Interlude

When I started this blog about three years ago, I only wanted to express myself, I needed a vent, something to do, something to care about. I was looking for someone who might empathize, who might be going through the same thing I was, and more importantly, people who would not pass judgments. 60 blog posts and 315 readers later, I realised, blogging had became all about showcasing my writing. Carefully treading the thin line between truth and fiction, the focus gradually shifted from needing a means of expression to trying to evolve as a writer. As if opening my eyes after an extended period of darkness, today I once again felt the need to simply express, to write only for myself, without trying to create a masterpiece.

I feel happy today. Perhaps the reason is something as superficial as – it’s the weekend! and I roamed the city like a free bird this cold winter morning, feeling the warmth of early sunrays caressing my face. I hit a couple of minor snags, potential dangers to my mood upswing – I sneezed 72 times (goddamn dust allergies), and, courtesy the new wave of black money eradication that’s gripped the nation, I waited 3 hours in line at the bank (which, I must say, was quite entertaining to the people around me, since I finished Tina Fey’s Bossypants laughing my ass off and grooving to Tool) – as I said, these were minor incidents, I wasn’t about to let anything get to me.

My mind was at peace. No restless drumming of fingers on the table, no sudden bouts of anxiety, and, thank God, no depression relapse or drooping self-confidence. It was calm inside, and laughter on the outside. Not particularly wanting to dwell upon the past few months, I can only be grateful for days like these, and hope they stay as long as possible.

Banal

There are times when I envy people their happiness, their joyous lives, pain free, carefree; superficial and shallow, perhaps lacking substance, yet happy. I sit at cafés, alternating between hope, despair, exuberant bliss, pessimism, sudden highs – wind through my hair, night lights, rings of smoke – and then I look at other tables, people laughing, eating, talking about mundane incidents from a mundane life, and it all comes crashing down near my ears, like waves crashing on a shore at high tide. I envy their normalcy, their ability to take life and just live it, without struggling to find answers for questions which have no answers – the reason for our existence, the meaning of love, an escape from the dry monotony dragging us by. Suddenly, I haven’t the slightest idea what I am doing there in that café in the midst of happy faces, so I overdose on caffeine and blow smoke on their faces, silently cursing them for having most of it together. I wish to be free of this eternal struggle with myself, the endless moralizing, philosophizing, rationalizing, and bouts of utterly bleak despair. Everything seems bleak. Get me out of here.

Another lie

He lies.

He speaks with fantastic conviction, spilling half-truths and twisted facts with every word. He’s mastered the art; he keeps a straight face and looks directly into your eyes. His hands do not tremble when he looks away, and his lips do not press together to hide his guilt.

You’ve known for weeks now. He comes home sweaty and tired after work and immediately hops into the shower. Once you thought you saw a bite mark on his neck; another time you leaned in to kiss him and detected the unmistakable scent of another woman on his mouth. You recoiled from him then. You began to watch him closely for signs of a nervous collapse, but he seemed to have it together.

He makes no mistakes; no phone calls, messages, no photos. All data erased from memory. But you know it, you have felt it. There were no signs, but you have noticed the occasional hushed phone call to a ‘colleague’, meeting ‘college friends’ on Sunday afternoons. He never once slipped, but you saw and understood the ache in his bones after fucking her, or the smell of her pussy on his lips. He sleeps soundly at night, snoring loudly the moment he hits the bed. And you lie awake in the dark, wondering what your life has come to.

So why haven’t you confronted him yet? Perhaps you aren’t really sure and there’s a possibility that he isn’t cheating? Or perhaps you are scared to find out that he is; it opens doors to darker and disturbing questions – Who did he fuck? Did he love her? Are you not good enough for him? You close your eyes and push the thoughts out of your head, too painful to deal with at the moment. You find yourself still hoping for all this to go away, like a bad dream that never happened.

He wakes you up one day with kisses and caresses. He wishes you good morning, plays with your hair, smiling the way he used to. You smile back at him sleepily, and suddenly you’ve gone two years back in time; when you were young and stupid and madly in love. His lips graze your earlobe and whisper words of love. And just like that, you fall for his lies yet again.


Stimulus

It may be a sign of growing up, or growing wiser – when studies, friend circles, and clubbing no longer takes precedence in your mind, and gone are the days when you dreamed of stability – career, house, car, marriage and kids, when you worked yourself to a frenzy on the weekdays and blew up your hard-earned money on clothes and partying on the weekends and making grand plans for Friday / Saturday nights. You no longer remember the person you used to be, and those ‘adolescent’ days occasionally come back to you in a mist of nostalgia, but you no wish to live them over again.

