Saturday, June 28, 2014

Which is worse?

A life never lived or a life wasted?
Opportunities never had or opportunities squandered?
Potential that was never allowed to be fulfilled or potential that was lost?
Dreams never followed through or dreams had and broken?
Families never made or families pushed away?
Love that never bloomed or love that was allowed to wither?
Houses never built or houses gone to ruin?

Which is worse?
Life lost young or life going on too long?

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Happy birthday, you :)

Another year, another post.

It's been a long year, this last one. And an extremely quick one too. It's 2014 June already. Where in hell did the time fly?

I've learnt a lot in the last year. Had lots of good days. And lots of bad days. And learnt that people change, distance is sometimes just too much, friendships evolve and that sometimes, people just grow up and move on.

We barely talk. We barely meet. We don't have crazy video chats. There are no long walks, no cups of coffee while curled up in an ancient blue sofa.

You know what? It's funny, but I realised that I only drink coffee at work or in cafes/restaurants. Rarely, if ever, at home. I was always making the coffee and watching people I love drink it. Anyhoo, I digress.

Our friendship has changed. We have changed. You have your people, I have mine. You have your life, your loves, your family and I have mine.

But over the last year I also learned not to delude myself into believing that people will stick around for you. But we'll always have each other. Because I never learnt how to properly let go.

So here's to us. To our love for words and each other. For a birthday tradition that we have both vowed to keep at, for better or for worse.

Happy birthday, beloved gopher. I know underground is cozy, but pop up and say hello more often :)

Love and lots of Ayesha hugs.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Do not show. Do not tell.

Know how it's said that relationships are about honesty and trust? How you should be completely honest with the ones you love? How you need to make sure the person you love knows the good, the bad and the ugly? And how you need to respect them enough to let them decide whether they accept it or not? How love is about taking chances and jumping off a cliff hoping you can fly and any other metaphors the movies and books keep telling you about?

Yeah. About that.

It's BULLSHIT.

Take it from me, a small no one in a world full of nobodies, who has nothing to her name but some experience, a few words and too many ideas.

Risks can fail. Miserably. Nothing good can ever come out of true honesty.

Write those feelings, those opinions down on pieces of paper and then send them out into the universe. Save them as notes on your phone and drafts on your blog. Anywhere you can get yours hands on that will help you feel like you've gotten them out of your system.

Whatever you do, don't tell.

Don't show how intensely and how much you feel. Don't show the fear, the absolute panic.

You cannot judge, you cannot speak, you cannot let on how much goes on in your head.

How can you show them all that darkness, all those jagged pieces?

You cannot scare them away.

Because if they leave then how will you find anyone to love you again.

Swallow them down, those words, those feelings.

Do not show, do not tell.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

I get off the cab and walk up the two flights of stairs trying not to slip and break my neck because it's dark. I don't want to switch on the lights and wake the whole building up. I try to be as quiet as I can be when unlocking the door, but at this time of the day everything is eerily magnified. I shut the door and lock it quietly behind me, glad that it doesn't creak. I leave my sandals at the door, glad to get into my exquisitely comfortable home slippers.

I check the door again, because I'm paranoid.

Now that I'm on familiar ground, I don't need to switch on the lights, unless you've left your slippers or the TV remotes lying around again, something I wouldn't be surprised by. I leave my bag in a corner where I know you won't trip on it the morning when you wake up because I'm considerate like that. I leave my watch on the table near the bag. I walk into the bathroom, slipping out of my jeans into a pair of shorts and a tee. I take off my bra, the ultimate sign that I am home. I wash my face and feet.

I'm hungry and dinner feels like hours ago. I know you probably didn't leave anything for me from dinner so I scrounge through the fridge wondering what I can munch on. That's when I see the bowl of noodles and the postit that I read using the light from the fridge, "Knew you'd be hungry. Left some for you. Not as much of an ass as all that. Have some faith." Grinning to myself I grab a fork and eat the noodles, sitting on the kitchen counter because I can't be bothered to walk back to the kitchen once I'm done. I leave the bowl in the sink, glad that the maid will wash up in the morning.

Now that I'm full I just want to crawl into bed.

I walk into the bedroom and from the door I can see you sprawled on our bed, one leg under the blanket and one leg out. I smile again. I crawl into the bed and nuzzle against you. You shift position and pull me close mumbling something, still fast asleep. I breathe you in, relaxing completely.

