The Silence of My Voice

In my teens, I dreamt about everything materialistic. In my early 20s, I dreamt about money. In my latter 20s, well, there's a lot more. We grow, we grow up, and we place a price on what's vital to have. We put a value to worth in diverse measures. Even ourselves. Especially, ourselves. Whoever taught us, or told us that we're the kind to which a denomination can be placed. It's easy to believe good things about yourself; easier to believe the bad ones.  We're often not very hospitable to ourselves. We're all torn between believing whether we're virtuous of our own love, or not. I'm not very implicit at this point, why we're in a steady battle with ourselves because of others' demeanours. It's an impact, sure. But, I feel we give too much of a voice to others, before we remember to give ours a value.  I've always felt criticism, feedback, and discipline is the healthiest way to grow. And, I hold a deep respect, in a place very personal in...

 Self-doubt. Self-confidence. Self-love. Plants. Invasion. Completion. Phases. Barricades. Paranoia. Hope. Success. Laughs. Puppers. Help. Possibilities. Comfort zones. Discomfort. Criticism. Faith. Direction. Growth. Panic. Alarm. Revivals. More plants. Accusations. Silences. Oranges. Pretence. Loss. Enlightenment.  Illusions of friendships.  Broken friendships.  Friendships that wouldn't let go.  Decisions. Pain. Strangers. Unconditionality. Newness. Even more plants. Seek. Self-respect. Dreams. Some more plants. More hope. Work. And, more. What're you thankful for this year? More tomorrow. Until then. Artist:  小老虎-tgr Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, A.

Over the past few years, I've turned into a massive advocate of energy. And, a major lesson I've derived from that belief is patience. A lot of us enact as being the sort of people "who let things take their natural course." As another human myself, I can say I have it on good authority, the majority of us don't hold the kind of grit to be tailgating that theory. I was one of them. I would rush into things, on the pretext if I don't give it my 200%, it's not going to happen. And, how wrong I was.  For some of us, we deem we're giving something more than our all. But in effect, the truth is, for the longest time we're never able to figure, how much of our all, is really our all. It's an immensely tricky thing to know of. Our minds are our sanctum. So, when we assume we're giving our 200%, and we fail, that same mind uses up all its corners, including the little sanctuary you created in it. And, there goes the peace of mind. And, we do this o...

There are infinite moments between where we're now, and where we wish to be. Though, it's glib how we're never chuffed with our current situation. And, we're easily petrified of the space that keeps us apart from our wishing place. Some people call it future planning. Though, I'm not sure it really is that. Money, no object, success, healthy relationships - the usual memo? Although while ticking through the checklist that gets you there, or wherever else you anticipate, do you have a list to make sure you're taking more with you, than leaving more behind? Didn't reckon so.  We ardently lie to ourselves about what it is we want, because we either aren't brave enough to accept what we want, or zealous enough to put in the work to verily seize the same. And, once we stop lying to ourselves, that's the most truthful we'll ever be in our lives.  There's an elephant in the room that we never address, mostly because there's a multiverse of rooms...

Deliberate about how people closest to you hurt you.  Calculatedly, or not, venting, or insulting. Mostly all quandaries are solvable, except the last. It takes a specific kind ignorance to dig deep, and cramp someone that way. Respect is a mighty thing. It's sheer elusiveness makes for a very tactile ache, when there's a lack of it. Even worse, is the idea of being respected.  Here's what I think. Someone can be closest to you, or mad for you, or worked with you for years, and still not respect you. And, more often than not, I've descried this happening with almost everyone around me. The issue is intuiting it. Disrespect would mean even a meagre presence of the opposite. But, a lack of.... And, when you happen onto the void of it, it's a distant kind of grief. It's the kind that leaves a bulging scar you feel every time you itch.  It's not something that goes away with a self-care routine of bubble baths and a glass of wine.  There'll be a lot of times...

