Manacles...

Trapped. In situations, I promised myself never to be in. In relationships, I had no say in. With people, I should always have stayed away from. In a love, I can't get out of.

Trapped, what if I am, in this perpetually dark and dingy space for the finite lifetime I've been gifted with. What if in time, I am too accustomed to the darkness to care about the light at its end.

Trapped are the words between my lips, slyly slipping in situations I lose myself in. But I don't think you catch them, I am afraid you never will.

Trapped, here in this moment with you.  I stare, at your golden skin, shining in the tunnel that now I've come to realize is actually beaming. I stare harder, hoping you can feel my eyes bleeding with love, waiting to be returned. So you stare, stare back at me. But I'm too afraid to see what awaits me. By the time I gather the courage to look at you, you've looked away. And I find myself in shackles again.

I can feel it tearing at me, gathering strength, despite my every attempt to dilute it with indifference. My eyes are drooping, failing and falling. I let them be since I've learned through experience that there are certain things you can see only behind closed lids. People your open eyes yearn to see. Feelings your skin alive, yearns to feel. And its thoughts like these that make the blood rush to my mind, keep me awake night after night.

Through all these disconnected thoughts and barely exciting days, through the sea- saw of emotions and spring and rain, once I make it,  I'll break these fetters of emotions and find my way to you.

Broken Strings.

I keep questioning myself everyday as the morning peels away to show the darkness within. I want answers to questions I already know hold no meaning. The meaning died with your parting footsteps, the slam of the phone, the pain that comes with rejection. The pain I felt years ago, the familiarity of which refuses to leave me alone.

The clutter of confusion surrounds me and I find peace in it. Peace in knowing that my life can take whatever route it pleases.  Peace in the unknown, the unseen and the unfelt. But the feeling of hands trying to desperately clear the mess so I can see clearly, causes me much unrest. They refuse to accept that in this chaos is the map to my next destination, the journey to which is mine alone.

These baby steps I take are often clouded by the mirage of you. And every now I then I fool myself into believing in its reality. I want to make you stay and that is when I snap out of it, the sound of the slam ringing in my ears.

How can you proclaim to know someone when you know yourself much less? Is it even possible? How can you make promises when you don’t even know if you are capable of keeping them? How can you call it love, when you have nothing to compare it against?

To never love until you know yourself, to never hate until you know them well. Criteria we never fulfilled. 

The scattered beads of unrequited love covers every inch of my soul. And on days like these my bed seems like a better place to stay in...

Real Retreat

I've noticed that I've started most of my last few blog posts with 'it's been a long time' yada yada and this time it has been super long. But I'm only writing right now because I don't want the last post to be the first post people read when they stumble upon my blog. I'm not very proud of it.

So why don't I just go ahead and delete it, you ask? As embarrassing as it may be it's something I wrote and quite possibly found quite funny when I posted it. And just like many mistakes in my life, this one cannot be erased.

Talking about mistakes the theater class I'm doing this summer totally seems like one. I've plunged so far away from my comfort zone thanks to this course that it scares me. Notice I use the word 'plunge'.

I hate being out of my comfort zone, everybody does. Somehow for most it turns out be quite a revelation for me its more of a 'take a deep breath and get over with it' moment.

I'm okay with the 'make 500 collages and present them to the class 1 day from now', it's the realistic acting I don't get. How many of us are realistically portraying our true feelings everyday, anyway? I feel like I'm walking on thin ice, the need to be politically correct is on the rise. And as people keep getting more and more sensitive with regards to their religion, sexual orientation and economic status the ice just keeps getting thinner. Why is it so hard to listen to the truth much less say it out loud?

And then come the pictures, the goddamn pictures on Facebook, twitter and the new cool guy on the block Instagram. I've always questioned the truth behind pictures. The smiles that people hold onto for a second and as soon as the camera flashes 'BAM' the frowns are on again. I remember this one time my friends from university were clicking a picture and me and my friend both being the 'non cheesy', 'eww stop touching me' kind of people, HELD EACH OTHER. FOR A PICTURE. And as soon as the the camera flashed, there we were awkward and wondering what the hell that was all about. The picture however, is one of my favorite, the best of ours.

