tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80496326045943460412024-03-14T01:32:58.189+05:30Things and thoughtsAyeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.comBlogger247125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-62474092421514839912017-04-04T15:05:00.000+05:302017-04-07T07:01:18.932+05:304<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Prompt: The rain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My very first poem</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Was about the rain</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The words poured out</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just like the storm </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That had just ended</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The poem was sad</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dramatic, depressing and childish</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I still remember </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How the writing itself</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Felt like a cleanse</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After that first one</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The words kept coming</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wrote much more</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not very good and </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Full of teenage angst</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That first was like </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Rain watering my mind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don't romanticize it</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I am thankful</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For what it started. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(Four words a line for April 4. Not the best. But I tried.)<br />#NaPoWriMo2017</span>Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-49141419935044602472017-04-03T13:56:00.000+05:302017-04-07T07:01:04.195+05:303<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Prompt: Write a letter to your 12-year-old self.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hello Ayesha,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Since you're reading this, it probably means there is a horrible fracture in the time-space continuum and universes are collapsing on themselves because of the paradox this future-past communication has caused. You'll understand that reference in a few years time. Then you'll pat yourself on the back for being clever and making the joke in the first place.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So here's the thing. I'm 25 right now, and no your fascination with round numbers doesn't end. I'm NOT writing to tell you that things get better, the world fixes itself, you will have friends who are good to you, your loneliness and anger are temporary, etc etc. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I will not say these things to you because without all the angst you will go through now and in the next few years, you wouldn't grow to become me. Your anger, loneliness, attempts at writing, self-righteousness, stubbornness and belief that you know everything about everything, made me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All that pain that you've been hoarding, it crystallizes. But I do wonderful things with it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You'll grow up really quickly, you know. Wise beyond your years, everyone will say. It's not always a compliment. That feeling you have of being older inside your head? It'll never go away, but it makes me pretty amazing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You're gonna see some pretty terrible things in the future. You're seeing some pretty terrible things already. You're allowed to hate them. None of them are okay and they'll change you in ways I don't understand even now. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You're gonna see and feel some pretty amazing things in the future too. I don't want to be all doom and gloom. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here's some advice. Be nicer to Zeina. She deserves it and needs it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Be nice to Srishti. She deserves it and needs it even more. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm gonna end this letter now. You're me and so you'll understand why I'm trying not to ramble.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bye, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ayesha</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">P.S. - I promised I wouldn't tell you to do something that'll change the future, but on the evening that you're with the beautiful boy outside your house chatting to fill an awkward silence, please fucking (oh yeah I curse a lot) kiss him. You definitely definitely will want to, so just do it.<br /><br /><br />#NaPoWriMo2017</span>Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-1971311932584022472017-04-02T20:00:00.000+05:302017-04-04T09:44:48.670+05:302<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I watched you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">For a long time</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Your brow all furrowed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">You were angry</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Serious</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Bothered. