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.

Nonexistence.

(Forgive the language, I'm writing this at a moment when I can't handle my emotions, sentiments or my tear ducts.)

I am baffled while I battle this crisis.
It is more of a breakdown of a life situation into a crisis. 
I am running away from this conclusion that I have come to.

Life is nothing but blocks of moments which are nothingness once the moment has passed.
Think of it, once a moment has passed, it is nonexistent. It only lives on if you think of it. The anticipation that surrounds an event in the future becomes nothing once the event has passed, that event, becomes nothing. It is all, nothing.

Memories are such an abstract entity and at this moment, it is making me cry that memories are all we have and how do I keep my memories, how do I feel they were real? How do I hold them with my feeble hands, how do I stop them from slipping and falling out. Please stop memories, please don't go, please stay, please become more real than just a cloud of thought in my head.

I'm in pain right now. Miserable amounts of pain thinking about how desperately I want my mind to stop pick up each memory and sink into it all over again. And I can't, the helplessness that has covered me all over because I can not go back, is mind numbing right now.

Our lives are nothing but a collection of memories.
Should I be happy that they've passed and there might be better memories in the future or should I be sad that they're in the past and they're never coming back again?

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