It just seems like all the common people are going places, hanging out with their friends, going to university and most importantly eating GOOD FOOD. Privacy? Phish.
 And then there are the celebrities that are desperately trying to hang onto every piece of their lost privacy. They've got attention and don't want it and we the common people are starving for it. 

And as I go up and down the elevator practicing for my theater assignment I realize it's there where at least, I am my most real self. Awkward and unsure.

I guess all of us have our own retreats, where we let down our masks and show our real selves even if it is just for a flash of a second. CHEESE !
                                

Lessons learned, goodbyes delivered.

Days seem to race past while paranoid me tries desperately to hold onto them. Revel, enjoy the present moment while anticipating the subsequent.

Honestly, I'm not a dreamer. I don't spend much time enjoying the present which is why I find many moments in my life have passed by receiving no appreciation whatsoever. And suddenly as I sit in my balcony, the cool breeze grazing my skin and feeling my hair relishing the moment, I begin to dream.

I stare at the open sky, blaring music fills in the silence, silence that reminds me of friends made and lost. Loss, regret, pain, sadness, words I never want to think about. Too much time is wasted on the negative, on trying to escape from our own personal traps without realizing that the escape leads to another trap.

But it's these very words that make my fingers tap on the keyboard, that bring out a surge of emotion that I can't seem to control. 

I've realized in this one year that has passed by that people are better at a chameleon's job than chameleons themselves. And I get it, you change colors according to the surroundings that you are placed in. That is the only way to survive, I've learned the hard way.

Right now I feel like that house in the middle of the woods that is surrounded by tall pine trees, hidden but seemingly noticeable to a tired traveler. A house where people find solace for a brief moment, say their thank-you's and leave. 

That is the thing about these houses, nobody ever stays behind.

Gloom, Love and Lots of Words.

It feels like eternity since my hands tapped on the keyboard frantically, trying to jot down every thought that flows through my brain magically and every time I find myself short of time, paper or enthusiasm. 

The ray of hope and happiness seems to have disappeared, my aims merely thoughts that failed to materialize.  It's been long since I read or came across something that would move me. Something that goes beyond dead movie stars and flying men. Am I amazed? Yes. Does it leave a lasting impact on me? Absolutely not. And yet we spend so much time sobbing over irrelevant atrocities and rejoicing over outrageous theatricals.

The cramps are making their way up from my feet to my legs, I'm too tired to blink but my fingers are relentless. How I've missed unloading, I hope you don't feel used. 

It feels good to have found something that will welcome me when I'm tired and stressed out. Something that won't complain when I sometimes find myself unable to communicate. Something that makes me stay awake at night despite the creeping fatigue engulfing my body. I guess it's called passion. That makes me wonder if it's what I took you to be and I feel a shiver crawling down my neck.

I hate the unwanted, uninvited shivers that are often accompanied with uncomfortable and less remembered memories. I shouldn't have spoken of you today, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way yesterday. But what use is repentance without redemption and you left me no choice. Rather I left you with no option.

And the letter you wrote to me I still carry it around more out of habit than attachment. And when my trembling hands manage to yank out the crumpled paper from beneath the crisp notes, I often find myself wondering. Is it just the moment that makes us say things and do them, and when the moment has passed each seems to be forgotten?

If it's so and your love for that moment is justified forgotten and your subsequent hate forgiven. Then so shall my hate for you be forgotten and infinite love forgiven....

Unnamed and Untamed

Psy kept yelling into my ears as I made my way upstairs. My friends reassured me to help calm my nerves although words never left a lasting impact on me. I fixed my hair and clothes very quickly, cleared my voice and controlled my limbs from behaving like they did not belong to me. Imagine him doing something silly like the Gangam style dance move, I told myself.That helped creep me out!

I did not sleep well the entire night, the effect a person you know very little about and who knows nothing about you can have on you. I had imagined possibly every direction that meeting could go, atleast I thought I had. I only saw it going two ways, it would remain as bad as it was or get worse. So much for  being positive! When it comes to something highly superlative, going with the worst option is less heart breaking I suppose.