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">All I wanted to do was reach out </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Smooth those worry lines out</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Rub them away with my fingers</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">But it's only screens between us</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">And countries</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">And distance</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">And helplessness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">You did fall asleep </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Eventually</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Crawled into bed with your phone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">As I curled around my laptop</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">You asked for music</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">So I made us a playlist</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Of songs we love</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Of quiet words</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Of lullabies I wish I could sing</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">So I watched you fall asleep</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">An experience the time difference</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Has stolen from me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I listened to your breath even out</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">That furrow finally smoothed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Before I fell asleep myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">This is as close as I can come</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">To having you beside me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">To a feeling of nearness</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">It is a depressing facsimile</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Not even close to enough</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">But at this point</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I take what I can get</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">And hope that soon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I won't be sleeping with a screen anymore. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">#NaPoWriMo2017</span>Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-5335404126526204142017-04-01T20:10:00.000+05:302017-04-04T09:44:10.678+05:301<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To begin. A list. Not a poem. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Offered with a fist of salt and a pinch of humour, with just a dash of bitterness combined with the slimmest hope of empathy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Built from experiences gathered over the lSt few years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To remember and remind of a hierarchy of suffering.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A pyramid of people one can complain to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who will care and who is mentally cursing you for complaining while having it "so good."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's the advice: If you are looking for a sympathetic ear, stick to your level.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Intercontinental or time difference LDRs - The top. No one gets to complain to us except for others in the same situation. No one else gets it. No one else has it as hard. We barely ever meet and they go sleep when I wake up and have you even checked the prices of flight tickets nowadays?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Intra-continental or accessible or less time difference LDRs - None of the benefits of being single. None of the benefits of being in a same place relationship. All the problems of both. Sure we get to meet once in three months, but do you know how horrible it is to fall asleep alone everyday?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Live-in or married relationships - Yeah we live together, but damn I miss having my own space sometimes. Do you know how annoying it is to clean up after two people and have to do the dishes and have to remind them of the bills all the time? Also, know how annoying the have a kid questions are? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dating but not living together - Sure we live in the same city, but with our schedules it gets so difficult to meet what with traffic and all. And god, all the when are you getting married questions every time anyone sees us together!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Single, all kinds - Everyone and everything sucks. No one gets to complain to us. At least you have someone. You've escaped the drudgery of dating and the nonsense that comes with trying to find a good person. And the jumping through hoops and the emotional highs and lows. Know how annoying Tinder can be? And those unsolicited dick pics!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know I'm missing layers and tiers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I know the list will grow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People with babies will get in there as more of my friends circle starts having them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For now, stick to your level. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">#NaPoWriMo2017</span>Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-23389705417650953852017-04-01T19:55:00.000+05:302017-04-03T19:56:36.781+05:30National Poetry Month 2017I have been pretty horrible over the last year or so at maintaining this lovely repository of thought and writing. I've stopped calling myself a writer because I don't deserve it, since I've been so bad even at keeping up my two blog posts per month minimum. Anyway, enough self bashing. It's a month of poetry and while I have never actually considered myself a poet, it's an excuse to try writing something every single day. Whether with a prompt or just building out the countless notes and drafts I keep abandoning, I'll try to make this a month where you, dear blog, will get updated every day. I might delay the posts. And I might upload many together. But I promise to try and have thirty pieces of writing on here at the end of this month. <div>
