Remember this

"Don't let the issue take control over you. And if it still decides not to play nice. You grab it by the neck and threaten to drop it from the highest building. 

And if that doesn't work. Nuke it. Nuke the hell out of it. And if everything fails. It's time to fly away from this planet and find us habitat else where."

- A good friend.

What the world wants

I don’t want to take pictures, I want to be here and now. I don’t want to sit down when I’m talking passionately, and I really don’t want to lower my voice when I’m talking excitedly about something.
I don’t want to feel anxious about saying something I really meant and felt like saying. I never want to hold back because of how I might be misunderstood. I don’t want to change the music I listen to, and I want to spend time alone. I don’t want to do things together, and I wish you’d tell me when I do something wrong. I don't want to feel pressured into making a show of the things I am, the things I love, and what I hate.

I want to be lost in books, and I want to dwell in silence. I want to forever keep smiling at everyone and wave when there’s absolutely no prospect of them seeing me wave. I want to philosophize my way into life, and I’d like you to indulge me every now and then.

I want a place of my own, a spot hidden from everyone’s eyes where I can just be. Somewhere to go when I feel the burden of my thoughts too heavily. When I can’t answer the ‘what’s wrong’ question. I wish I wasn’t so easily read, but in a way, I’m glad I can be transparent.

I am well aware of my naivety, and I wonder if anybody can be called naive when they’re aware of it. I don’t think of it as a good or a bad thing, it’s just part of who I am.


I will continue to complicate things because my mind's default is to over-think everything, and though I tried to fight it, it only led to more over-thinking.
I will not conform, at least I'm trying not to.

Foolish hope

I want to write about those moments we catch ourselves waiting for something we have absolutely no reason to expect other than our irrational and foolish hope. The anticipation, the bubbles, the giddiness, and then the depression. How we surprise ourselves, feeling down and frustrated because of how it hasn’t happened yet, how we try to convince ourselves that it doesn’t matter. And how we fail miserably.

We know expectations are irrational but we always have them. We fight against them but they implant a seed in us before we manage to vanquish them. And we’re left waiting for things we’re absolutely certain we have no reason to wait for and yet…we wait.

How funny human behavior is sometimes, how foolish hope is. And yet without it, where would we be?

Colors and my world

Our sheets are the pink that they like to call hot. They leave traces of their pink on our clothes when we sleep. My bed is high and when I sit on it, my legs dangle. It’s a freedom in itself being able to dangle your feet and swing them a little. How I wish I owned a swing, my house will have a swing no matter what, even if it was a flat and we had to put it on the roof, or in the balcony or wherever.

Green must be my favorite color, my glasses are green, my phone cover, my notebook. It’s like green is trying to tell me to accept it as my new favorite color. But I refuse the concept of favorites, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t have a favorite color, there are shades of each color that are simply dazzling. I don’t like confining myself to one thing. This is an example of me complicating everything in life.

I don’t know how we managed to have so much clutter in our room, I guess there’s a hoarder inside of me. God help me. The problem is how my desk is always such a mess, I have a problem with keeping things around me tidy. It just never works out that way.

The other day a girl wanted to borrow a book, and I don’t like recommending books to people I don’t know. I found her with Shantaram in her hands, but I managed to persuade her to take Middlesex (I like that book, but I feel no emotional attachment to it as I do to Shantaram). I guess I didn’t want to give her Shantaram, it’s too close to my heart to be read by someone who might stop midway and leave it. Or worse, call it a good book. Shantaram is NOT a good book. Shantaram is…. everything. I didn’t realize I had such strong feelings towards it till lately, when I went back and read the review I wrote about it. I poured my heart out. I’m looking forward to re-reading it, but I don’t know when. This year the resolution has been to read the books that I’ve been procrastinating about. I don’t care about numbers anymore, I want to read the stuff I know I’ll love.

 Will the world offer itself to me, and if it does, will I realize it?