Everything is fine

I want to cry and scream until my lungs hurt or I run out of tears. I want to throw things until they break and punch walls until I can no longer feel my hands. I want to kick down my door or throw myself onto the floor until my body stops shaking. I have so many pent up emotions, anger, hurt, sadness, betrayal. I want to hurt everything because everything is hurting me.

But all i’m going to do is pretend that everything is fine.



  Sometimes the phrase, “You won’t understand. It hasn’t happened to you” is not much of a pretext to feeling infinitesimal as much as it is to wanting to feel rare. Sometimes you don’t want people to understand. You don’t want to listen to stuff like “It will get better with time. You’ll be fine” and certainly not “Pull yourself together”.

Sometimes, you just want to writhe in your misery. You want to be a mess. You want to obsess about the unkindness and inhumanity you’ve been shown. You want to feel like you’ve been treated worst. You want to think people cannot go through anything more contemptible. You want to believe things will never get better because that’s how you feel. You want to withdraw into yourself and be in sync with the squalor. You want to embrace the torment.

And you have every right to.

“I don’t want to feel the things that have been done to me can be recovered from. I don’t want to pull myself together. I don’t think time heals. I think time makes us forget. And forgetfulness does not ensure closure. If anything, I don’t want to forget. Misery for me is the antidote to it. Victimizing myself is the way I get past being one. I want to plunge into what makes me sad. I want to obsess over it so much that I get sick of it and leave. This is recovery for me. This is what I understand of healing. This is what I call cauterizing.

Don’t ask me to hold myself together. It seems ludicrous to me. If you want to be there for me and you don’t understand my process, be silent. Your words of encouragement hurt me. You speak like you’ve been through what I am in. But you’ve not. If you’re worried about me then the one thing I can assure is that every such cycle is temporary. Let me close myself in. Let me be.

I am one of those people who don’t accept help getting up. I believe one has to pick oneself up in order to be strong. Trying to forget one’s mishaps does not benefit. One has to deal with them. And this is how I deal. This is how I fight. And this is how I recover.

These are basic survival instincts. You don’t fight drowning because you realize what a beautiful life you might have ahead. You fight against the water because you know you’re dying.”

Check out Lady Gaga’s new video “Till it happens to you”.


Why is it that I always become that one person in everyone’s life that can be mistreated without the intervention of their conscience? Why do I stand up to be the expendable variable? The variable on which nothing and no one needs to depend. Why do I end up becoming the punching bag?

Why do I invest so much into a relationship only to realize I hold no real importance to them? Why does my memory hold so much criticism from people I have done nothing to but loved?

 And why can I not treat them the same?

                     It’s because you’re the expendable variable. The variable people can depend on to kick away but not lose.

You’re beautiful. You’re not worthless or unimportant. You’re a necessity. You’re a necessity that people can’t live without. You’re the punching bag that makes them strong. You’re not what they scar on. What you don’t realize is you’re the mark they’ll not be able to rub off.

Of course, you take hits and surely you break but you’re stronger than any of them. You’re much bigger than people who think they are bigger than everything else. You’re the strongest of them all. You know why?      

    …Because you don’t need an expandable variable. You grow stronger with every hit you take, Let them beat you down. Let them bruise you up. With time, you will realize that their hits don’t grow. You become resilient. You become prepared and strong. And mostly you realize that things that don’t grow with time, you grow out of. Lie down till you’re strong enough to get up; because once you do people will only stop and stare.

    …Because you’re NOT the expendable variable and people who think you are, are bad at math. You’re not something they can ignore and make sure they realize that when it’s too late to recalculate. You’re your universe. You’re not expendable. You cannot be ignored; you are the key to your own equation. Do not expect fools to realize your worth.



Can you actually look back at a memory and replay it with its original intensity? Can you remember it as if you could go back in time and relive it? I can.

I remember you. The way you were before. You were a cynical, calculating, compartmentalizing, majorly miserable human. I liked it. That’s we got along so well. I knew you, you were like this mirror image of mine.

All those days we spent, comparing how we were different than the rest. I remember because that is how I fell for you… and you for me.

We became the people we couldn’t think of becoming, we did what we thought we weren’t capable of. Didn’t we?

Did we? Did YOU?

