OLIVE

There’s a blessing to your eyes

With a dainty face, the opposite of shy

The wispy flyaways, long lashes

Flutter just so slightly,

Graceful like a knightley

In an oscar nominated film

Very few watched.

 

The peace on her face, the expression lacking

Everything, it’s so easy to fall for her-

You should, it’s a treat to see

A sleepstruck friend. My sleepstruck friend.

 

Olive blanket, pale glow of fair skin

Speckled with red pimples, but you’ll still love her

Closed eyes that you instinctively know are pretty,

Thick hair scattered over an olive pillow.

 

Awake, it’s a whole new scenario.

You still want to be her friend though,

it’s still a treat to behold a pretty face and figure,

This time, the face is rife with irritation

And amusement and teasing glints

As she tries not at all to be cool

 

Authenticity suits her, just like her clothes

Custom made and perfectly fitted

The colours complementing her personality,

Equally vivid and mesmerising

Carried effortlessly.

 

You want to be her friend- she’s a perfect catch

Moody and lazy and pretty and kind

Caring, funny, manpulative, short fused

 

It’s a joy to behold her, a tall task to keep her

But you’re gonna wanna try

As hard as she can test your nerves

As hard as her games hit you

As hard as your elation can fall,

It’s an improvement to not knowing her

 

It’s a privilege to know her

It’s worth taking all those pictures,

Not being in any one,

It’s a far cry from misery, it’s worth a picture credit

At least.

 

But when you see her pretty, blank face

Sleeping soundly, the pride lost

You will wonder what changes

When the delicate eyes flutter open.

On Writing

Writing, I personally think, is for the haughty.

Those who believe in their values, that their opinions are justifiable, that they can withstand criticism, who claim responsibility and ownership, even demand credit over the fruits of their mind. People with statements to defend, with battles to win against a better equipped enemy, and words to weave into a legacy. These people, I’m truly jealous of. They spin tales of pretentious awareness, write for an audience that believes in the author’s competence just a little less than the author themselves, write pitiful real life tales with happy endings for social media to fawn over, publish articles that make one believe they are the refugees unable to seek asylum rather than first world softies they really are (probably).

 

I write, though because I cannot be bothered to express otherwise.

Because I don’t like to.

Because I don’t know how to.

Because there’s not always an audience to receive.

Because there are some things you just cannot speak out.

Because everything sounds like poetry when I read it silently, the eloquence that’s often missing in speech.

And because it’s the quietest show of power there could be.

The power of the words to make harmonious comprehension, the power of an idea that could potentially change lives and the power of permanence in the fluid world of text.

 

I’ve never found more satisfaction in expression than I have whilst writing. Sadly, however, I have lost my touch, the talent that is better in memory than it probably was when I believe I had it. Hence, as a project to help my words flow, my fingers type with a hundred mistakes a minute and an effort to be accountable to the skill I think I lost, is this blog, whose story you do not know (nor wish to, presumably).

Writing here, I think, has given me more than a legitimate excuse to procrastinate from all that burdens me. It gives me an ambition to write more and for more eyes than my two, it gives me tangible goals to set (and yes, break), and a sense of propriety for what I choose to express. Thank a higher power for the internet that makes this possible.

 

Let’s also not talk about me for a change.

Except everything I write is more representative of me than what I could ever tell you. I write like people use pictures on Instagram- to tell a tale indirectly, to prove to the world they really do exist and in a more curated manner than IRL.

I couldn’t flood you with a barrage of words like I will in a particularly interesting (for me) blogpost. I couldn’t wait to find someone with the patience to listen to me rant about the most mundane, wacky, pedestrian subjects ever. Like my writing about writing.

Like how I would craft very imaginary, fictitious worlds in my head over the years but never bothered to pen the numerous stories that could be down because I was scared of how they would be received. Think Gossip Girl meets real life characters like you or me. Think pushing the limits of fanfiction.

 

All the teasers aside, writing is seriously integral to my identity now, a mirror into my small imagination that was once a labyrinth of possibilities. I intend to write till I can produce that content I like to read (or that I remember me writing), or I die.

Whichever comes first.

Vision

Let’s have a little heart to heart, because that’s all I know.

 

I’m not the best person to ask for directions nor ask for advice on you OOTD, granted, but I can see what you miss while you’re busy scrolling through the endlessness of Instagram, scratching your head over whether your party favours look picture perfect, Pintrest in real life. I’ll never ask you for a selfie, nor ask you to fix your hair if we’re out together. Even in public. I’m just here looking out for you.

I’ll see the sadness when you put on your brave smiles, I’ll be the one asking you what’s wrong because you can tell me. There will literally be no judgement in my eyes. Trust me.

