.unsaid

I am not okay;
never was.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

I have said it. A couple too many times. I have said it in metaphors, translating in words that I didn’t even understand and in between the lines, or perhaps all is lost in translation.. But at the core of the things, it is still there. And I have said it way too many times or that’s how I feel. I am still here trying to say, let me rephrase.. I am trying to express in words that apparently don’t reach the people. I am not being cautious, perhaps I am scared. Or perhaps, I don’t know how to do it, how to say it bluntly. I will beat around the bush but I will not say it as it should be said, out loud, crystal clear.

May be that is why I can’t ever feel content with it, content with writing it off and hoping that it will do it’s magic of not making a permanent house in my mind. But, I am at loss of words. Writing was always my solace, my way of letting the things go and hoping that the new day that follows will be less burdened and also refreshing. Imagine the day when we don’t worry about yesterday and looking forward to great day that is to follow. How beautiful the sunshine will be, how melodious those birds chirp, how clear the sky is and how great the morning glory feels like. And in all adversity, how happy we will be, from the inside.

While I write this, I have hit the backspace a little too much. I might as well have published with the words that I backspaced. I don’t know why! I don’t know why I am so unsure about writing about what I really want to write. I wonder if I am bothered by something that I am having second thoughts on how to put it in writing. I am sure nothing is bothering me. And I think I don’t just want to write them down. I don’t want me to validate it by writing it down. I just don’t want to sign it off as exactly what it is. Because as hopeless and crass I might be, I will try to look for that tiny lost hope that it will all get better soon. That, things will change and I won’t be in this place where I currently am at. You might… let me rephrase, I am not but I think I am a little superstitious. I don’t like things getting jinxed, as in like if I tell something bad, it will definitely happen, and if I say something good, it will never happen. I have this superpower that I control the world, my world. I just have to think of it, the good or the bad and it will happen, just the one I really don’t want to.

I have written about it. I continue to write about it. But at some point, it feels repetitive. Like the earlier few lines. But today I will “really” write it. Hopefully, I won’t bring any metaphors or hide between the lines!

I am in pain, mentally and emotionally. I am hurt on the inside. I have felt hurt for as long I can remember. But I put on a façade and tell everyone that I am okay. No! I am not! I am not okay! I never was, am, and I don’t know whether I ever will be. There is a commotion inside, and that never settles. The mind is restless. While things happen and people console that it is alright since it happens for a good reason, you try to calm that restlessness in the mind. It feels better to know that there is a greener side and that there will be a knock on the door called opportunity. While the mind doesn’t stay calm for long, another thing happens, and there are voices it is for the good. I calm the mind saying that it is just round the corner. While I am in these phases, I write it down. Because writing is my solace. And I end writing that painful post about the pain that the mind is in, that I am in, while I start to feel a bit relieve and feeling that peace approacing me, there is another thing that happens. And I repeat the whole process over and again, hoping that one day it will just end. And honestly, I am getting tired of trying to write about this everytime, differently every time. I have a whole book with pages filled with this and I wonder is this how it is going to be, for the rest of the life! Is this anyway how life should be? That metamorphical rock that I keep carrying just keeps getting heavier. At one point, I just might collapse and there is no coming back when it does!

______

.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

.unblur

Somethings always come with a price.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

Colours. How fascinating are they? And how beautiful they are. And yet the fascination, my fascination lies with them two; monochome. You ask why? I wish I knew. Or perhaps, I wish I could explain. So tell me, what does happiness mean to you? How happy are you, right now? If not, don’t worry, you will be! How often do you look forward and want to be happy all the time? Wouldn’t you agree if anyone said that happiness is a beautiful place to be in? Of course it is a beautiful place to be in. And nothing makes me more glad to know you all are happy!

