't despise myself for it anymore, I've grown out of that, and thanks to someone, i feel beautiful on the inside again and all that jazz. I've stopped thinking thaat much.
but not enough? when is it enough? i don't want to become dumb. but are all those grammar-deprived "i love you guysss!!" filled questionnaires dumb? my intellect would say, of course they are. look at you, you're much more meaningful. but you know what, i don't know that anymore.


and you can never see both sides of the coin at once, right? so i guess I'll never really know. maybe that's what God, or Nirvana is, being able to see everything at once. existing on a crazy millionth dimension or something. losing cognitive and social filters, being able to Be on a different level.
sometimes, i want that. just to not have to make decisions that i could regret anymore. twistedly, it might make decisions easier, or a trillion times worse.
i don't like making decisions.
once i shared my very secret decision making strategy with a friend, and he has never since stopped laughing at me for it. and i swore not to leave decisions to something as stupid as the number of letters in a word again. you know, Kirat, it was actually a very smart method. it gave me a 50-50 chance either way. anyway.
so where do i hit that point where i get to decide on those 5 personality factors that Costa and McCrae came up with, hm? when do close my eyes and point to the scale and decide how far along either way i am? if there are so many decisions we have to make in life, why don't we get to set the groundwork for our decisions? somehow, it seems oddly unfair. why cant i go back to when i was six, and decide not to be scared of making friends, and then ten years later be dancing drunk on tables and know everyone in the city?
and another question is, how fair is it to ask me whether i would have done it differently? how the bloody hell do i know? right now I'd say- well, some of it. i survive on mediocrity, living on the fine line that divides both sides. not committing to either.

what was my point? yearbook questionnaires.
they made me think. which i haven't done for a while. i don't know that that's a good thing, this kind of thinking really isn't very good for me. but its nice to regret, sometimes.
if you don't regret things, you never end up justifying your decisions to yourself, and its always healthy to do that once in a while.