Are you a perfectionist? Is it exhausting? I spent my late teens and early 20s trying to make everything immaculate. That induced a crushing alarm to fail at doing so. When you're constantly trying to be vigilant to not commit even the slightest mistake, you lose out on acting for the work you've been fretting about being impeccable in the first place. And, that's the first step to stagnancy, inaction, and failure.  Remember passing through landscapes as kids while travelling in the train? That's it; movement is requisite for change. And, when you're rendered indolent because of your innate dread of being sophistical, you lose out on doing anything at all.  There's a pressing need to rewire the ideology we're taught to work with dramatically. Though, the only way to go about it is introspection. At the end of the day, all of us are well aware of what our potential is, and while some of us find ways very young to harness it, some take a couple of decades. But...

I love me a Jade plant. The most arresting thing about Jades is that you can shape it any way you like. You prune it one way, and it grows bushier there.  Concoct a scenario of being able to snip parts of yourself to grow in that direction. All of us are  always someplace else. Now concoct another, of a dimension where you are exactly who you want to be.  An isotope of you in another time. What are they doing? Are you already that person? Do you even want to be? If so, are you doing enough to be that person?  Think hard, and think fast about your gears, that hurt you the most. And, then think a lot on them. either you'll start loving those parts, or you'll want to prune them away.  The most sublime slant about our minds is, they're always in a state of repair. And, it doesn't stop because, miserably enough, we don't. We keep piling the trash can, but never take it out. If there was a routine cleansing machine for the mind, you wouldn't be mindful about which of ...

  Who are you? Most importantly, who would you want to be? All of us are schlepping an incompatible image of ourselves than what the world deduces us to be, and we perdure endlessly, hard as hell to muster all that we want our stories to be about, within ourselves. All our minds are alike war zones; you can effortlessly map out shelter areas, the warfront, some tanks, and bazookas lying in an unkempt corner. Take five minutes. Take ten, actually, and try fancying exactly how faultlessly you want your life to turn out a veritable way. That's all it takes. Five minutes, and a lifetime to relentlessly netting it all. But, while doing that, what parts of yourself are you putting out in the meat market to be butchered? For all the innumerable units, for every imaginable kind of quantification for distance, areas, monies, time, no one ever came up with one for an emotional stake. With all of us there are moments we barely remember, and some we go over time and time again. That's what...

Hello. Another year. Another Day One. Another Hello. Another year of Blogmas. (you can read the previous years  here ) The year has been apathetic to everyone, to say the least. So, there'll be no talk here about it. It's Christmas, after all. And, as impartial times this year have been, the varied perspectives looking at the stunted burgeoning as people has lingered long enough. Growth is incontestable, esoteric, and loud. I've been opining, and abstracting our lives to be an endless file room, with a myriad mantles after mantles lined with every second we've spent compassing, committing, executing, feeling, breathing, living, or not. Imagine, walking through such an arbour, and pulling out a file at chance. Imagine, pulling a file outlining everything you went through in a second, that you'd grown heedless about it. Imagine, musing over this one second, bringing forth all the seconds you've been deliberately, and snugly tucking away in files marked confidentia...

You tan my heart, as the sky flushes I licked the rain when your tears wouldn't feel wet anymore, Do you yearn only when you reach rock bottom, Or you remember that crookedness only for the way the light at dusk bounced off of it? You mislaid to sweep the debris of who you were, left on my bed last night, And, I stopped writing your story, not because I ended it, but because it was time, And, as you kept falling, it was quicker to imagine my life without you in ten minutes,  Than to wholly live them, The ratification for all that you feel, Your deprivation of compassion when the twigs let you go, Between the bosque, and the groves, The shrubbery, and the firewood, I hewed you out of my words, I blotted your skin with my ink, Give me something to scribble, give me something to scatter, I wore your moods, and I lugged your hopes, I dwelt on your dreams, and I walked atop your thorns, You hoped for love, knowing death still lurked, For you found this life every twilight, much les...

