A Realization

I'm told I possess astonishing levels of maturity and an ability to keep a level head in almost all situations. Normally, it takes extremes to make me lose my cool in public. Somehow, none of that works with you. Your mere presence takes away all of it, only to replace it with plenty of hyperventilation and excitement and most of all, silliness.

You've achieved nothing short of a miracle.

This is a point where I've understood that everything doesn't necessarily work out the way I want it to. Acceptance. Acceptance of something I'm not even entirely sure of. There's this voice in my head that keeps telling me I'm being silly, getting all worked up when I don't even know the truth. I'm too afraid to ask, strangely enough. I wonder why. I've never been afraid of asking you anything before.

Back to acceptance. No tears, no tantrums, no rants. But if I ever learn that this is true, I'm afraid I'll hate you for not telling me in the first place. Because I thought telling me was obligatory and came with being friends.

This does not mean I don't feel for you, however.

*sigh*

The past few days seem to have whizzed by rather quickly. Normally, I'd complain, but I'm rather satisfied with how I've handled things. I seem to have figured out how to tackle massive amounts of work and stress without drowning in it. None of this would've been possible without M. You're the one who got me to make a beginning. And then, kept me going even if it meant tolerating my frequent meltdowns. I owe you. :)

My head does feel a lot less cluttered. I'm happier than I've been in quite a while. It doesn't take much to make me happy. Lack of stress and talking to you are definitely on the list. Though the latter hasn't been happening at all lately. *sigh* Oh well.

After All That

I should just accept the fact that I'm terrible at this. 'Nuff said.

I don't like stress. No one does. It does not permit me to function normally.

My desk is so full of utterly random objects that I think it's a miracle I'm able to get any work done at all using it. I'm poring over books and my writing stationery is everywhere and my laptop is adding to the clutter. I suddenly feel like doodling but I can't seem to find any pencils at all, and then I remember that I'm supposed to be directing all my energy towards the mountain of work I have before me; I look up and see the 'Zzzzinnng' written in bright yellow on the wall, a happy reminder of certain memories and the fact that I must focus, and that allows me to get back to work; but my phone's buzzing every few minutes with questions about this and that, and then I realise you're in my head again and I can't concentrate with you buzzing around like static, and I want to talk to you within the confines of my brain but I'm reminded yet again that I need to work. But now my eyes are tired and I decide to give up and go to sleep; but even then you're flitting in and out of my dreams and when I wake up I'm really not sure what you were doing, and you're still buzzing around in my head like static the whole day.

Two words: mind control.

"I need to learn that from you."

I laugh it off.

Part of me knows that this is something I do not possess, I've simply learnt to keep a level head in social situations.

***

It's late, and I know I should go to bed, but the promise of yet another conversation is irresistible, so I force my eyes into remaining open. They've begun to follow a pattern now, proceeding along similar lines every time. Surprisingly, they're never monotonous.

I admire how some people can talk without having to think their sentences over a million times before they actually let the words escape their lips.

***

I've reached that annoying stage where all the tiny, insignificant things remind me of you. And I'm forced to face the reality of what an epic fail this is.

It's nice having you in my head.

Enough said.

Twenty - Eleven

What a year.

Three months of hard work. Hours of poring over books, writing and reading and writing and reading in endless circles, hoping that at the very least, some of it would eventually settle into my already overworked brain.

The feeling of utter relief when I handed in my last exam paper and the realisation that, yes, it was all over.

The confusion and madness that followed, and the surprises that came out of it all.

New beginnings, stepping into unfamiliar territory, surprising myself with the ease with which I seemed to handle it, new people, faces, things, lives.

Meeting some of the most amazing people in my life right now, the ones whom I have come to adore and really trust, all in the painfully short time span of a few months.

Watching how all it took was one person to transform me, and teach me how to let loose.

Dealing with daily mood swings that never seem to cease, and the effects of hyperactive estrogen levels.

Wondering if I'll ever find the courage to tell you about how it really is.

I wonder how twenty-twelve will treat me!




P.S Wishing all you bloggers a very happy new year :)

Winter, December & Everything Else

One, two, and three; all too soon, a hundred million words reduced to mere pretence; a few sentences, spoken once in a while.

Too much, too soon. Maybe I should have waited, given myself some time before diving headlong into what now appears to be an utter, absolute mess.

But it's done now and there's no going back to where we began. Nothing is the same anymore. And in spite of everything, I cannot deny the fact that you still occupy my thoughts as I sip my morning coffee, feet resting on the cold, dewy grass; eyes trying to see through the veil of mist in front of me; feeling the sun's mild warmth on my back. And I still manage to let my face betray the tiniest hint of a smile.

One of the prettiest places I've ever been to.

Up down up down up down up CRASH BANG BOOM

A break would be very much appreciated, thank you.

Part of me expected everything to just fall apart, but it didn't. Or maybe it did, while I was busy stressing over what didn't happen, and what could've happened and a million other small, insignificant things, and I didn't notice. I didn't fall into a deep abyss, and neither did I spend a few months spiralling downwards into depression. Maybe I'd known all along that this was the best thing that could possibly happen.

I'm proud of us.

We've come of age. When the wills of ordinary people can force a whole government to pass a piece of legislation, we know we've achieved something.

Here's to a better future. :)

I'm writing for the sake of writing. Not because I have a story to tell, or a point to make. I'm writing for the sake of writing. I'm putting pen to paper so that words flow out in torrents; I do not care if they don't form coherent sentences.

I'm writing, but I'm not following my thoughts as they spiral and twist inside my brain. I'm letting them out as they are. I'm not bothering to arrange them in various sequences, I'm setting them free.

I'm still writing, but I'm writing for the sake of writing, because I want to feel the rather selfish exultation of being able to string letters into words.

I'm done writing, and I now exist in a void where millions of words once stood.

Sixty-four years. Every year, on August 15th, we're taught to hoist the flag, sing our national anthem, and feel the familiar surge of patriotism, or what we think is patriotism, well up inside us and then, we pour it out, talking about how far we've come, and what a great nation we are, because it's Independence Day; we're supposed to be celebrating, not mourning.

This year, this sixty-fourth August 15th, things are different.

We're still Indians, but we're no longer the same people who stood and watched as successive governments struggled for power, leaving the nation to fend for itself.

We're Indians, but we have questions, questions that the establishment is too embarrassed to answer, questions that could topple a whole government.

We're Indians, but we're not fooled by the cash and freebies they hand out in exchange for a vote or two, we want progress on the issues that matter. We want to know how our money is being spent. We want to know why we have massive security failures time and again. We want to know what they're doing for our billion-strong nation.

We're Indians, and we no longer believe that the lines that divide us according to community, caste, race, or religion can stoke the flame of violence, and cause us to behave like five-year-olds.

We're Indians, and we believe in freedom and democracy. Not the freedoms that are supposedly guaranteed to us in the Fundamental Rights, but real freedom. We want to know how on earth could someone organizing a peaceful protest be arrested. We want to know why books and films are routinely banned, artists and writers exiled. Whatever happened to freedom of speech and expression?

We're Indians, and we're not afraid to think, to question, to take action, to speak out against the injustice we're meted out on a daily basis. We're different people now.

We're Indians, and we're going to undo all the wrong that has been done to us over the past sixty-four years.