Us

I love humans.

I love humans for how ‘important’ we are

For how important we perceive our lives to be-

How many lies we tell

To appease our valid, deep rooted doubts

Those which make us question life as we know it

But we don’t

For we have more on our minds

Or just really small brains

For we are a species of highly limited perception-

Able to notice the barest minimum

To All You Teasers;

Lately I’ve realized how mortified people are to be teased with me and while that is extremely offensive to me, I understand.

Let me explain.

I know, all too well, the urge to tease people with others and how it’s unkind but so much fun if they don’t appreciate the teasing. It’s such a sadistic pleasure to tease people with people they outrightly dislike- although it’s a pain in the A to be on the receiving end of this behaviour. Worse still, the more extreme your aversion to be teased with somebody, the more of a ship it becomes.

There’s two possible outcomes to this teasing (from friends’ perspective):

1. That the ship eventually transforms into a real thing and you can take credit for all the “matchmaking” that is, even by a far stretch of imagination, not.
2. It’s sufficient payment for your sins of a similar fashion for which you have to paypaypay.

 

In my case, the reason nobody wants to be teased with me is probably because some people ARE and to all of you, all I have to say is sorry. You probably have some karmic baggage from previous generations.

What I genuinely cannot understand though, is why people that have faced the pain of being teased continue to do so!

I realize that most of the people I’ve been teased with have at some point or the other been on my radar so I have little to offer as justification in that case. In case you really wanted to know, nothing came out of the teasing. (Thanks, friends.

(To be frank, I spent multiple years of my life hung up on someone because my friends’ teasing made me see them in a whole new light but I didn’t tell them this until very recently. Ha- serves you right.) )

HOWEVER in the case when I can plausibly never have any feelings for anyone, teasing is literally the worst deterrent for any potential friendship, too and this I cannot accept. I’m being serious because this fear is apparent to me when guys talk as testily as people ever can- there’s just so much social pressure people can withstand and I’m not all that interesting that people will go against the grain to talk to me, so please don’t make it awkward? Thanks.

It’s just a damn shame when the possibility of friendship is lost on account of aimless whisperers. Just saying.

 

Just before you forget, tease as you wish to be teased in return.

Also, people that are afraid of approaching people out of fear of people teasing them- you’re pansies of the highest order. Just saying.

Just A Reality Check.

So I recently watched an animated movie after too much of a sabbatical from the world of animation and you know what? I totally loved the film- it had a mature story line, a classic plot twist, the underdog phenomenon and brilliant animation.

These attributes, however, confuse me when I remember I was watching a film meant for kids.

The movie was supposed to be for kids so why was I not impressed by the lightness, the colours, the magic of innocence and just the crazy simplicity of the story?

Because movies just aren’t made that way now. Especially for kids.

The big business model that films must be a part of to survive has inevitably caused an ageing for these supposedly innocent films- case in point- the Toy Story franchise and Inside Out- which obviously widens the demographic but presents such a characteristic, formula based film to impressive youngsters, I can’t help but sigh to myself.

 

Trust me when I say this isn’t good.

 

I think there’s already pressure to grow and be socially accepted without us promoting a certain kind of reality through mainstream film, media.

Is there any out for people to grow outside of society and its norms? I doubt.

Is there a reason why we really shouldn’t present formulated reality to kids? Yes, please change this rhetoric!?

Kids shouldn’t be led down your narrow field of experience nor be force fed beliefs that will ultimately fail them when they really need to call upon them.

 

Have you ever felt like life was getting too monotonous and totally unlike the excitement and good-frenzy that you associated with a good life? I did. I do. My friends do as well. My ultimate OMFG moment, when I realized nothing was interesting taught me just this- that life gets worse with expectation.

It sucks that we have to pick and choose among all of our life the moments that were fun and cool and forget the others because of the monotony and drudgery they would otherwise remind us of. This classification based on what a good life has to be- never normal and varying over a significant spectrum of emotions- leaves me so distraught because every single low I go through reinforces the belief in me that I have lost. Lost what? Who cares? It’s just the bitterness of failure that steeps my rational mind, because of one little setback- I can’t handle it.  

 

Boredom, paralysis, sadness are clear signs of failure, right?

I have to say yes because status quo decided that for me.

I have no real sense of reality because then I’d accept willingly the tasks I am assigned, I’d quietly sit out the days when I’m low as an unchained anchor and I’d know now, not to dream of perfection in life.

Balance- balance is all I can hope for because perfection is just too much of an ideal notion.

However we still hold on, clutching to the faint hopes that perfection will actually prevail someday, so it can restore our faith in our own beliefs- ones we can no longer trust but can’t find the strength to shake off.