What was I really afraid of? Rejection? Why would he reject me when I never asked for his approval? I just wanted it without me having to demand for it. Some questions don't have answers and most feelings no reason.

September 30th and as the clock kept ticking I kept waiting for October 1st. Digital Filters, signals, absolutely summable and some indecipherable murmurs crashed against the walls of my ears. I wasn't taking anything in, not until 11.50 a.m.

Butterflies fluttered somewhere deep down. I swallowed all the nervousness down my throat and opened the door, his reaction made me want to run back home right away. I stayed, had a sour face on but stayed. His hand movements and the words shooting from his mouth snatched words out of mine.

I watched the ice break, toppled right in front of me.The day only went uphill from there on. 

If there was one superpower I could posses it would most certainly be reading his mind.

Bittersweet delight

At the top of my head, a million things. A few disdain, most exciting each taking up great amount of space in my cluttered mind. A great amount of my brain power is being used up fearing tomorrow. Fear intertwined with excitement with a slight pinch of a delightful feeling. That ecstatic feeling, the overwhelming jumps in your stomach; people say its mice some say its butterflies. My mind hasn't settled on a favorite yet though mice scrambling anywhere in or out of my body does make me cringe.

I'm trying to organize out of habit more than anything else but right now I'm not even sure who I am. The things I was so used to doing, my way of living life is slowly slipping away from my fingers.

Slipping away from your fingers, a negative connotation attached to this phrase. I'm glad that the life I lived, the way I was used to living it has escaped every clawing finger that is addicted to familiarity. Unfamiliar, that describes the past few months of my life. Walking into unknown territory, keeping a brave face on. I hope with all the restored sanity in me that I am doing a pretty good job.

The sun is trying to light my face on fire so I duck because I know its relentless and will stop at nothing. The tiring heat helps me drift into a spiral of thoughts sort of like a never ending domino effect, one thought leads to another. You are never alone if you have your thoughts for company and so I continue to have a conversation with myself shamelessly.

The patches of green trying hard to stand out among the vast golden desert that is passing by me. And suddenly I'm observing myself, the sudden gush of happiness, the roaring confidence, peace that hope brings along with itself. I'd never felt so happy than I was at that particular moment. I was fully aware that the moment was fleeting and it would soon be replaced with the fear that my undetermined future brings. 

But the effect was lasting, must be something to do with groundless happiness. No reason yet you smile free from the fear of having it  taken away.

I want to stay here for long, for long as I'm alive if possible. It's taken me ages to find my way here and as I put my walls up I realize it might take ages for someone to get to me. 

Red Blues and Colorful hues

I always fear for myself. Worrying that tomorrow I might not be as happy as today, won't wake up to the glowering sun shining in my face. What if I end up living the rest of my life with someone I cannot love or worse with someone who does not love me? Will these fears ever leave my bedside for if I am looking for freedom in its true sense then I must let these fears go, ride away in the darkness with all that inhibits me.

It's hard for me to pinpoint the exact reason as to why this particular emotion, love is so important to me. I feel like I'm walking and this person comes and stands in front of me so I move right and the person mimics my steps and blocks me again. 

I flashback to when I was fourteen young and naive, oblivious to strong feelings in fact I found it funny, to be in love crazy enough to let your sights wander from your actual aim whatever it might be. I still find it funny, absurd and silly most of us do and yet we allow it to manifest within ourselves. Keep chasing after it in reality and in dreams. Though the idea of love in reality seems quite unreal. A realist is hardly ever a romantic and love hardly ever a reality. Love's probably an extension of dreams maybe even a prequel but definitely not reality, it feels surreal and once it's over you scramble to hold onto the remains to assure yourself that it did happen.

Reality is too mundane to be associated with love and love too heart wrenching to be called a dream so we are caught up in between fighting to be free.

P.S. I blame it on Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, movies that carry sweet melancholia on their back. Must watch.

What's in a name?

