Honesty(?) Is the best policy

I am a little scared of myself.
I don't know how honest am I with myself and that bothers me endlessly. I need to know do I know myself best and unfortunately only I know whether I know myself best.
Dishonesty is unpardonable but more so when it is with your own self.
I am getting older and realising that there is no constructive, solid answer to most things.
And it makes me miserable, because in my love for the non ambiguous life, I've transformed my entire life into one big quest for concrete, defined answers.

Lack of boundaries, befuddles me.
I'm not ready for it. And that is why, I think I'm in so much pain.

I try finding more and more stars in the night sky in a city which is dying with pollution. I live with a sense of incomprehensible entitlement, with respect to the universe. I believe it will never harm me. And then this limitlessness, harms me. Hurts me. And I feel ashamed about my sense of entitlement.

LSF

I have this unbelievably queasy feeling in my gut. The existence of this feeling has been brought about by the fact that I have not written in over a month. Every attempt at writing has been as successful as a drunkards’ attempt at walking on the straight divider line. Absolutely wasteful and disastrous.

I write a document and then I discard the document, it is becoming a visible loop of sorts.

So I decided to write about what has been troubling me.

1.     I have noticed a huge flurry of “amateur writers” using a certain typewriter application (curses upon you, oh social media!), stringing words together and pretending that this string of misused words, conveys some greater meaning and a higher sense of depth which can not be interpreted by people who do, actually possess some literary sense. These quotes, one-liners or whatever we might call them next sonnets, love poems, intriguing write-ups, or as I like to call them, lessons in sentence formation (LSF)  are ruining my life. Instagram poets are great! They are wondrous and they can transport anyone sitting behind a screen to a world of anguish and misery brought on by real, romantic love or by the pain and struggle of retaining your individuality but these LSFs are not the same.

Can we please take a moment and serve them a healthy dose of criticism?
No! Your attempt at romanticizing the darkness of my soul, is not working! You use the word misandry to try and explain her hate for men because one of them hurt her. Open a dictionary and see the letter in the parenthesis next to the word, does it say v? If it doesn’t then explain to me why would you use it as a verb? Now lets come to the part where plagiarizing concepts, is not an admirable thing either. Can you stop throwing a pity party, each time you write a new post?

I am certainly not against throwing one but can you not copy that famous party’s theme if you do decide to throw one, anyway?

The part that exasperates me the most, the part that feels like an attempt at someone acupuncturing the part of my mind that holds my menial writing capacities is the appreciation.

Either people are not exactly mindful about how writing prowess manifests itself or they are being supportive out of pity or admiration for the valor associated with posting such ginormous amounts of ridiculousness; whichever the case, it is wrong, it is incorrect.

Whatever little I have learnt in writing, is because of the blunt criticism I have received not because of the sugar candies of compliments. If you indeed want to be supportive, criticize these LSF creators if you know any.

Let us, please rid the world of these pusedo-philosphers who wish to convert us all to mediocre standards of literature appreciation by dulling our brains with their work.

Manure

Today I realized why holding manure in your hand, can be the best life lesson there exists.

To experience how inconsequential you are, dig a compost pit and create manure. Every time you regard yourself as someone more than significant to the working of the universe, find some manure and hold it.

Manure is, what we are. Manure is, what we will eventually become.

I am not driving questions at the lessons of self worth which most of us have been taught really well, but a rather subtle reminder, of how the significance of each individual is the same. At the end, each one of us shall decompose to become the same manure. Maybe some of us will yield better manure than others but we will all become the same.

Each one of us, so involved in our lives, with egos the size of mountains, forgets this fact.

Being someone who suffered from this disease of misbelieving that the world rests on her shoulders, I can safely be considered to be one of the best persons to sermonize over this.

It is necessary, to realize who we really are instead of the inflated versions of ourselves, that our ego makes us think we are.  It is also necessary to realize what an infinitesimal role we play, in the gearbox of space and infinity. Holding manure, seeing the ocean makes me see my insignificance. Makes me see that though I might fret over being ignored by my nemesis at a social gathering, the earth will not stop rotating on its axis, the stars will still twinkle at night. It makes me accept the status, which technically equates me to an ant and a lion, all at once.

Nothing drives home the principle of uniformity in diversity, better than this thought of how trivial, we all are.

“For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.” (Genesis 3:19)

Chronic urge to run.

Something is absolutely wrong with me.
Or rather something is finally right with me.
I guess I can devote this clouded phase of mine to a case of the blues.
God alone knows.