But amidst all this aura, it pulls me down a little. Don’t get me wrong, I love happiness. And also, I am scared of it. Because if there’s anything experience taught me anythimg, time and again, that there’s always a yang for yin, white for black, good for bad and sad for happy. Well, that does sound a little strtched.. something like out of context, doesn’t it? There won’t be anyone more ‘happier’ than me, if you said that there’s no alternative for happiness. But unlike you, I beg to differ. No, I am not trying to put a pessimistic approach or kill that optimistic mind of yours. I am speaking from mere experience. I agree with the odds that the percentage is different. For you happiness is a hundred percent, while for me sadness. There I did it again, brought the pessimistic viewpoint. I really can’t help it. And like I said, I am speaking from mere experience of a lifetime, so far! I wish it were a hazy opinion, a heresay, a lie, blurred emotion. But, time and again, I have seen it come back, like a stone in the ocean to ripples of tsunami, like a voice in mountain to multitude of echoes, piercing a million times over. Can the

. ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

.dotProject
A traditional post where in the writer could write anything from poetry to prose to even a single line. Basically it is a prompt based post, but no restrictions whatsoever. My current format involves a quote and a bit of a passage around it, just to make a better sense of the abstract. If anyone wants to take up the project, please be my guest. Do let me know so that I can check your post as well.

.prompt : unblur

Never Again

We cross the lines labelled never to cross.
– eɴʏɢma

She had been holding on to it for quite a while. There was a lot going on in her mind. And it was getting frustrating with each passing moment. Even though what has occupied her mind is a beautiful memory yet, she had been feeling about it all this while. It has been two days and she was probably dying to speak to anyone so that she could ease the burden on her shoulders. What could it be which is weighing her down so much in spite of that memory being a beautiful one? She had been feeling bad because of what she had done and it is morally questionable. As if she had thought of the moral quotient or so to speak her integrity.

“I kissed another guy”

She met him online on Twitter. A few words here and a few there, a little flirting and a lot more love (or so it might seem like), a bit of truth and lot of falsity, a bit of infatuation a lot of lust. It seemed mutual, the infatuation..er the lust. The love is still a questionable aspect because both were in a relationship, with someone else. Numbers were exchanged and chats turned to video calls and the rest was history. But all changed one day.

It was the day when he told that he was still in a relationship and that this girl from Twitter was a happy time pass and that this promise of getting intimate was still on the cards because that was what he was looking for. A fling on the side while having a girlfriend. She was devastated with the development that blew up in her face. She wasn’t as faithful as she should be and yet this came as a shock to her. She felt used, she felt betrayed, she felt hurt and in all she felt cheated.

He was blocked from contacting her. She made sure of that. Because she didn’t want to be that person who would be manipulated and used for a casual intimate encounter. But…she used to check him out once in a while. She was intimidated. She was in love, but didn’t want to admit that, to anyone and to herself. Because at the back of her head there was a voice shouting about all the morality of the situation she was putting herself in.

She got a call from him. She was shocked and yet at the same time intrigued that he called her. He was outside her college. She was at loss of words. She was in his car and she had lost herself. Then she kissed. They both kissed. She enjoyed every moment of that. She wanted more of that. But that moral police roaming around with a siren on top had been shouting that this is wrong, that she should stop it, that she should not even encourage it. In spite of all the red tape and X marks she went to his home, in her own accord. The fantasy had to happen. She wanted it to happen. She could have avoided all that because in some distant corner of her mind there was a voice shouting to her to not do any of it, standing over the moral integral line and urging her to not cross that line. She heard that voice, its agitated-frustrated and extremely loud but it faded away when he went all cheesy on her.

She knew that it was wrong but then again her desire to make that fantasy true was more strong. It overpowered her and she didn’t have much choice. Well, she had but she choose to ignore it nonetheless. And then again, it was the best one she ever had. She was beyond happy. She was elated. She enjoyed every bit of it.

It was a day after that she came out from the trance and saw all the moral police with their angry faces. She was supposed to feel guilty, but she didn’t. She was getting frustrated about her inability to feel even a bit of guilt for the things she did. She wanted to share with someone but then again she was scared of driving people away because of the weight of the thing she was about to share.

_______

She didn’t want something this to happen again, ever. She didn’t want anything like this to happen in the first place. She didn’t want to meet him. She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t even want to think about him. She knows how wrong it is, how immoral it is, this being unfaithful to someone else is. And yet she did every single bit of it. But then again, she doesn’t regret what she has done. She will probably (not probably, definitely) do it again all over again. She knows that too that she will. Perhaps, she wants so.