I remember as a teenager my main aim was to be loved, to have the most friends ever, to be popular, cool, rad whatever adjective you were aspiring to be. It's so silly that as teenagers we are so occupied with trying to be different, listening to music we despise, to fit into a group that will never like us and doing lots of other things that at present make my skin cringe.
I tried my hand at a lot of things in the attempt to be different and possibly with the desire to attract friends like honey attracts bees. I tried to dance when undoubtedly I was so bad at it; I am actually haunted by its memory till date. I also sang a song with sound effects for a competition, surprisingly I won but I bet it was more for the comedy than talent. Okay! I'm bleeding with embarrassment. 

So parents, who are obviously obsessed with the well being of their children have now found an absurd way to make their children seem cool from the very first day of their lives. By giving them special names. I'd say ridiculous, but treating your cat like your little sister is ridiculous to many, so I'm going to try and be open minded. Apparently, these names are going to help us fit in. Wrong.

When was the last time someone came up to you at school and said," Wow! I think you have a beautiful name, let's be friends"? That is, with the plain reason to just be your friend and nothing more. A good name might not affect your social life in any way but a bad name might.

I honestly was not really happy with the name that I was given. Not my first name, my second name. I don't really get the idea of having a second name, seriously what is the purpose of it? If anyone comes up with a good reason, please let me know, I need to defend myself when people ask me the same. It's highly embarrassing for me, especially when people ask me if my second name is my dad's name. I don't blame my parents for giving me a second name, if I had any sense as a baby I'd probably scream out in protest, even though most people tell me my name is not even half as embarrassing as many others that have come up in recent times. So I decided to Google, "special names for babies" just to make myself feel better and did I come across the weirdest names ever.

Naming a baby girl He is not normal unless her parents are gay. Virgin, seriously! I cannot imagine to what extent this poor child will be bullied. Gal for a baby boy, these parents’s might as well give lessons on bullying to children because it seems to be exactly what they are doing to their child.

Another popular notion believed by many parents is that the name you give a child affects their personality. I actually know a couple who named their daughter Nimrah which is Arabic for lion, and apparently because of the profound effect her name had on her she ate like an animal so eventually they decided to change her name. It could be hereditary no? 

I however, feel that people represent their names, Hitler for example. The name probably had a different initial meaning or did not have a meaning at all but post Hitler era it does. Hitler defines someone with tyrannical characteristics, weird as it may seem I don't see anyone naming their child Hitler to disprove.

I can't change the perception and thoughts of the present parent, the damage is sadly done, but I most certainly can of the future parent. At the end of the day your name is your identity.

P.S.Not all names are horrendous and degrading, I personally love the name Blade. Also, my blog address is the meaning of my name and essenze is not a typo it's a deliberate attempt at being different. Not much has changed. Sigh.

Wrath of the Halo

Friend (with hideous amount of makeup on) : How do I look?

Angel: She looks amazing, tell her that.

Devil : Tell her she looks like a kid with face paint on.

You: You look great!

So there's a thin line between dishonesty and hurting someone. What do you choose? Often i find myself in such a situation and there's a constant fight between well, me and myself as to which side to pick. On one hand I am telling the truth and on the other hand I save someone from being hurt. Many times, when people ask me what do you think about so and so, ( I really do not know why such a topic ever comes up) especially people i particularly dislike, I end up siding with indifference. The most common reply to my indifference is that I am being fake. Am I?

Apparently I am. I am supposed to say what I feel and do what I like or else risk being called fake. Now let's imagine another scenario.

I walk into a shop where I find a ps3 CD that is totally out of my budget, but i really want it.

What I feel like doing : Grab the CD and run for my life.
What I actually end up doing : Sulk on my way home.

So now, there's also a fine line between happiness, which is doing what I want and sadness which is doing what is right.

I am in no way encouraging dishonesty, neither am I saying that you should say something on your friends face and something behind their back. But is it okay to laugh at your friends not so funny jokes even if it means your face muscles are cursing you? Is it okay to say that you love someone when actually the word love makes your insides cringe?

If I say I love you will it be enough or should I rip my heart out to prove it to you. Maybe a few comforting words will make you mine for a day and then we can go back to pretending we poisoned each other's lives. Are we ever completely honest with ourselves?
Doesn't' it happen that sometimes you are supposed to or even demanded to behave in a particular way that conflicts with your interests. Sometimes I find my own wants and interests conflicting with my abilities. This makes it even harder for me to make decisions, for me to decide what I truly want to do or want to feel like.
Sometimes part of me wants something while the other half demands the complete opposite. Is it because you left a part of you in me?