I find myself constantly craving a stimulus, be it intellectual, artistic or sexual. I turn out to work wearing jeans, sweatshirt and sneakers and tune in to books, music, anything to get me through the day. Weekends find me enjoying quiet cups of coffee and smokes with my own thoughts or a book for company. I find myself flitting amidst the crowd, breathing into the lull of people’s conversations, covertly stealing characters out of their lives, making up stories in my head.

Hanging out with friends means conversations; a quick recap of mundane lives, then give me the dirt, cut to the chase, dig deeper into the humdrum, provoke me, stimulate me. Intimacy can be achieved over a cup of coffee and two hours of honest-to-God talks, and I want that intimacy. Tell me what moves you, tell me your recent favorite character, tell me about the people in your life, tell me what gets you worked up, what bullshit worldview have you adopted, what do you dream of when you wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and too tired to get up for that glass of water?

In turn, I will tell you my stories. Let me tell you about this fascinating character I met on my travels, what zone I am in, my crisis situation, my sex life, where all this introspection is taking me. Come, talk to me. Be my muse and I’ll be yours.


Hi! Feels good to be dropping in after a long blogging hiatus! What’s up?🙂

Cavemen, machines & science

Do you sometimes go into a trance and imagine that if a caveman were to materialize in today’s world, how astonished he would be to look at all this modernization and technology? After the initial shock of seeing buildings stretching towards the sky and cars zooming at the speed of light, he will probably fire off questions on the science of it all, the cars, phones, television, computers, audio video recording, and even basics such as internet and electricity. Would he even understand the science behind man’s creative genius developed over the centuries? Would his brain be evolved enough to grasp this massive information overload within just one lifetime?

I also imagine a reverse scenario, with me as the caveman, all signs of evolution forced back into the past, and nothing to do but be either the hunter or the hunted. Imagine being responsible for further evolution of mankind and for laying down the very foundation of science! I’m not sure I could do it; stone age was simply too difficult.

Predators, fire, stone, tools, clothes, fences, wheel, cultivation… Is it possible that in some form, you and me were also part of these brainwaves that triggered man’s future genius? Somehow I don’t think it likely, seeing as I don’t even get along so well with machines in the present day. It’s a story for another post, but I’ll admit this much with great audacity I’ve never actually understood half the discoveries of science. Sure, I know what I learned in school, I know how things run on electricity and what fuels the engine in my bike. But would I have been the person to make those discoveries, had I been in their place? Probably not.

I know I’ve never faced a situation where survival itself is a prerequisite to living, but knowing myself well enough when it comes to creative discoveries in the field of science & technology, I will say that if I was the time traveling caveman in the modern day world, I would have been baffled with the explanation for internet & electricity. It is with a heavy heart I must conclude that the ‘stone age me’ must have been eaten by a tiger while wandering too far from the tribe. I hope that at least the tiger enjoyed his meal.

Graffiti

I tell him he is like a sponge, absorbing me into his very core. He breathes in my thoughts, impulses, tears, reflections, intuitions, desires. I paint weird graffiti on the walls of his mind, and he tells me I fascinate him. He wants to be closer to me. He wants to possess my mind. But I do not know what I am more fearful of relinquishing – my sanity or my insanity?

We talk of love and emotions, and the moon, the stars, the wind. He believes me when I tell him I love him, because I believe it too. Every moment is our moment, isolated from the rest of the world. But then the moment passes, and suddenly I am nothing and I am everywhere.

He tries to paint the insides of my mind, but it keeps wandering and slips from his grasp. And then I hate myself with a fierceness which he can only match with his anger.

Perhaps love does exist only within our minds, and what we should be saying is, “I want to love you. So much…”

Extinguish

I stub out the cigarette and stare in silence as the embers slowly fade, leaving me in complete darkness. There is no escape from morbid thoughts, and I cannot help but think that this is how it all ends. Someone will watch the light in my eyes fade into nothingness. What once was, will be no more. A lifeless pile of cold flesh and rotting bones crumbling into dust. Someone very dear will ooze moisture from their face and vow to never forget. And one day their memories will turn to stardust, dissolving from their fingers and toes into nothingness.

Stardust is men who fought bravely, women that loved fiercely, children whose laughs echo through the wind. It is broken hearts and slayed limbs, silent melodies and blank pages, colorless dreams and an empty hourglass.

And yet I get this strange feeling that I am but a mere spectator. Yet there remains a tiny, fragmented, futile hope that as stardust, we are immortal.