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Here's to an attempt at reclaiming something I allowed myself to lose. </div>
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#NaPoWriMo2017</div>
Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-49559731937293254122016-11-02T20:30:00.003+05:302016-11-03T19:44:57.319+05:30Yes, it's another friendship post<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've written before (<a href="http://ayeshasruti.blogspot.hk/2015/02/i-dont-deal-very-well-with-change.html" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">here</span></a> and <a href="http://ayeshasruti.blogspot.hk/2014/09/goodbye.html" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">here</span></a>) 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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But this is different. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This time it isn't just about long distance friendships. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;">A</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">nd it isn't just about long gaps between conversations so that it's difficult to figure out if there is common ground. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">This time, it is the slow knife-twist of seeing actual events prove one of your worst fears - the best friendships can die. </span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is the guilt that comes with that knowledge and inability. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is believing a friendship would last a lifetime only to realise it lasted just a season.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is wanting to tell your stories to the important people to then understand that they do not care to hear. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is the excitement of discovery dissipating into the ether because those you thought would feel joy, don't even want to know. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is parallel lines that will never meet. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Or even worse, lines that intersected once, never to meet again. </span>Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-2332311259726832622016-08-24T09:25:00.001+05:302016-08-24T09:32:33.582+05:30Some posts need updating<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I wrote this post four years ago. I think it's time it was updated. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="http://ayeshasruti.blogspot.com/2012/12/i-cant-seem-to-be-able-look-at-my-hands.html">http://ayeshasruti.blogspot.com/2012/12/i-cant-seem-to-be-able-look-at-my-hands.html</a></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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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. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />
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. <br />
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When I look at my hands now, I see growth and strength. An independence tinged with loss, but fortified with acceptance. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />
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.<br />
</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I look at my hands everyday and love what they signify. They remind me that I am enough.</span></div>
</div>
Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-30436288261611742142016-06-07T20:01:00.001+05:302016-06-07T21:22:43.513+05:30It's Birthday Time!Of course I didn't forget. I am just a little late with sending it across is all. <div><br></div><div>Happy birthday, my love. </div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>But this post isn't about me. </div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>Happy birthday again, my love. </div><div><br></div><div>Sending love and hugs your way always. </div>Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-13687238321580334472015-09-20T01:13:00.001+05:302015-09-20T01:13:13.987+05:30Life lessonsMisery is a continuous cycle. Happiness ends in the moment. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Misery is continuous. Happiness is fleeting.<br />
<br />
We spread misery. We hoard happiness.Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-39297710369867103372015-07-12T02:45:00.000+05:302015-07-12T02:45:43.436+05:30The Gingerbread Man"Run run as fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!"<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
But that's the thing about running away. Once you start, you never stop.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
How you are just a coward.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
The gingerbread man eventually got caught and eaten by those who were chasing him.<br />
<br />
I wonder when my time will come. Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-35135957034062232522015-06-07T12:40:00.002+05:302015-06-07T12:40:35.457+05:30Happy birthday, love :)Another year, another birthday.<br />
<br />
Funny how this is the post that breaks the long cycle of not having put up anything on this blog since February.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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? :)<br />
<br />
So here is to you becoming a year older and definitely wiser :)<br />
<br />
Here is to more overpriced cups of coffee in a cafe in Bombay and the hours of conversations around them.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
Happy birthday, gopher. <br />
<br />
Lots of love and hugs.<br />
Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-12598546962896238722015-02-14T06:50:00.000+05:302015-02-27T19:59:19.274+05:30You 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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
A fear that I am not good enough for you. Too young, too immature, too annoying, too plain, too excitable, too far away.<br />
<br />
