Letter on NYE.

Dear inexpressive container of a sensitive soul,
Things don't HAVE to follow a pattern. You might be the loner on New Year but you're also the girl who enjoys sitting in a club and writing in her journal. You don't need to do things because that is what is expected of you. You can defy clichés in the less hipster and unpopular ways.
You might hurt at nights but what is important, is living in each moment, soaking it in. Not, counting your breaths till you die.
The most simple things can actually be the most comforting and happiness inducing, if you allow them to work their magic.
Don't chase. If you need to, pursue. But don't chase.
You do you, and this time not as a catchphrase but really. Do you. Because nothing else will free you from the pain except the comfort of being yourself.
Don't bring the sadness upon yourself. It is always going to be in you, to move on. So move on.
And don't get dejected. Count your blessings.
If nothing, you've working limbs.

Aim and work. Aim and work.
Brood lesser.
Hold in your hands what really matters and dust off whatever doesn't.
Force yourself to do the things you're afraid of.
And easy, please go easy on yourself.
Self criticism needn't transcend into a nasty self harming session. Stop directing malevolence towards yourself.
Stop seeking affection by making yourself sad.
People aren't going to pet you all your life.
I end with something I already said. You do you. Please, do you. Or there will be a bottomless pit of pain waiting to suck you in.

Yours truly,
A potentially more clear headed future self.

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.

War.

I have spent all my teenagers living under the garb of hypocrisy. Being strongly feminist, reinforcing that I don't need any saving but somewhere inside, I did need/expect someone to come save me.
Now that my teenage years are actually behind me, I feel happy I didn't meet someone who'd force the rescue flavoured alcohol down my otherwise teetotaler throat.

See, my point is quite basic. Somebody else can't save me because I know exactly what I need. I know exactly what I am fighting. I know exactly which battles I'm going to never win, no matter what. I know where I am going to emerge victorious even before the actual act of engaging in war begins.

IF, God forbid, I would've met someone who "rescued" me, I'd see myself only through their eyes, to never learn my struggles on my own. To never learn how to manoeuvre through the tricky and painful maze that society seems so ready and willing to construct for me. Forget these serious things I wouldn't have learned that examination stress gives me serious bouts of acidity, because someone would always be around neutralising it.

I'm glad I lived through it alone. I am glad I faced my demons without a metal armour weighing a ton which I probably wouldn't fit into and end up dragging around all the time.
I am glad I chose myself as my only warrior.