We fit together, as if we were created as one entity and then in two only so that we could find each other again.

It is now that I know I'm finally home, exactly where I am meant to be. That the really weird work hours, the monotony and the stupid cab complaints are all okay if they end with this - me coming home to your arms every night. Because with you, is where I belong.

I close my eyes and fall asleep with a smile on my face.

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I get off the cab and walk up the two flights of stairs trying not to slip and break my neck because it's dark. I don't want to switch on the lights and wake the whole building up. I try to be as quiet as I can be when unlocking the door, but at this time of the day everything is eerily magnified. I shut the door and lock it quietly behind me, glad that it doesn't creak. I leave my sandals at the door, glad to get into my exquisitely comfortable home slippers.

I check the door again, because I'm paranoid.

Now that I'm on familiar ground, I don't need to switch on the lights, unless I left the TV remotes lying around again, something I wouldn't be surprised by. I leave my bag in a corner where I won't trip on it whenever it is that I wake up. I leave my watch on the table near the bag. I walk into the bathroom, slipping out of my jeans into a pair of shorts and a tee. I take off my bra, the ultimate sign that I am home. I wash my face and feet.

I'm hungry and dinner feels like hours ago. I know there is nothing in the fridge because I was too lazy to go grocery shopping. There is some bread left in the kitchen and I spread some butter and jam on a few slices. I eat while sitting on the kitchen counter because I can't be bothered to walk back to the kitchen once I'm done. I leave the plate in the sink, glad that the maid will wash up in the morning.

Now that I'm full I just want to crawl into bed.

I walk into the bedroom and get into bed. I put my phone on charge and play some music. I set a sleep timer on the app so that it doesn't stay on the whole time I'm asleep. I hug my pillow tight, cover myself up and sigh.

Tomorrow I do this all over again. The really weird work hours, the monotony and the stupid cab complaints.

I close my eyes and fall asleep. Alone.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Alcohol is bad for you. Alcoholism can ruin your life. Alcohol changes who you are, it's addictive, it's dangerous.

We've heard it before. In different ways, from different people. In movies, in books. Yes, there are those media outlets which glorify alcohol and its effects, but that's a topic for another day.

What you will never be told, is how alcoholism affects the people around you. How addiction is not something that exists in a microcosm of you and your problems, but how it can insidiously and thoroughly permeate every aspect of the lives of the people closest to you. Your family, your friends.

They don't tell you how when you live with a person who struggles with alcoholism, family or friend, it changes your life. It affects you in ways you can't even recognise or identify.

They don't tell you the long monologue that will play in your head the first time you are offered a drink. The intense thought and analysis that goes into the decision to just take a glass and take a sip, even if it is in the most trusted of company. And they don't even say that it happens every time and that eventually, though you get better at drowning it out, it will never go away.

They don't tell you about the way you read obsessively about addiction, just to see whether you can become an addict too. About how you read all the studies which talk about it being genetic and about nature vs nurture, just because you are so scared that you'll become one, just because it runs in your family.

They don't tell you how early on you are faced with a choice. Either to take in the things you see around you and use them as an excuse forever or to use them as an example of what you never want from your life. And how you will wrestle with that choice constantly.

They don't say how sometimes living with addiction around you makes you grow up too soon. And also how it can make you want to hold on to every childlike thing in your life because growing up means too much possibility of pain.

They don't tell you how you instantly get on guard when anyone around you is drinking. How you suddenly feel like you have to be the responsible one. About how you can become judgemental and argumentative but how you can't completely explain that it comes only from a place of concern. About how social drinking makes you anxious because somehow you didn't know that people could actually have fun with alcohol around. And how long it will take you realize that but that tiny nugget of fear in your head will never disappear. How that fear isn't even something you can articulate and how you will never stop wrestling with it.

They don't tell you how you question anything anyone says to you when there is alcohol around. How you scoff at it being liquid courage. How you can't trust because you have heard the worst things come out of a person's mouth just because they were drunk. How you question the authenticity of something that comes from chemical influence. How you don't even trust yourself when you have had something to drink.

They don't say that it might take you years to ever be in a comfortable enough place to drink with your closest friends.

They don't say how terrified you are of drinking alone even if it is in the comfort of your own home. Even if it is just a glass of wine with dinner. How it becomes reckless and wrong to enjoy yourself even in the privacy of your most secure place.