Grow up, guys.  Let kids grow up normally, too (not with the sparkling barbie style glasses that promise endless parties and dancing and perfectly groomed gentlemen to fulfil her every whim).

Yearning for Self Reliance

It’s my personal experience that even though I’ve been an adult for a long time, I feel terribly incompetent to handle the typically adult facets of life. I still feel young and naive and very ignorant about most things.

I blame my parents. (It’s debatable actually.)

A ‘sheltered’ life comes at the cost of my total dependence on others- family and friends, sure- but it’s still a shame that I can’t drive anywhere, can’t pay any bills, can’t handle my own finances (though I have none, but that’s a minor concern), can’t be of any practical use in any emergency because I’m busy doing stuff for myself. This sucks because I see my cousins and friends be amazingly useful IRL and basically win at life while I’m stuck typing meaningless rants and figuring out what I can be good at, maybe.

It’s not just being of use, but the self reliance that obviously results from having skills that help you survive that makes me jealous. Deeply jealous.

Self reliance is such an important factor in taking decisions I would kill to have any at all. I’m not exaggerating when I say I have none, because I don’t have what it takes to survive! I’ve never been involved in paperwork, I’ve never cooked basic food, I’ve never driven myself anywhere, I’ve never been shopping for the ‘essentials’(because it seems boring), I’ve never even thought of supporting myself financially before this. In any other society but ours, I’d have failed in survival itself- not counting how I can’t handle weather and myself and studying- but here it’s only an added bonus that I can live independently. I know this seems like a weird wish because I’m cribbing about not having paid bills and done the dishes and worked a day in my life but this is seriously something that bothers me.

Our Proclivity To Procrastinate

I’m disappointing myself on many levels by writing something on such a generic and passe’ phenomenon, by replacing something so much deeper and quirky with a quickly typed, poorly edited and half-hearted post that i’m putting out to avoid putting off writing my blog for any longer.

(I do get the irony of writing about procrastination to avoid exactly that, but I’m a hypocrite anyway.)

 

Last week I read a piece that insisted on defending procrastination and segmenting humans into procrastinators and normal people.

I read it with a slight bitterness because I don’t think the line is so fine at all and that frustrated me.

Is there a line?

There probably is, if you insist, but certainly not with normal people and procrastinators. There’s a lot of self help that suggests that the reason people are “normal” is because they procrastinate.

What that article further insinuated is that people that procrastinated had more fun than people that didn’t and didn’t have to deal with anxiety and deadlines until the very last minute which means they get more time to have fun.

The Least Important Questions Ever.

 

Well, these questions keep persistently irritating me (hell, I wish they did, frankly) which is why I thought I’d answer them for a quick post (you really needn’t read this if you wish):

 

 

• What am I even doing? Short answer, typing out a post that should have gone up by now. (Long answer, I can’t wait to bore you with: here).

• Do you ever sleep? My parents would answer in the affirmative, my dark circles would prove otherwise.

• Do you have any friends? I’d like to think so- a grand total of 367 when I left Facebook.

• No, really? I don’t know how to maintain too many simultaneously so I have a handful of friends everywhere I go, but only just few. Acquaintances, numerous.

 

• How are you so tall? I actually stretch myself really, really well each morning- like taffy- so it adds a foot to my frame everyday. Oh, and Horlicks. And swimming. And cycling. And living long enough to grow.

• How are you so funny? I just try really, really hard.                                                                Oh, what? That was sarcasm..?

• Where do you find your vast library of music from? Hours of consistent digging on the internet, following the most obscure leads and suggestions and keeping an open mind. And it used to also stem from internet torrent downloads, but no more. That’s illegal and unfair (and banned from the hostel LAN connection).

 

   (Quick suggestion: Listen to this here.)

 

• Why are you so interested in everything? Au contraire, I never liked football and most other sports.

• Don’t you feel weird and ugly/bad/insecure being around more attractive and beautiful people? (PS. Legit question I got asked.) I never thought others saw my features and body as ugly and detestable till that point, but it explains a lot. Short version of my answer: It depends on what’s expected of me in a situation- I can cope with almost everything except sitting still and looking pretty and making conversation- so I’m sorted most of the times. Long answer: There is none. There’s only nuances.

• Rate your life out of a 10: I’d honestly have to say 6.5.

• Will you ever stop boring me? Sincerely, yes- when my objective is achieved- and even more sincerely, thank you for even being here.

 

 

*Waving hand emoji*

Omens

I might come off as a put together person off first glance but I have so much whimsy in me it’s really surprising I get anything done.

I believe in omens. I truly do.

I don’t actively watch for them, just to clarify.

It’s just that when things happen far too coincidentally, I can’t help believe it means something.