Something Important

What is it that sometimes feel important but just gets away from you right at the last moment? The burden of not knowing that very important thing becomes so huge, it encapsulates the entire mind. Limbs stop functioning, eyes stop blinking and breathing takes a nosedive.

Just give me a second… it will come to me. I know it’s very important. Lives depend on it. If i could just revisit the place where it happened. If I could just start the chain of thought that lead me to the information.

It’s on the tip of my tongue. The song stuck in my head. IT. IS. IMPORTANT. I just need to concentrate. See, I was told to do this specific thing by someone important. Or I told someone to do something important. Maybe I told myself.

Maybe if I exercise a bit. Some yoga, yeah. Nothing like some ancient asanas to get the juices flowing. Apparently it’s  good for concentration. I need to just figure out what I am doing here. My mind feels so foggy, I am unable to process anything.

Internet! I should try some new products recommended for me by this fine algorithm. Why yes I would love to buy ‘The girl with the dragon tattoo’ with ‘Fight Club’. Thanks Mr. Rithm.

Wait, what was I talking about? Was it important?

Trunk full of terrors

There’s a trunk I know. A trunk full of terrors. A trunk full of scares. Buried deep somewhere.

There’s a key I know. A key that opens the trunk. A key that answers all the questions. Buried deep somewhere.

All I have done for most of my life is to keep the two separate. I don’t want that trunk open. Because I’m afraid.

I am afraid to face the realities buried. I am afraid to see my deepest fears come to life. So I try to forget them.

But every now and then it leaks the scares and run. Every now and again a quake shakes it open.

And I face fears inevitable. Monsters running wild, watching me fall through the void. I am rubble.

So, I reach for the key, deep within. And I get to the trunk. Maybe I should face them.

Nah. Someday though. Someday, I swear. You don’t know if I’m lying. You can’t tell.

Sad Beginnings

Have you ever wondered the cravings one might have? Sudden, inescapable. To be consumed by that one thing to such an extreme you forget everything around you, including yourself. I am not talking about the kind of consumption that might be considered good for you. I don’t think “good for you” consumption exists.

I talk of the myriad habits one gets into with the best of intentions but dig themselves so deep that it becomes almost impossible to come out. Even when the realization strikes, it becomes clearer that it’s better to keep digging instead of quitting and just get out of the other side, for better or worse.

To get that one hit of the object of your affection seems to be the only goal you wake up for. every time you want to quit, you find it in your hands. Clutched tight. Walking home head down, full of shame. And yet you can’t bring yourself to turn back. To give it up. To throw it away. You hope desperately for someone to stop you. To talk to you. to get it away from you. But when you look around, you are all alone. The only solace you have is right in your hand. And you give in…

Every time you want to stop, the cycle repeats itself. Every time you find yourself alone, desperate, unable to control yourself. I don’t think these are happy endings. The way these things work, all they seem are sad beginnings.

I dream of it. I think of it. I aspire nothing more than to acquire it. I live for it. I pay for it.

 

I dream of it. I think of it…

Indelible mark in sand

In the quest of leaving behind an indelible mark after we die, we leave behind a lot of people when we are alive. Is that fair? Do we have to do that? Can’t we have the best of both worlds? Running an unwinnable race just for the hell of it. But then again, when has happiness meant rewards? Somehow, having the most difficult life seems to be the only way to matter.

‘Do you see him? Yeah, that guy. He went through a nasty break up. He wrote all about it in his latest article. It was so good.’ Somehow the tinge of real  life sadness makes it more worthwhile for people. And so it goes… The more you hurt yourself, the more you suffer, the better it is for the consumer. I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t have any study to base that on. However, I’ve never heard of a successful artist who never had to go through it.

So is sacrifice the only way to go through. A ritual that all have to go through. To have that pain flow through your every vein. To channel it into your work just so it’s not in vain. To insist on your sanity even if its insane. To bet it all even if there’s nothing to gain.

Filling Pages

Dear dia…

Hahaha. Do people really start off like that? Seems a little weird. It’s fascinating how an inanimate object can be so full of life. The deepest desires of heart, the darkest secrets, the goriest thoughts, the coldest confessions, all inked on blank bland pages. But somehow, that’s what makes this otherwise unimportant object the most valuable.

It is an allegory to life itself. We are, at best, vessels. Empty. Noisy, without purpose. But as life happens, these vessels become a treasure chest to all the good and all the bad. The vessel starts to fill up. Becoming less noisy. It gets a purpose. the proceedings of life that happened all those years ago stand erect right in front of your eyes. Living and breathing.

And when that vessel finds another inanimate object, all it wants to do is empty up those heavy burdens. Free itself of the sadness. Just so that it can start filling again. And maybe in the process, start feeling again. A life, making a life living a life, and that life living through a thousand of them, just to live another.