Last day. This is my fifth BlogMas. I didn't realize until today that I've been doing BlogMas for five years, out of the seven years that I've had this blog. 2018, and 2019 have been grating teachers. Which made this year, I reckon, a lot more personal, and arduous to put into words. This year has been a lot more about listening to myself, and accepting that it's okay to need, and ask for help. I've known flaws, and true intimacy. I've known comfort, and fear. I've known courage, and shamelessness. Everything from 2018 bled into 2019, and these two years just made for one excruciatingly long year. And, for all that these two years taught me, I can't wait for BlogMas 2020, and all that I'll be sharing here. It taught me that I can't go it alone always, though. You need people to salvage your story. We're unknowingly, and unhesitatingly playing a part in a lot of others, and we need to let others play their part. Aid that process, don't...

The law of attraction works only for what you want, not for what you need. My dreams are almost always more of a warning. We are always missing someone. Without fail. I regret not taking more pictures. If it feels like something is stopping you, really stop. And, breathe. I am a snob, and I'm okay with that. I still think people almost always never truly admit to their feelings, or surrender to them. I don't give up, and it's colossally unfruitful most times. I observe too much, and I remember too much. It's creepy after a point. I feel sorry too soon, and too unjustifiably. I love everything too easily. But, I don't fall in love with it. I have too many memories, too patented to share. Kissing helps. Always. I like people who bring out the worst in me. It's not a side I meet often. Nothing makes you appreciate your own company than a disastrous day. The fact that anyone needs healing, is not matter to be taken lightly. Never stop asking questi...

Hello. I had yearned, and sought to be a lot of things; some of them I became, some of them I realized I already was, some of them I didn't, and some, which weren't even a part of the list, but I morphed into anyway. And, one of them was a me, I didn't recognize. One that was furious with herself, for even rousing in the morning. There were days I found it crippling to be human. I wanted to mould a bubble, and be unattached from the world, for the time being. Even more gruelling is to be cemented in the conundrum of indecision to do whatsoever about it. These days felt as if my brains were being perforated with a corkscrew. Worse is the denial, about needing help. That denial is also about not having enough gall to admit to the ones closest to you, that you indeed do lack help. Which is problematic because after a point, you begin to believe in it vehemently. There were instances, though. Daily. On my way to work, or alone in a train compartment late at night. The mis...

Hello. For people who've been together for eons, I think the I-love-yous are just a stimulation. I don't think a lot of that has to do anything with the need to be loved. It's more to be cocksure that love still exists, as if there'll always, at least, be hope. There will always be some reserve fuel. Which makes me ponder, albeit different for everyone, what is that particular junction when people stop themselves from falling in love, and rather be in love. The point at which their self-esteem doesn't take a hit, at falling weak in front of them. The junction through which they resolve to compartmentalize their affections, and caching the residual. The junction when they build a mental barrier to make themselves, and the other person, that belonged together only in a certain period in the relationship, a souvenir. The verge of doom, after which they can never possibly fall back in love, or change the past.  The cusp when reached, they tell themselves, "Don...

Hello. For everyone who is still under the perception that the amendment is right in its place, and the people who, or whose parents were born before 1987, are safe, then riddle me this -  Imagine me to be belonging to a Muslim family in a rural setup. The kind where there's hardly any electricity, infrastructure, facilities. The kind where babies are still delivered by untrained, or uneducated doulas - but you get the picture. No hospitals or infrastructure means no birth certificates. No birth certificates means no proof of "ancestry", or citizenship. What happens to that Muslim family? Better yet, is that family, in this moment even aware of what's coming for them? This is just one scenario. I can hypothesise multiple others. So, somewhere, in the back of your mind, store it - people are out there in nipping cold, not for kicks. And, the places where the temperature isn't dropping, the circumstances have turned the air arctic. I was at India Gate,...