We were silly romantic. Our story is something you see in all those high school movies. Girl meets boy. They become best friends. Girl falls for boy. Boy for girl. But neither can confess. After a series of interesting events, they do. And then it begins. And that’s where the movie ends.

But I never grasped that all that can glow, can burn?

How much till too much? How good till too good? When does best become hollow? And when does hollow start hurting? When does ‘You’re enough’ becomes ‘enough is enough’?

Who are you now? I fell for this crazy guy who shared my view of the world. One who seemed responsible and sensitive and understanding because you were like me. You’ve turned into this entirely different person.

It hurts more because I remember how you were before we got together. And it hurts worse to know that you don’t remember me at all and neither can you see the fact that I haven’t changed.

How was I supposed to know that all that misery and cynicism you were bathing in was a product of loneliness? The things I liked in you were volatile, I realize that now. They burned out the moment you achieved the confidence of another person.

And I cannot accept it somehow. You cannot understand that the qualities we shared, that the ones I have are not a product of loneliness but a sum of everything I have been through. Events I cannot change or forget. My behavior and the essence of my existence are not volatile or variable. And you don’t even try to fathom it.

How can you be so oblivious to the fact that I need you? I don’t need you to give me solutions. I know how to process and act. I just need you to be there. And you deliberately won’t.

I turn to you when I am in need, which is not much. And you know how miserable I am. And I understand that you can’t help me out because you’ve never gone through anything close to what I have. But can’t you just be there for me instead of deliberately avoiding me when I am down? You know I am a chronic depressive. And that is what makes it worse. YOU CAUSE IT most of the times now. And I find it totally ridiculous how all the actual reasons of my state get a lesser priority when my brain juices have to party. Instead of getting depressed about all of those reasons, I instead get depressed about how you’ll never be there for me when I need you. I can neither process it nor control it.

I have always been there for you, haven’t I? Have you? Ever? I guess not.

You deliberately did not talk to me over the weekend my mother left home for good. You read 400 pages of Game of Thrones and watched a bunch of crap on television. And when you did decide to talk to me, you chose to tell me about what you did rather than checking up on me. I have tried, trust me. But I cannot forgive you for this. I just can’t. To top everything, you ignored me when I confronted you about this.

I like you. But this just makes me hate you. More than that, it makes me hate myself. It makes me feel unworthy and unimportant. Like am I a piece of shit or what? I deserve this kind of unkindness from you?

You are definitely cold, calculating and compartmental. You are definitely my mirror image. But what I never calculated was that like all mirror images, you too were laterally inverted. Because I could never do this to you.

    All the memories I have of you from before we were together haunt me. You used to definitely care more then. We only care for things that we haven’t achieved. And now that you have, you’ve formed this safety net. Because you believe no matter what happens, it will all be okay. I will be with you no matter what. So you have given up all responsibilities. And that itches too. Realizing that if I go, you’ll never come try to retrieve what we have. You’ll not even try.

I cannot deal with your mess. I have my own ocean to drown in. Do not burden with me with more unkindness and ignorance. That is all I have received all my life. I cannot handle it if you clip more of that weight when I am desperately trying to stay afloat.

They say the most painful verse of a defeat is the memory of a victory. So it is. I don’t understand how can claim to care when all you do is make me feel oblivious. Neither can I tolerate my weakness for you. All I want is for you to go away. Just go away.



Come to think of it, after all we’ve gone through you’ll probably be the only person I shall ever actually miss.

My journey with you has been sort of a long drive; in a convertible, of course on a warm European summer dawn along the coastline. Reflecting on everything is like looking back on the path traversed from the front seat wearing tinted glasses. Why tinted? It’s deliberate, I guess. I don’t want to remember the breaking sun overshadowing the skyline when I have the dusk to face.

You, like all things are going to exhaust. And I like every mourner will try to exhume. But the most I will ever be able to do is miss you.

Honestly, going separate ways will be tough as fuck. TOUGH AS FUCK. But I know we’ll both be okay. See, you and I, we have a vision; of the life we want and we know we have to create that space. To explain, I’d have to firstly thank Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin for coining the term “Conscious Uncoupling”. And that’s all of my explanation. School ending, different aspirations, different countries, different career choices; we can’t be together, can we?

And it brings a smile on my face to know that it’s okay to go separate ways, we both want what’s best for each other and ourselves. It’s how beautiful our belonging was.