A fear that we were never supposed to get together, that we will never work.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
All of it is as simple as that. And as complicated as that.<br />
<br />
I have no idea what I would do without you.Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-62580212791710897312015-02-13T03:49:00.001+05:302015-02-14T06:52:01.235+05:30I don't deal very well with change. Which is not the most effective way to be because well, as the cliche goes, change is the most constant thing in the world.<br />
<br />
We are changing every minute, every second; both physically and mentally, constantly.<br />
<br />
The thing about change and friendships is that while people become friends for multiple reasons, those reasons can change over time. While once people connected over mutual shared interests, maybe they grow to become friends who need each other for support during difficult times. While sometimes adversity can build a friendship, when things get back to normal, that relationship might just not work anymore. There are work friends who you never meet outside work and friends with whom you never discuss work. <br />
<br />
The thing is, usually when people are friends, they get to grow and change together. Sometimes even affecting the changes in each other (and nope, I'm not talking about girls' periods syncing up). Friends figure out life together, or try to at least. They are with each other through changing ideologies and new discoveries, heartbreaks and recoveries. When the changes happen the process feels gradual, organic. You get to adapt and even if those changes don't sit well with you, you grow into them with time.<br />
<br />
Then there's the long-distance friendships <a href="http://ayeshasruti.blogspot.in/2014/09/goodbye.html">(LDFs)</a>. Friendships where talking happens once in six months and meetings, once in a year. Friendships which devolve into acquaintanceships. Friends who disappear because out of sight is out of mind. <br />
<br />
And while you're dealing with the challenges inherent in maintaining LDFs, you don't have the advantage of adapting to change. In that half-yearly conversation six months' of change and growth is thrown at you. In that yearly meeting, you have three hours to adapt to a different person from the one you knew a year ago. <br />
<br />
What if you don't even like the new person anymore? You haven't had that gradual acceptance and what if you, at the stage you are at, do not feel like you are friends at all? What then? You speak to each other and your mind cannot process and you feel like maybe the new people you have turned into cannot be friends. You sit across from someone you grew up with and suddenly you realize that the people you are, aren't compatible. <br />
<br />
What then?<br />
<br />
How do you deal with the fact that you don't even like the person you once loved? <br />
<br />
Is it shock? A reaction to too much information in too little time? Something that will go away with that magic word - time?<br />
<br />
Or is it the death knell of a friendship?<br />
<br />
How do you cope?<br />
<br />
Sigh.Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-26849574118432445832015-01-06T02:07:00.000+05:302015-02-13T03:54:37.989+05:30The moon and IThere was a full moon today. And being on the late night shift meant that I followed the moon to work. And followed it back home as the sun rose.<br />
<br />
It looked so beautiful in the sky that I had to work doubly hard to concentrate on the road to keep from being distracted by it.<br />
<br />
And as I watched it I thought of us. Of our conversations about it. <br />
Of Goa, when we spoke of the tides and how the moon calls to the sea. <br />
Of Hampi, when we discussed why we had to give it a gender at all and how I got lost in that conversation. <br />
Of how our childhoods were spent visualizing the moon as 'chanda mama'; how it is also known as a woman with blemishes and how she casts such a spell. <br />
Of that really corny movie dialogue which is something to the effect of 'when I look at the moon even when you aren't around I know that wherever you are, you are looking at the same moon.' <br />
<br />
More than anything else, I realized how much can be connected to something as incongruous and common as a full moon day.<br />
The desire to be with you, the memories of conversations, the fleeting snapshots of meetings, the romanticism of the poets and the science behind the tides.<br />
<br />
You will always be my moon. <br />
Lighting up the dark of my night. <br />
Disappearing when the morning comes. <br />
Living on reflected beauty but being all the more beautiful for it because one can actually look directly at the moon with no fear of being blinded.<br />
Mysterious and so very very far away.<br />
<br />
I will always be the tide. <br />
Constantly running to catch you. <br />
Dancing at your whims and fancies.<br />
Stretching out to you at your slightest call.<br />
<br />
And always, always, falling just a little bit short of actually finding you.Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-8153368089095636192014-10-08T12:27:00.000+05:302014-10-14T00:45:02.867+05:30Six!Wow. <br />
<br />
I cannot believe I didn't even realize it till today. <br />
<br />
You turned six this year, Things and Thoughts *GASP*<br />
<br />
I cannot believe it has actually been this long that I have been writing and updated this virtual collection of thoughts, memories and ideas. I have been very lax this year with the updates, breaking my two posts a day rule and I am ashamed of that. But well, regardless of the frequency of my updates, the point is that I have been updating this lovely dumping ground for ideas for a whole six years :O<br />
<br />
I've been told multiple times to shift to Wordpress because it's easier to customize. But how do I just leave these six years of history behind? Nope. Not happening. <br />
<br />