Coming back to the phase, I think I have a split personality disorder.
One part of me, is elated about new work opportunities and things like that. The other part is absolutely frustrated with the prospect of new assignments and loads of things to deal with.
Basically I am frustrated with the prospect of life.
I want to buy roller blades, get skinned knees in the process of learning how to roller-blade. I want to spend a year wallowing in abstraction. Doing random things.
In fact, I have a list for the same.
1. Train to be a bartender.
2. Learn how to do a headstand.
3. Go on a Satvik diet for a month.
4. Go bald.
5. Step out in an ice blue colored wig for the next twenty days.
6. Watch Aurora Borealis.
7. Go visit a nude beach.
8. Try and leech onto a person. (By leech, I mean cling to them, quite literally.)
9. Make a will.
10. Buy and try one of those pills that are supposed to make you loose weight.

I want to run away from my mundane existence. I want chaos. I want the dreary black and white in my life to be filled with the vivid colors of chaos and trouble.

"What did you learn from your time in the solitary

Cell of your mind there was noises distractions

From anything good and the old prison food

Color my life with the chaos of trouble 'cause anythings better

Than posh isolation I missed the bus you were laid on your back

With the boy from the Arab strap, with the boy from the Arab strap"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuNLJ1I1-vw

Jumbled.

(Originally was published in July 2012, some stupid glitch in the application has forced me to republish it.) 

It's an uncanny resemblance in all my blog posts that I start with "so, well" initially and later get tweaked to god knows what.
I'm actually jumbled.
This stems from my disorder of thinking excessively.
I create things.
Half of the stuff, of which's occurrence I'm scared about, isn't even there in the first place.
My mind is like a machine, creating fictional situations, all of which aren't exactly possible. But let's face facts, I'm probably a masochist. I mean I keep hurting myself, thinking of the most awful outcomes possible.
And something in my head, tries to  pretend like all of that is happening for real. The end result - Me in a miserable state of mind.
Ah well screw that.

My father ran with me today when I almost missed my bus to school. Avoiding puddles and sprinting way ahead of me, he looked like he might have been blood-related to Usain Bolt.

I felt sorry for myself thinking of my awkward sprint which kept transforming into a jog and then a walk and back to the sprint randomly. Maybe I've taken after the plump side of my family and not after him.
The fact that this statement might be a fact made me curse my genes. :P

When I was sprinting/jogging/walking I called out to him asking him to stop running and walk because I was the one who had to catch the bus. He responded with something which sounds filmy but made me smile for the rest of the day "I'll run to the edge of the world with you"!
Thank you Papa. :)
Even though our relationship threatens to seem like a disaster at times, I'll always love you more than mom. :P

Stories. Theories. And some more crap.

It's been a month almost since I last wrote. Maybe that is exactly the reason for the chaotic state I'm seeing myself in, right now.

*I*
(Yes only I feel I am in a chaotic state.)

Prior warning: This post is going to be extensive. I haven't written in really long.

1.I talked to a friend the other day, he casually mentioned how some *statistical number* of people tend to tell their problems to others just to, in a way, gain sympathy.
So it set me thinking (I realised one more thing, I think a lot!) over why do some people (ME! ME! ME!!) tell people about their life, why are some people so keen on being an open book.
Socializing is a different thing, you talk about ice-breaking topics first, gradually diverting to small talk.
Building walls around yourself is also another. It is just a futile attempt trying to 'stay alone' in a world overburdened with overpopulation anyway.
But what I've been doing is different, I guess it's just talking, I mean talking about things to feel that there is a purpose to your life. Talking about things that affect you, things that make you smile.
I think yes I'm thinking too much, talking is a passion & I am one overtly indulgent person. :P

2. It is going to be a year since I wrote my board examination & honestly I miss that studious side to me.
I used to wake up early to study Physics & almost fall asleep in the attempt. Last year, same time, 7am was early for me. This year at 7, I'm in a class in school, discussing homework maybe.
Time changes, moves so fast that before you realise, a year might have passed, maybe I won't be AS nostalgic next year.
BUT this has been a life altering year. :))

3. Are there really two spellings to realise?
Realize & Realise?

4. I've been reading a book- The Palace of Illusions.
It's a book on the Mahabharata from Draupadi's perspective.
And very honestly the book is making me feel that pain.
I mean the pain she went through, after her brother-in-law tried to dishonor her in front of such a huge gathering & how just everybody although pained didn't dare to raise a voice, didn't bother to protect the last shread of shame.How she wanted the war to happen because she wanted revenge for being publicly humiliated! I can feel that pain & anger for some damned reason.

And the one part that actually hurt me more or less was how complex her story with Karna was. What started as love, how it  veered onto become a sentiment layered with layers of anger, hatred, relinquished love, forgiveness and how returned to where it began, love.
And like the story basically says, you can't withhold your heart. You might be married to a certain man but your heart might be belonging to some other man itself, all you can do is manage your actions so that they don't give away.

It made me feel a new emotion. I smelt what revenge must have smelt like. I felt like I was tasting vengeance.
Basically the book has transported me to a place, where no book or movie has ever before.

A place where I'm living like the person who I can see all sides to.

*sigh*

Now ALL feels great!
Writing IS my drug, I guess! :D