_______

Let’s take a moment to reflect at the people and their behaviour. Being faithful is an integral part of a person. But then again when they happen to be unfaithful what are the possible reasons for going ahead with it? Does it have to do anything with them being unhappy with the present relationship? Or is it the fun or excitement in crossing that line? Do reflect your opinions about the people being in such situations and crossing the line they know they shouldn’t cross! What’s your take on it? Well let me repharase and be more blunt at this because I am sure people have opinions like always but when it comes to them they evade. So, what would you do? You love someone but you have a desire to be someone else! And you know it is wrong, but you want it very very badly. What would you do?

But let’s just appreciate this quote that blew my mind. What beauty is this? :

Help me help.

There is this sinking feeling, that drowns us into suffocation where we strive to breathe, that engulfs me into this embrace, a lot like darkness. Yes, darkness, my old friend. No matter what we do, how much we try to fight, we feel tied down, held down. But, but there is light, there always is. We see it at the end of the tunnel, a vibrant collision of bright and shining. We want to reach for it. We want to get out of this darkness, this suffocation, this struggle for life, this fear. And we see this light, so close yet so far, slowly diminishing, slowly fading. But we are drowning, sinking in this quicksand that pulls us down into this bottomless pit, struggling with all our might, yet feeling completely helpless, useless.

I am angry because I am helpless.
– Ξniɢma

I just read the other day another rape incident, not a day after that mass molestation. This is shocking. This is beyond normal. This is going out of control. And I am agitated. My mind is not in one piece. I was at work and I was trying to focus on my work as I wanted some things taken care of. I got distracted with the news that I came across as I scrolled the Facebook timeline. I tried to avoid it, like I have avoided all my problems, like every important thing that mattered I have avoided, I wanted to be that dumb guy who doesn’t understand what is going on when the whole group are laughing and discussing about something. I tried to be that asshole who would just scroll down without flinching an eye and passing a comment “Nothing new“. I tried my best to be ignorant like I had been ignoring the calls from my relatives. But I was drawn to it. Why? I had to know. Why was this pulling me towards it? I didn’t even go out to catch Pokémons while the whole world rejoiced on each Pokemon they collected. I was not drawn to the girl on whom I had crush on for as long as I can remember when she sent a text. What the hell was it, then? I did what I usually don’t know but do all the time – Psychoanalysis!

Was it the pain? Was it the suffering? Was it the inhumanity? What was it?  I am human after all. I too have a few weakness. I t was then I realized that I was drawn to the helplessness. I was drawn to them all – the pain, the suffering.

As I sit somewhat-comfortably in my almost-perfectly cushioned bed after have adjusted the pillows to my favor to rest my back and try to express what I am feeling, I may be telling I am angry, agitated, pissed, blood boiling and everything hyper, but in the end what am I doing? What am I contributing to the cause? How can this little-angry write up about my anger change something, someone?

It agitated me quite a bit to even think about it. We can debate all we want about the problems we have , the things we can do , the things we should do, go on candle light marches in remembrance, stage a protest outside some government institute, break a few windows, burn a few buses, or may be not and all this while we think we are doing a good thing, trying our part in bringing about the change that we so badly need. Or even better we write about the underlying problem, the cause, the reason and while we are laying out the consequences and what we should do, what others should do, what the government we  elected must do. We would go on and write about the problems of the country, the deranged people shouting in CAPITAL LETTERS for the emphasis and also because we are agitated and angry and pissed and outraged. We hope that the letters we write, the articles we publish and the stories we scribble with the carefully structured sentences and curbing the Fuck curse words will reach the people and somehow it will bring a change, somehow it will give them a question to ponder over their actions, somehow that story just might change the people.

But we are human. No, let me rephrase. We are assholes. We follow blind leaders and illiterate psychopaths. Have you ever wondered that IAS exams that we write are so tough to crack and you know what happens to the people who pass them? They work for some 5th standard fail politician. Even with all the aspirations to bring about the change on a small scale is just sidetracked. How are the politicians so illiterate. You want growth. Elect people who can take the challenge. Not someone who are looking to control and oppress. Oh, yes the speeches are always great because they have been drafted with a degree, a MBA one perhaps.

