Winter mornings.

"Remember when you felt so cold that you were convinced that no amount of heat in the world will ever make you feel warm again?
The chill that gripped your knees when you rode pillion on your dad's bike as he dropped you to school.
Your school skirt, sans a divider, awkwardly riding up your thighs while you sat straddling the seat between your legs.

Initially, the cold air had a bite, but twenty minutes into the ride, your legs were numb enough to not feel a thing.

The goosebumps moved along your body as quick as the sensation of pain advances across synapses to get to your brain and convey that the steel ladle you just touched, was extremely hit.

Initially, you kept expecting divine intervention where a gust of warm air would blow your way, but twenty minutes into the ride you felt the chill grip your vertebral column. It wasn't exactly that but it did feel that way.

This was 1995, twenty years back.
Today morning, you said you don't want me anymore. It was an illustration of how life comes full circle, because when you said "it is over" all I felt, was that feeling on the winter  morning, when I was convinced that no amount of heat in the world, would ever make me feel warm again."

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.

Live.

I do not want to flow. Flow between what the world defines as appropriate and what society expects you to do, out of the ever persisting fear of consequences.
Despite being a strong believer in karma, being defined by the fear of my actions is not what I envision my life to be.

It is almost like muting your true self to fit into this mould of an ideal human being. Your soul burns up and withers away while you chase the fire of purity and ideal existence.
Why don't you just impart the requisite amount of importance to this mould (which is none, since society created this mould anyway?)
Why don't you live exactly how you want to?

Love is...

You activate parts of my heart that I didn't know existed. Watching you breathe, slows down the pace of my life. It's incomprehensible to be in the same room as you and not touch you. This isn't lust, its love. A glorified support system.

I see people my age, questioning love, questioning how real is love, pretending it's a utopian entity. And I feel sorry for them. I feel sorry and I feel blessed that I can experience what it feels like to make an eye contact in a crowded shop with someone and sense a cosmic wave pass between you two (no exaggeration.)

Love is not unreal. Love is not a lie. And sit your punk ass down and stop pretending like love is a straight up depression inducing drug. Maybe you just have not experienced it correctly. I'm not saying I have a really perfect relationship, I've terribly sad days too but even on those sad days, I know how strong this abstract notion makes me.

Love doesn't make the world look more beautiful, it gives you sustenance to live through the ugliness or the strength to beautify it.

Maybe this post makes people categorise me as cheesy, unscientific, or even emotional. I don't give much thought to the label, as long as I'm wholly experiencing something so different and positive.

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.

Who am I to judge?

My existence is a dichotomy. No, I'm not a  bourgeois mind and pauper reality.
I'm a girl on a mission to debunk the myths people have about appearances.

Just because I seem frivolous because I laugh at a rather silly statement, doesn't make me a candidate of "lack of intellect." I might actually be faking a laugh because I don't want the person making the statement to feel bad. But you wouldn't know that. Because you didn't take the time to hear or understand better.

Don't associate traits with other traits.
Pretty doesn't equate with airhead just like not attractive doesn't, with intelligence.

This is how prejudices could actually be defined. Your pre-decided notions, are actually limiting your scope of knowledge, your scope of learning. The "strangest" looking people, have the best stories. And the more time you spend in forming a character sketch of any person in your head, the more you're losing out on. Go save yourself!