I have nothing for you but gratitude of how you’ve made me feel and thinking about it makes nothing but fat with happiness.

Contradictory to what Beau Taplin writes, I am in a position where the memories of our time together will not make me sad or make me feel like I have lost a deal. I will be in a place where I can look back on them and smile to myself and above all, cherish them. And I think you’ll be able to do the same.

And it’s not like that the knowledge of uncoupling complicates things for me. I never had doubts about the purpose of being together now if we’re to eventually part ways (trust me, I have been asked that a lot). Who gives a rat’s ass about ‘eventually’? The limit on the time we have has only made me value us more.

Neither is my lack of sadness about our eventual parting due to my lack of feelings for you. I know that we’ll leave on the best of terms and I will definitely be at unrest but my happiness for everything that we’d have had will outshine everything that matters little compared to the experience we’ve shared.

Although, I cannot say that I’ll not miss you. I definitely will. And I will sometimes think of “what ifs”, not with regrets but in the human urgency to find parallel pathways. And I am a bit embarrassed to admit but I have this plan, a plan about my circumstances after you. The main part is missing you in threes.

Missing you when I stumble across something we shared. A rush of all the things we share running out of my subconscious and spilling into my conscious.

   Missing you when I look back down memory lane. You are the happiest highlight of my Before College.

    But mostly missing you while being on the cusp between sleep and wakefulness, when thoughts of parallel possibilities lurk between the ticks which will make me wonder why life happened to us.



We all get those contradictory second thoughts to our decisions that put us in a real dilemma. As this is a personal diary sort of thing, I’ll tell you something about the contradictory second thoughts that I face.

Being the only kid in the family without siblings or even cousins was difficult and lonely. To top that, my dad was always on tour leaving me behind with mom whose ideals strongly opposed mine. To further things, I have attended nine schools in fifteen years which have thereby left me friendless. The friends that I do get, I don’t retain because I have become habitual to meeting new people so often that people I have known for more than the usual time tend to bore me.

Apart from the part where I am not good at retaining people in my life, there’s another side to me. Having said all that in paragraph two, I find my life, above all, to be lonesome. It gets painfully silent sometimes. And hence, I, solemnly admit, with reluctance that I get needy. I seek connections, deep connections not the usual pile of pretentious crap I put up with people who I know for some months. Now here’s the tricky part. I don’t like people. Yes, once in a while I meet someone who intrigues me like shit but all of that is temporary; I fall out of arrangements. What is residual is my need to still make connections but with the next most enigmatic person.

I am sometimes awed of how I grow out of my interests and at the frequency at which I do.

And here I present the part in which usually attracts a lot of judgements. Earlier, what I said about ‘deep connections’, I did not mean substantial connections, friendships which are based on sharing one another’s deepest darkest secrets and trying to be not judgmental about them. I am judgmental as fuck. I am judgmental outright and bold. I will dish it out on your face, whatever I think is wrong with you without talking to someone else about it. Neither is “being there for me when I needed someone” counted in my list of the scattered paraphernalia (changed the sentence cause I kind of like the word.) that I require to connect with someone. Honestly, I am bad at showing what I feel. Communicating my feelings to another being whose mind I consider alien is a task I don’t equip myself with. But more than the fact that it is difficult for me to communicate with another person is my opinion that I am too well off than others. Not in terms of money or materials but in terms of intellectuality. I don’t necessary find myself wiser, I just find others dumber. Yes, narcissism. I show selfish narcissism just like all the other kids who’ve grown up by themselves.

Now, what do I mean by “deep connections”.

Firstly, it means the connection with a person whose intellect I deem to be near mine. Secondly, the connections which are established under the term “Friends with benefits”.

Do you like me or are you judging me or both?

I like seeing loads of people and I don’t necessarily go out with smart ones; all I need is interesting people. I like those kinds of connections, those which go deep (pun intended) but I know will not survive a day more than the time frame that I am usually used to knowing people in. I don’t want to be with a single digit number of men, I crave to experience more. Basically, I get bored of continuity and continuity is a bitch. Reminds me of all the stability I couldn’t have as a kid. So I get depressed and my existence becomes excruciatingly painful unless I treat myself with new people.