I do blog occasionally on my Tumblr blog (ayeshasruti.tumblr.com) and yes that is a bit of blatant self-promotion there. But this space is still where I come to vent. With its upwards of 35 drafts and as of this post, 272 updates, this blog has been a large part of my writing and growing up experience.<br />
<br />
Thank you to those few who bother to read my rants and useless theories.<br />
<br />
And thank you, dear blog.<br />
<br />
Cheers and happy sixth!<br />
<br />
:D<br />
<br />
P.S. - I got some great news today. And I need to put it somewhere to remember it, and well, that's the point of this blog. So YAY! It's like blogception where I'm celebrating blog being around by thanking blog for being around by using it to celebrate something else. Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-11288232243360513282014-09-25T08:40:00.001+05:302014-09-25T08:40:45.638+05:30I read something today that made me think of you. Then again, there are too many things that make me think of you. A picture, a song, so many random things. <br />
<br />
Anyway, I was reading an article that talked about the things one thinks of before falling asleep. Because those last few minutes before you fall asleep are your quietest, most personal moments, away from the noise of the people around you and the constant barrage of information that assails you through the day. And how the person you think of in that time, in those few moments before sleep takes over, is extremely privileged.<br />
<br />
Because you see, when you think of this person through the day, it isn't as important or relevant since those thoughts are soon replaced with the million other things going through your head. But in the quiet of the night, when you really have time to think, and this is who you dedicate your thoughts to, then the person is special, important.<br />
<br />
I think that we usually, not always, but often, end up dreaming about those last thoughts in our head. Or we try to think of things that we might want to dream about which adds to the fact that you think of this person because you might want to also dream of him/her.<br />
<br />
And every day, I find myself thinking of you. Because I can't be with you like I want to, I tend to think of you just as I fall asleep, hoping that maybe that night, I will dream of you. And it's why I like talking to you when I get into bed or before I get into bed. It's all very silly. But it's true.<br />
<br />
You are the last thing I think of before I fall asleep.<br />
Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-17763500564570281852014-09-18T18:00:00.000+05:302014-09-18T18:00:02.380+05:30Broken record<br />
<br />
Stuck<br />
<br />
Stuck<br />
<br />
StuckAyeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-21417317327492545542014-09-16T01:31:00.001+05:302014-09-16T17:16:55.228+05:30GoodbyeI've been putting this off for a few months now. I keep writing this and then deleting it and then writing it again and then saving it and then coming up with lines in that dim haze just before falling asleep so that I can forget them when I wake up the next day. This is one of those posts that will not make things better when I write it all out. On the contrary, it'll probably make things worse by concretizing something very painful. Probably why I have broken my own "writing is therapeutic purging" rule in this particular regard.<br />
<br />
Now that the explanation is done, let me get straight to Part 1. <br />
<br />
Long distance relationships are very difficult. <br />
Now the thing is, whenever anyone hears the words "long distance relationship," the mind immediately jumps to the romantic relationship. And images of late-night conversations, phone bills and constant angst. More often than not, all of those associations are true and justified. But what people seem to forget is that friendships between people in different places are also long distance relationships. So if you live in one city and your best friend lives in another, that is also a long distance relationship. The reason I bring this up and explain it is because long distance friendships, LDFs, are sometimes much more difficult than the long distance romances, LDRs. <br />
<br />
When people are not in physical proximity to each other, the principle of "out of sight, out of mind" immediately comes into play. Now with LDRs, people make more of an effort to reduce that by making it a point to talk regardless of work and fatigue because there is love, lust and desire at play. There is a certain selfishness that makes it difficult to take the LDR for granted because the factors at play differ from those of the LDF. <br />
Things change when it comes to friends. Since you were so close or since you believe you know each other so well that the friend will understand, it becomes that much easier to take the LDF for granted. It becomes easy to take the person himself/herself for granted because "hey, you know what I'm like na. I suck at keeping in touch and I've been so busy and so much has been happening and I know you understand." And the ironic truth is that the friendship itself hinges on that very understanding of each other.<br />
<br />
The essential difference is that because it's easier to take each other for granted, the parties in an LDF have to make that much more effort to stay in each other's lives. Like with LDRs where people do cheesy things they otherwise would laugh at and arrange date nights every week or call as often as possible and constantly text, LDFs also need friend chat nights, long rambling mails, more WhatsApp and more SMSes if WhatsApp isn't an option.<br />
<br />
<br />
Now for Part 2 of this letter/ramble/post. <br />
<br />
It is much more difficult to get over a friendship than a romance. <br />
In a romance, when the two people decide they can't be together, they have "the talk". They talk about breaking up and the reasons why. Even if the breakup isn't mutual, the dreaded talk still happens. Where one person says "I can't do this anymore." There is a modicum of closure. You KNOW that the relationship is over and can begin the process of moving on. <br />