They won't tell you how to deal with the crushing guilt that comes from not being able to forgive. How you punish yourself for being a bad person. About how you don't deserved anything because you are too small-minded to move on.

They don't teach you how to forgive yourself for being angry and hurt. To forgive yourself your hate.

People don't talk about these things.

So yes, alcoholism is bad and you need to be careful. Not because you will be affected. But because you can leave wounds that never heal.

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Love is ugly, deformed, cruel.

If you’re looking for niceties and some epiphanic piece of revealing life advice that will help you solve your love life, close this page and move on to the quotes section of Pinterest, or any number of those self-help websites that would do a much better job of it. This is not for you.

What this is, is a seemingly verbose piece of vehemence that is revealing, yes, if only in the way that it will remind you how much better off you are not subjecting yourself to the slow, extremely painful torture that is romantic love.

There is no one you can blame for your love life but yourself. You might curse at the vagaries of fate and the twists of chance that led you to the moment that you decided to “be in love”, but you were the one who chose the path you are presently on and so there there is no one else you can curse for your life. You are the master of your own misery, the creator of your own shitty existence.

Love happens and then everything goes down shit street.

Love lifts you up with a kind of joy that absolutely nothing else in this world can give. It also brings you down to crash so hard that parts of your body that you didn’t even know existed will start to physically ache.

It will teach you the intense pleasure of the smallest moments and the intense pain of the big ones.

It will make you want to bare yourself naked to your love, show him/her every part of yourself. Then it will remind you exactly why you shouldn’t. Exactly why you need to protect them from you.

It will tell you to drop your masks, your acts and then laugh when you collapse into yourself when you do, only so that you can then learn make more intricate ones and get better at holding them up.

Love doesn’t kill you, but it doesn’t let you live either. It’s like that dialogue from an old Bollywood movie, “Main usko liquid oxygen mein rakhoonga. Liquid use jeene nahi dega aur oxygen use marne nahi dega.”

It changes you, the person you are, the person you thought you were, the person you want to be. It constantly destroys and rebuilds you. Painfully, from the inside out.

It is the kind of maddening paradox that can allow you to be the best and worst person you have ever been all at the same time.

It is an addiction of the worst kind, that to a person, a feeling. Much harder to give up than any physical addiction.

Love is the worst illusion, leading you to believe in happy endings, making you hope. All it is doing is making it more difficult to wake up to reality, every single day.

It is all-consuming. It burns all it touches. All-powerful.

It cannot be expressed. It cannot be summarised. It cannot be explained. But it makes you want to try. It seeks release while negating all forms of release.

It brings out the base in you. The jealousy, hate and anger you can otherwise control. It whispers seductively in your ear and screams in your head.

Borrowing from one of my favourite musicians, love is like slow dancing in a burning room. Knowing the end is near, that everyone leaves, that people change and go away, but leaving you with no option but to stay.

Love is dirty, ugly, base.

Love is death.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Sometimes when something is forcibly taken away from you, it's a way to start afresh. To discover again, to create again. Because you would never have been able to do it yourself. The universe had to do something, something out of your control, to make it happen. And it's a way to put things in perspective, reevaluate and start from scratch all over again.

Bullshit.

It's a horrible feeling. When something you've invested your time and patience in is just gone. When the memories that you were so scared of forgetting, the things you hoarded and cared for and loved, just vanish. Something that is a part of who you are, an essential part of the tiny things that make you exactly the person you are today, is lost, there is no way to get it back. There is no starting afresh and putting things in perspective. There is anger, sadness, a sense of hopelessness and just emptiness where once a bit of you rested.

Those pieces are never coming back and don't listen to those people who tell you that it's okay because it isn't.

They'll tell you, "at least you didn't lose something more. The rest is still there." And that only makes it worse.

When you are broken, you can't be thankful for what's left. Yes, it's the smart, logical, sane thing to do. And yes, you will eventually move on, because humans are adaptable and they are constantly learning.

But those missing pieces will never come back. You'll just probably build around those holes.

Don't let people tell you that those things don't matter. That they aren't important. You decide what you care for and what defines you. And only you know how much it hurts.

So grieve. Mourn. Cry. And rebel against the unfairness of it all.

Those people will never understand.

But you know. You remember.

Your missing pieces deserve it.