The person who can be satisfied with stability and continuity, hats off! But I am not that person and trust me I have tried to be. If you think you can understand me without being judgy, think twice. It’s easy to understand in print but not so easy to understand circumstantially.

Judge me all you can but know, these habits are weird and at the end of the day I do realize that I will be left alone eventually but that somehow doesn’t scare me, mostly because I am used to that. I live and feed on interesting people and the interesting things I can do with them; but interesting things that aren’t stationary. Mobility is my magic elixir.

When I think of seeing a same someone or someones for the next of many years, I get terrified. Having to look at the same faces again and again causes me anxiety but most of all, it causes me pain. I have failed to define this exactly and I don’t fully understand why. No matter how mannerly or how substantial we are, at the end of the day, our existence depends on our struggle to thrive and to satisfy ourselves. Our quality of existence is entirely tilting on the ratio between what we have to what we want. In layman terms, we need happiness. It is the only reason why we do what we do. Justification enough.



Here’s to all the first times. First blog, first attempt at online publishing, ranting out my opinion to the world that’s probably going to go unnoticed but how has a lack of the world’s interest in our thinking ever stopped us from throwing our cats at people anyways?

I once read somewhere that in a world that’s seemingly expanding outwards, literature is a way inwards. Pointdexter, maybe. Hats off to that guy, though. For a day to go good, all I need is his poetry and as much coffee as a human can possibly digest.

But, first things first. The entire purpose of this blog is for me to blabber about things. That’s the entire purpose of the internet anyway. So the first thing I’d possibly blabber is how I feel about how I feel.

Sometimes, I feel like I am two personalities living in the same body. One that acts, the Fighter and the one that feels, the Actor. Usually, people have both of them. The only difference is that their Actors and Fighters coordinate with and are dependent on each other. They have a symbiotic relationship. Mine, don’t. What I basically mean to say is you act on how you feel. All your actions are derived from your feelings, they cause you to act. I don’t.

    Acting on my feelings is possibly the most challenging task for me. Like, I said, for me, Fighter and  Actor are two different people who don’t like each other. The fighter considers the actor to be too melodramatic.

Normally, when you feel upset and broken, you act likewise. I act the opposite. The days I appear happier are the days I am breaking apart. I am constantly aware of how I feel and I am constantly on the mission to act the opposite. Involuntarily.

    The days I am content, you’ll possibly find me erratic, antisocial, and rude; mostly because that’s how I am. Hence, I find it a good thing when my awkward sadness makes me more kind and amicable, given that’s most days.

    When I realize I am sad, and by me, I mean the Fighter, it’s more like realizing that someone else is sad. Like a friend coming up and telling you why they’re upset and how it’s affecting them. You care enough to listen to them but not enough to act on their behalf.

I am sometimes in a constant battle between what I feel and what I do about it and the fact that they do not coordinate with each other. It baffles me how I can’t relate my own feelings to myself. It doesn’t affect me as much as it prevents others from understanding what I am and why I am.

Like most people, I need comfort when I am down, I need people when I am lonely but how do I let them know that I need them when I can’t show them what I feel, when I can’t prove to myself how I feel?

And I am sorry if I get angry when people fail to calculate me. And I am sorry how I deject them when they fall short and I can’t even begin to apologize enough for the actions that follow. It’s a tough job being the protagonist of a story but trust me, it’s by far a tougher job to be the antagonist. Especially, when you don’t want to be one.

The actor persuades me to be more connected to my “emotions box”, which I carry outside the realm of my thought process. But to be honest, I have somehow taken a liking for the Fighter. I like being stoic and I take pride in how my feelings don’t influence my actions. I love how rational that makes me and the messiness it brings about is something I adore but what I admire seldom makes me happy. Being with people like me may seem interesting, but trust me, it’s not. People realize this too late and end up being hurt. But one thing I can tell you if you’ve experienced someone like me is that we feel hurt too. We get broken hearts, too. But we never act on those feelings. There’s a long distance between what we feel and what we think we have to do.

    I am mix of paradoxes. What I want does not coincide with what I want to do. What I want to do brings me satisfaction but that satisfaction does not get me what I want resulting in unsatisfactory outcomes. Contradictorily, I continue to do what I want because it satisfies me and I continue to be what I am because I am forever unsatisfied because What I want to do does not get me what I want.

Hah, I might just give you an award if you can understand even ten percent of the above paragraph.