Second Chance

We all like a second chance. No matter who we are, no matter what we have done, we all like a second chance. And what better way to have that second chance on the 1st of January of any given year? We want that second chance. We want to turn a new leaf. We want to start something new… only to stop it a day later.

The Grave

I imagined something else. I would have been somewhere entirely different at this particular moment of time. I would have been in a different time, different space, doing something different. Not worrying about the things I am worrying about because there would be plenty of other things to worry.

 

And yet, here I am… on my bed… lying. Staring at the ceiling. Watching the fan go round and round and round and round and round and round… it doesn’t stop. And I just stare at it. However staring at it isn’t helping anyone except wasting away precious time. So yeah, it does feel nice when I am doing something. It feels that there is hope. It feels that there is a chance. Why not take a chance, you know? Why not appreciate that chance? We have all been through stuff. A lot of things we would like to perhaps not define us and yet it ends up doing exactly that – define us.

 

Working on something even just talking and/or writing feels nice. Feels a departure from not doing anything. Absolutely anything at this point that is a little bit constructive, that is a tiny bit artistic, expressive and I feel fantastic doing it. because the hole I have been digging for myself all my life, the hole I have been stuck in all my life, I feel like doing this, doing something gives me hope, gives me strength to crawl back out. After all this is the hole I made. This is the hole I dug. This is the grave I made for myself. This is the grave I willingly stepped into. This is the grave I closed the door from the inside, staring at its ceiling, thinking what went wrong. Whereas all my defeats and failures are happily filling up that grave, burying me for good! And I am staring at the ceiling, wondering what went wrong.

 

All the while my fingernails try to get out of the grave. The fear… the sheer fear of depending over something… someone… somewhere… Thinking that there is someone out there deciding on your life… I am not talking about some unknown deity. No, this is about me making poor decisions. Giving my life in someone else’ hands. And then standing afar just staring at this person thinking what they might do. My fate, hangs in their balance. Their choices are what I am waiting for. There answers are what I am waiting for. Their results. Their judgements. All the while staring at this ceiling. I can only assume what people outside this grave are doing. What my failures have been. What has happened to the person who was meant to do something with his life? All my gravestone reads is “hear lies”. Not here lies. Not beloved anybody. Hear lies. H-E-A-R L-I-E-S. And it works somehow. The lies I have told myself, the lies I have told others, lies I have told everyone.  Burden of these lies has crushed me. Digging deep into that hole.

 

So yes, doing something gives me hope to come out of it. I know it’s tough for someone to be there in that tiny little grave. All the while staring at the ceiling and thinking what could have been. Everything stops. No round and round and round. I am staring at it and it is staring back at me saying “WHAT??? You chose this.”  Well, you are right buddy. I didn’t mean to but unfortunately the decisions I made were my own and that is why I am here. I chose this.

 

It really hurts to know that there are people out there… People you know. People you have worked alongside with… shared best memories with… They are somewhere else far ahead of you and you are here, stuck in this grave, staring at this ceiling. Waiting… Usually people want to end things on hope. Right now I am sad. I am angry. I am afraid. Oh yes, I am afraid… afraid of the unknown. I don’t know exactly what to do but just because I am doing something, I do feel that even if the climb is far up, I just might make it.

Let’s Begin

You never know when inspiration strikes. When and how! It has been so long that I can feel the rust of my fingers suddenly waking up. Sharpened and painful! But it’s always so long. For some simple combination of words that I pass off as compelling arguments and justify my procrastination. I am not even going to pretend to not do it again. Wow. Did I just say that? I am so far gone that I am procrastinating to give reasons for my procrastination. That looks like a new low.

 

Anyway, as I was saying, inspiration. It can strike anytime, anywhere just out of the blue. You’re going about your day and there it is, staring you right in the face. Actually, it has happened quite a lot of times but I was too lazy to act on it. But after hearing a few people speak, watch them passionately explain things with the utmost dedication, I feel like I do need to do something. I know that doesn’t sound like much. Not a whole lot of information on that. That’s because who said it or what was said is not the point of this, but what it made me feel is what’s important here.

 

All of a sudden, I find myself engulfed in this aura of awesome positivity that makes me feel like I can achieve anything. I feel refreshed and ready to take on the world. I know I’ve made mistakes. But that doesn’t mean everything is lost. If you want you can always get back up. A new beginning await. New friendships and new challenges! New successes and new failures! With open arms I am going to face it. Yes, there will be hiccups, there will be sweat. There will be pain, anger, frustration and more sweat. But there will be satisfaction, too. There will be happiness. There will be hope.

 

Let’s Begin.