But with a friendship, there is no talk. Because more often than not, you don't even realize that the relationship is over. There is no closure because the next time you two meet, you'll probably have an okay time but when you leave, it goes back to no calls, no conversations. One day you wake up and realize that the only updates you are getting are from Facebook or Instagram or Twitter. You see a 'Last seen at XX' on WhatsApp and realize that you have not had a conversation in a while. You think of the last time you spoke and you can't remember when it was and you see a huge black chasm of empty where your supposedly forever friendship was. And another thing, it's very possible that the second person realizes none of these things. Which is another reason why it's more difficult for one person to get over the failed relationship. <br />
<br />
With the end of a romance, you turn to your friends for support. <br />
With the end of a friendship, where do you go?<br />
<br />
<br />
Now Part 3.<br />
<br />
Why I have rambled so much.<br />
<br />
Because I'm grieving. I woke up one day and realized that the "family" I chose for myself doesn't exist anymore. After growing up with barely any friends, when I found a set of people who understood and loved me, I decided I would never let go. And the thing is, I did try. But then, I realized that if people want you in their lives, they'll make just as much of an effort as you do to have you in their lives. That when I take a step forward, the other person must too. And to fall back on the age-old cliche, "You can't clap with one hand." That while you might want to hold on to someone, they have to want to be held on to. <br />
<br />
It's because I realized that while I was expected to understand busy schedules and new boyfriends/girlfriends, new office friends, workplace shenanigans and gruelling college timetables, my one-time friends forgot that I have the same issues too. I work and have weird shifts. I also have office friends to maintain relationships with. I have my mom to make time for. I have a non-college group boyfriend. While I was expected to drop everything to maintain a friendship I believed important, the second party didn't care enough to do the same. <br />
<br />
While I was expected to understand that X or Y or Z sucks at keeping in touch, X and Y and Z forgot that sometimes I prefer texting to talking on the phone. That I on principle will reply to any message I get, no matter how busy I am, to the extent that it borders on a compulsion. <br />
<br />
Friendships survive when there are one-on-one conversations. While group conversations have their own unique charm, they are also safe because you don't have to make that much of an effort to understand one person. You can disappear in the five other chattering voices and speak up once in a while without it being a problem. <br />
<br />
So the reason I have been putting this post off for so long and have ranted for so long, is because I am trying to heal. And the fact that writing this down is a symbolic gesture that means a lot. <br />
I am trying to move on from the broken friendships that I can never get closure from. I am trying not to feel jealous when I see an update or picture on Facebook/Instagram, wondering how if there was time to post that update, there was no time to say hello. I am trying to be indifferent to those 'Last seen at XX' moments, wondering if that conversation could have been with me. I am trying to live without the pieces of myself I gave away in vain to people who I thought deserved them. <br />
<br />
Which is why any breakup in this social media obsessed age is impossible. But then that's a topic for another day. <br />
<br />
I am trying to work harder at saving the few LDFs that did survive and are surviving the distance. Because the fact that they lasted this long, means that maybe I wasn't completely idiotic with my choice of family. <br />
<br />
This is an attempt at saying goodbye. <br />
<br />
I know I will never completely move on. It's almost impossible to, as I just illustrated. But at least I can try letting go of the pain, hurt, bitterness and anger. <br />
<br />
I suck at letting go. Because anyone who has followed this blog knows that I am hoarder who is terrified of forgetting. <br />
<br />
But well, it's high time that I make self-preservation my overarching impulse. <br />
<br />
So...<br />
<br />
Goodbye.Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-4980673855363120772014-06-28T01:20:00.002+05:302014-06-28T01:20:44.751+05:30Which is worse?A life never lived or a life wasted?<br />
Opportunities never had or opportunities squandered?<br />
Potential that was never allowed to be fulfilled or potential that was lost?<br />
Dreams never followed through or dreams had and broken?<br />
Families never made or families pushed away?<br />
Love that never bloomed or love that was allowed to wither?<br />
Houses never built or houses gone to ruin?<br />
<br />
Which is worse?<br />
Life lost young or life going on too long?<br />
Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-91852647797401100932014-06-07T00:01:00.000+05:302014-06-07T00:01:00.684+05:30Happy birthday, you :)Another year, another post.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, beloved gopher. I know underground is cozy, but pop up and say hello more often :)<br />
<br />
Love and lots of Ayesha hugs.Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-86547379970209531892014-05-20T00:08:00.000+05:302014-05-20T00:08:57.608+05:30Do 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?<br />
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Yeah. About that. <br />
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It's BULLSHIT.<br />
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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.<br />
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Risks can fail. Miserably. Nothing good can ever come out of true honesty. <br />
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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. <br />
