Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Yes, it's another friendship post

I've written before (here and here) about friendships, in an attempt to work through changes. Those words were effective and honest. They still ring true, more than I would like to admit. 

But this is different. 
This time it isn't just about long distance friendships. 
And it isn't just about long gaps between conversations so that it's difficult to figure out if there is common ground. 

This time, it is the slow knife-twist of seeing actual events prove one of your worst fears - the best friendships can die.  It is the knowledge that sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you will not be able to understand or be happy for the people you claim to love. 
It is the guilt that comes with that knowledge and inability. 
It is the imagined feelings of being left out that you struggled with as a child and worked hard at leaving behind, turning into the reality of actually being left behind. 
It is being on a road you thought you had company on and then looking around to see that you are on a different road altogether.
It is believing a friendship would last a lifetime only to realise it lasted just a season.
It is trying to reach out across the chasm only you seem to see and finding that there is no one on the other side. 
It is wanting to tell your stories to the important people to then understand that they do not care to hear. 
It is the excitement of discovery dissipating into the ether because those you thought would feel joy, don't even want to know. 

It is parallel lines that will never meet. 
Or even worse, lines that intersected once, never to meet again. 

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Some posts need updating

I wrote this post four years ago. I think it's time it was updated. 


I can look at my hands again. Now, when I see them, I don't think of broken dreams and ruined sandcastles. I don't think of the things I let go.

Now, I see how I built myself a life far away from everything familiar. The opportunities I have grasped even though things were difficult. The home I set up and maintain, a space all mine. The new things I learn every day, the job I am learning to become better at. The meals I make for myself both simple and fancy. The support I offer to those most important to me. The freedom to sometimes indulge in the luxuries I always denied myself.

My hands remind me of how I still build sandcastles, but that they are meant to be washed away for bigger ones. That dreams are always changing and expanding, that they NEED to be destroyed sometimes when they turn into nightmares. 

The spaces between my fingers still remind me of my loneliness, but also of long walks in new cities where two bodies moved not as one, but together. They remind me of messages I type and letters I write; gifts I create and photographs I collect to nurture something that is beautiful, even if I might have to let it go one day.

When I look at my hands now, I see growth and strength. An independence tinged with loss, but fortified with acceptance. 

The veins on the back of my hand don't stick out any more because I don't have to hold on to something that was always running away from me.

I look at my hands everyday and love what they signify. They remind me that I am enough.

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

It's Birthday Time!

Of course I didn't forget. I am just a little late with sending it across is all. 

Happy birthday, my love. 

Looks like this post breaks the incredible dry spell this poor blog has seen lately. An eight month dry spell. Which is an abysmal record even for me. 

But this post isn't about me. 

It's about a perfect collection of moments and events that ended with you and me becoming friends. An unlikely partnership to someone on the outside looking in. But we make it work. 

You are one of the few people I know I can come to with the small things and the big things. And you will be around to listen to both. Whether you agree or disagree or even understand, you listen and you care. To me, that matters more than anything else. 

Whether we ever have our long walks again or I ever get to make you special coffee, you and I will still have the conversations and the connection. The words and the memories. Our relationship has changed as we have. 

From our conversation on my birthday sitting outside college with me in a black dress you didn't believe I owned, to sending each other infrequent mails and frequent messages, we have come a long way. 

I do love you even though I don't say it as often as I should. And I am thankful you are part of my life in whatever way. 

Happy birthday again, my love. 

Sending love and hugs your way always. 

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Life lessons

Misery is a continuous cycle. Happiness ends in the moment.

When something horrible happens, our hearts and minds expand to find people to pass it on to. Or maybe not pass it on, but to share. When we feel sad, we want to find people who will make us feel better. We seek out comfort. We tell others our sorry tales and seek empathy, a shared experience. We expect our friends to offer their shoulders, our family to offer their laps to rest our heads in, our lovers to offer their arms to envelop us. We publicize our grief, our sorrow, calls of help hoping someone is listening. We turn it into anger and lash out.

It's a cycle that gets passed on from one person to another. Sure, spreading it around reduces its intensity, but in some way or the other, it gets passed on.

When something good happens, we hoard it. We keep those cards close to our chests and guard them intensely. We announce the events to everyone to make people jealous, but the true happiness is something we keep to ourselves. We are fierce of keeping that headiness close to us, because why would we want to dilute that. When moments of joy are so fleeting, we prefer saving them, savouring them. We don't "lash out" in happiness.

Misery is continuous. Happiness is fleeting.

We spread misery. We hoard happiness.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

The Gingerbread Man

"Run run as fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!"