People who know me know how much I love food(especially seafood) but I think my nose eats food more than my mouth can take and even though I am really hungry my appetite gives up. There, even my stomach refuses to agree with me often than not these days.
What we decide to do in a particular situation often decides the path we take on, a path we must follow for the rest of our lives. Ultimately, all of us are aiming for perfection. Every one of us has our own definition of perfection. The perfect life, perfect story, perfect marriage, perfect kids, perfect job and on and on. Some looking for it, some trying to achieve perfection through imperfect means and some trying to own it.
Perfect for me is not being pretty, intelligent, charismatic or a combination of these. It's not something external, its something you must find within yourself. For me perfect is being completely honest with oneself without having to trample over the soul of another. Aaah. You wouldn't be a human then, would you? You'd be an angel.


P.S. We have a better chance looking for an angel than being one given the circumstances. Just saying. Also, thankfully nobody I know wears hideous amounts of makeup. Why do people do that to themselves, seriously!

Once Loved , Never Forgotten.

Gloomy Mornings. The ones that make you feel lethargic even when you've had a good 8 hours of sleep.  Somehow, how your morning goes determines what the rest of your day will be like. A good morning means a good day, or does it?

For me any morning that I can get myself to wake up from my bed with a purpose is a good morning. I know I'm in a rut when waking up in the morning is a chore unless of course it's 6 a.m. then it's a chore regardless of my mood. These are the mornings when I wake up asking myself what happened? When did spring turn into summer? When did it all wither away?

Do you ever wonder what withering flowers feel like? What they must feel when they see beautiful blossoming flowers. Flowers that even if found on the ground are worth picking up and placing in a vase in someone's home or even better become a part of a colorful garland. What they must feel when the same people trample on them without feeling the slightest guilt. Sometimes people just walk away and they never look behind, never look down. Hah. Degrading self pity.

The last person you should pity on this earth is yourself. It either takes you on a self destructive path or destroys people around you. There, I think that’s what happened. Caring about people that don’t care about you, a form of self pity. Guilty.

Summer might be more bearable if you keep thinking of winter, if under the heat you imagine you are actually covered in snow and not dripping in sweat. Why do people even say that, is it normal to be in denial and to not accept the situation you are in, instead we ponder over our past hoping it will make us feel better. Often, I find myself taking solace in this world of denial. Here everything works out just the way I want. Problem is there’s always that one realistic person that comes along to burst my bubble with their huge pin of advice.

The road that I’m standing on, there’s a strong wind. A wind that keeps dragging me to one place. The place where my cup of hope is filled to the brim every time it’s empty. 

 P.S. Don't forget to feed my fish =)

Because a paper bound diary is no more trustworthy.

Vacations. I blame it on them. They force me to do things that i would not do otherwise to save me from boredom. Usually i place my thoughts in a small hidden corner of my laptop but i need an audience, more so a hobby. I also need an editor if anyone wants to help.

Of all the mediums i could use to cure me of this disease- and by mediums i mean singing, dancing and painting, I chose writing . Not because I'm particularly good at it, in fact of all the things I've mentioned above I'm probably the worst at writing. Most of my friends will probably find hundreds of spelling and grammatical errors, which will nevertheless be appreciated. I chose writing because I need a reminder.

Everyone needs a reminder. Reminder of their past, of people known, cared for and then lost. Songs are pretty strong reminders, so are smells. I want it to be my writing. I want to look back years from now and feel these same things again through my words. I wonder what my reaction will be like. Laughter, tears or maybe I’ll be too busy to care. I hope I am too busy, it’s something I’m working on. Hardening up, getting a thicker skin, accepting the harsh realities and moving on.

Suddenly, I am really aware of myself. The feeling you get when you talk to someone for the first time. Maybe just like everyone else I will take time to open up.

It’s like writing a blog is a sane way of saying I talk to myself.

P.S. I've been holding myself back from typing in my normal chat slang. I am particularly itching to type LOL in a number of places. My itch is a  little satisfied now. LOL.