The underlying issue stays the same. We hope that people would change, the concerned officials will take control and bring drastic reforms in. But let’s get one thing clear, there are still a few assholes out there who can’t be changed no matter what you do. Don’t blame it on illiteracy. Everyone learns, in some way or the other. Just that one are hard core assholes who refuse to learn, who refuse to change their way. I don’t understand their stubbornness. They could use this stubbornness to do something good. And the problem still continues.

I am not doing a great thing here by voicing out my thoughts. And that’s what bothers me the most. I am not doing anything. I want to do something to change all this and not give people a chance to even talk about these incidents. But, I am helpless, utterly helpless.

Can you help me to help?
Please? 

__

Ξniɢma

The picture quotes are borrowed from Quotefancy

A kind.

He saw a girl today at the park, a little girl. She reminded him of his daughter. He hadn’t seen her in over a year. He misses her, very badly. She had meant the world to him even when she was just born. He could never forget that moment he saw her for the first time, her tiny face, her tiny arms. She was small, but to him she was much bigger, a world. I would do anything for her, he said under his breath.

The little girl in the park was playing with a friend of hers. She looked happy, giggling away and throwing sand at each other. He wanted to talk to her. But there were people all around. He didn’t know how to. He had lost his daughter a couple of years ago. Some freak accident, some natures’ fault, but he blame himself. He has never really recovered from that loss. The trauma had been painful enough for him. The little girls mother comes back to take her home. But the little girl didn’t wanted to. She wanted to stay and play. Her mother  has some important work at home and so she drags her back to her car and drives her home placing her weeping kid at the back of her car.

He wanted to confront her. He wouldn’t let anything happen to the girl, this little girl. He would never make her cry. He would take care of her, the best possible way.
The little girl was playing as usual. Her mother is talking to another lady whose kid was also playing in the ground. Eventually, it was time to go butt her mother feels bad for yesterday, so she looks at the little girl and lets the little girl play a little longer. And waits while talking to her new friend.

The little girl was a little exhausted and was panting a bit. He offers a candy and takes the little girl to get an ice cream saying that it will give her the energy to play more. She wanted to play more, so she obliges opening the candy excitedly. The little girls’ mother comes back and doesn’t find her. She panics, shouts,  screams, turns the playground upside down, checks every nook and corner. But in vain.

The little girl enjoys the ice cream sitting in the passenger seat of her new found friend. He takes her to his house, shows her room, his daughter’s room. It was pretty, pink, with ponies and stuffed animals and a million other play things. She gets excited and plays for a little while. She suddenly remembers her mother. She asks for her mother. She cries, cries for her mother. The cries become louder. He gets scared. He takes to the room in the basement telling her that her mommy is hiding there. And this was all a game they were playing. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her, he wouldn’t let anyone take away from him, he says under his breath. He wouldn’t let anyone do any harm to her. He wouldn’t let the people harm this little girl. He is going to protect this little girl, his little girl. As she goes inside, he locks up the door behind her.

---

While having a discussion about the kind of people and ‘psychos’ in particular, with a friend of mine, she said ” A psycho with complex ,layered way of thinking. Their brains work in such complicated ways,we can’t even decipher. It’s idiots who don’t think. Psychos do. And since we do not understand the mechanics of their brain,we label them as PSYCHOS. ”

I did think that the complex layered thought process was for the geniuses. Like the real geniuses who see the world differently and make something extraordinary. But psychos? Come on. They never had a brain, did they? We don’t understand them, sure. It’s because they are mad and don’t know what they are doing. They don’t look into the future. They live on a whim, looking at things in their twisted way with no conscious whatsoever. They lack the empathy. I could go on and on. I label people psychos who don’t think about other’s, who don’t think about what damage they would do to others, what their actions might implicate.

Why did I post this? Because after spending quite sometime on writing this so called story, I didn’t get the response I was looking for in the discussion we were having. So, here it is.

Did you read this post? Do care to share your point of view? I would really appreciate it.