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Whatever you do, don't tell.<br />
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Don't show how intensely and how much you feel. Don't show the fear, the absolute panic. <br />
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You cannot judge, you cannot speak, you cannot let on how much goes on in your head. <br />
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How can you show them all that darkness, all those jagged pieces?<br />
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You cannot scare them away. <br />
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Because if they leave then how will you find anyone to love you again.<br />
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Swallow them down, those words, those feelings. <br />
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Do not show, do not tell. Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-77752761214860685692014-05-14T01:06:00.000+05:302014-05-14T01:09:21.698+05:30I 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.<br />
<br />
I check the door again, because I'm paranoid.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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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.<br />
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Now that I'm full I just want to crawl into bed.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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We fit together, as if we were created as one entity and then in two only so that we could find each other again. <br />
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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. <br />
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I close my eyes and fall asleep with a smile on my face.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
I check the door again, because I'm paranoid.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Now that I'm full I just want to crawl into bed.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
Tomorrow I do this all over again. The really weird work hours, the monotony and the stupid cab complaints.<br />
<br />
I close my eyes and fall asleep. Alone.Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-57032306058472876822014-03-25T12:12:00.001+05:302014-03-25T12:12:23.544+05:30Alcohol is bad for you. Alcoholism can ruin your life. Alcohol changes who you are, it's addictive, it's dangerous.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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They don't say that it might take you years to ever be in a comfortable enough place to drink with your closest friends.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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They don't teach you how to forgive yourself for being angry and hurt. To forgive yourself your hate.<br />
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People don't talk about these things.<br />
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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.Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-31927496809258777372014-01-30T16:31:00.002+05:302014-01-30T16:31:27.554+05:30Love is ugly, deformed, cruel.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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Love happens and then everything goes down shit street.<br />
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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. <br />
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It will teach you the intense pleasure of the smallest moments and the intense pain of the big ones. <br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.”<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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It is an addiction of the worst kind, that to a person, a feeling. Much harder to give up than any physical addiction.<br />
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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. <br />
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It is all-consuming. It burns all it touches. All-powerful.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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Love is dirty, ugly, base.<br />
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Love is death.Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8049632604594346041.post-47786048572308268882014-01-22T12:57:00.000+05:302014-01-22T12:57:15.337+05:30Sometimes 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.<br />
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Bullshit.<br />
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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. <br />
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Those pieces are never coming back and don't listen to those people who tell you that it's okay because it isn't. <br />
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They'll tell you, "at least you didn't lose something more. The rest is still there." And that only makes it worse. <br />
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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. <br />
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But those missing pieces will never come back. You'll just probably build around those holes.<br />
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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.<br />
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So grieve. Mourn. Cry. And rebel against the unfairness of it all.<br />
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Those people will never understand.<br />
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But you know. You remember.<br />
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Your missing pieces deserve it.Ayeshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11337646098253463935noreply@blogger.com0