My mother tells me that this used to be my favourite story when I was little kid, with "The Three Little Pigs" coming a close second. She would read "The Gingerbread Man" to me every day and it got to a point where I could recite the whole thing with her, right down to the periods and the page turns. She says when it was time for me to join preschool, when the principal met me, he thought I could read, because I recited the story, with the page turns, at the age of three. I don't remember any of this, of course, but it's good to know I was a smart kid :p

Anyway, it's funny how some things come back to you and I think it's a sign of growing up and growing old when a childhood story can be twisted into an adult allegory. I say this because I realised the other day, that I am the gingerbread man. Running as fast and far as I can to try and escape the realities of my life I don't like.

I ran away the moment I found an escape, leaving home and family to go to college in another city. I rarely ever felt homesick. I looked for internships in places far from home. When I graduated, I never even considered moving back home. I continued running, staying as far away as possible, a visitor once in three months for a weekend at a time.

I ran away from the memories my house held, the loneliness of the city, the friends I never had. I found a way to leave and I never looked back. I made other friends and found a new city that I adopted as home, telling myself this is what people do and what I was doing was just normal.

With all the running away I never stopped to think about the people I was leaving behind to handle what I was running away from. I was too weak and I left the heavy lifting to everyone else.

But that's the thing about running away. Once you start, you never stop.

Because no matter how fast or far you run, the people and the reality you leave behind will always catch up. While this would all sound so much cooler as a spy detective thriller, having your reality catch up to you isn't nearly as thrilling.

The people you left behind to deal with the messes you made, the memories that trip you up when you least expect them, and the realization of how much of a coward you are for running away - they will catch up. And then there are no excuses you can make to yourself, nothing you can say to make yourself feel better.

That's how you are reminded of how weak you truly are. How you know you do not have it in you to go back.

How you are just a coward.

How do I know this? Because I thought I was done and then I had my realization too - the epiphany that I am still running. Only this time, I found YOU to run to. Kind, warm, strong you who believes in my lies, my masks. Who doesn't see the stupid crying child I hide behind big words and bigger speeches. I am still the gingerbread man, running away from my past and my present, only now I conveniently cry into your arms. Stupid scared cowardly little me.

The gingerbread man eventually got caught and eaten by those who were chasing him.

I wonder when my time will come.

Sunday, June 7, 2015

Happy birthday, love :)

Another year, another birthday.

Funny how this is the post that breaks the long cycle of not having put up anything on this blog since February.

It's been quite a year. So much has changed and so much has happened. But I guess that is what life is about, isn't it? Things happen and we learn and grow. We read and write and deal some more.

Not too much has changed with the both of us though. The lengthy conversations discussing books and the rants over mail discussing everything else. The occasional visits to your city and the overpriced cups of coffee. And above all, the fact that no matter what happens in our lives and how far away we stay, we will still stay friends, your weirdness fitting in with mine, because hey, what is life without a little weird? :)

So here is to you becoming a year older and definitely wiser :)

Here is to more overpriced cups of coffee in a cafe in Bombay and the hours of conversations around them.

Here's hoping the year ahead holds better, bigger things; that your movie gets written before you go crazy and that you get to see some of the places you have been planning to.

Happy birthday, gopher.

Lots of love and hugs.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

You have spoiled me. Taught me to love myself just a little more. Reminded me that I am not as bad as I make myself out to be. You have accepted and you have cared and you have listened. Maybe just a little too much.

And that is why sometimes, when I talk to you in my head I freeze. I trip over the words I am thinking because I brake suddenly.

Because I am afraid. Of you, of what we have, of myself, of how you make me feel, of the future, of everything. A kind of choking fear that drowns out all rational thought. That takes all that's bad and then compounds it. Momentary, but overpowering.

A fear that I am not good enough for you. Too young, too immature, too annoying, too plain, too excitable, too far away.

A fear that we were never supposed to get together, that we will never work.

A fear that what we have is just too good to be true. Combined with a fear that maybe we don't have anything at all and that we're just deluding ourselves into believing we do.

A fear that one day you will wake up and realize that I am not as strong or well-read or smart or verbose or interesting as you first thought.

A fear that one day I'll just push too hard with something I say or do and that final straw is what will make you decide enough is enough.

A fear that maybe I've used up all the good that I'm supposed to get in my lifetime and that if this goes away, you go away, I will never ever get any more because no one person gets to have that much.

And on top of all of that, combined with all of that, the fear that you will get bored of me. That if I don't try hard enough to keep you, you'll leave.

All of it is as simple as that. And as complicated as that.

I have no idea what I would do without you.