Come Winter

Cold, cold wind. I sit here alone, watching the stillness in contrast to my mind. There is nothing the wind moves, and yet it makes its presence known.
A chill races up and down my body. I shudder, but no sound escapes me. Even if it did there would be no use. I sit here, alone as the day I was born and as alone as I will be the day I die.
I close my eyes, trying to shut out the world around me. My mind wanders to the ‘what if’s and the ‘I wish’s. I try to control them- but I’m no authority over the procedure any more than I am of destiny.
Destiny. What a funny word. I never believed in it despite all the miracles and the fortunes I found along my way to where I am today. And yet now- now I am inclined to believe maybe this is what I am destined for.
To feel alone in a room buzzing with people.
To feel alone when the sun shines on my face.
And to feel alone- so terribly alone- when I lie on my bed and watch the shadows play on the ceiling, cast by the headlights of the cars passing by.
I’ve never been surrounded by so many people, never had so many in my life- and never felt more secluded.
Days come and go, hours tick by, I mechanically carry out the tasks expected of me, and all the while I wish for the courage – courage to break free from the monotony.
How long since I felt?
Have I ever experienced anything?
There I sit, laughing or crying, but not for long- never for long. Was I equipped with feelings? Or is it something I’ve taught myself over time so I might feel less lonely?
Sometimes I wonder if I’m human. Maybe when they were handing out emotions and feelings- I got the scraps stuck to the dish when everyone’s had their share.
If I’m cut- I bleed. I see the blood, and in a corner of my mind I sense there could be- should be pain.
Yet- Nothing.
I have ambitions- dreams of leaving this rut behind and finding a place that tears down the walls around me. Then I blink- and realize how futile that dream is. I’m trapped here and will be. Call it what you will- this is my ‘destiny’, my ‘fate’, ‘karma’ or just plain cowardliness. But I’m stuck- and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I close my eyes. Time to dream. The need to dream overcomes me.
Weak- but I close my eyes to escape for a brief reprieve. To a world where I feel safe and secure.
Nay, to world where I feel.

Loser

What to do when the whole universe in an unprecedented manner, one never seen before, decides to target and single you and Y-O-U only?

No, I’m actually not a self-obsessive teenage girl, I’m a rational twenty year old, and I know I’m smaller than a speck and just as important, yet somehow, I seem to NEVER catch a break and in fact, making matters worse, I’ve lost any kind of edge that I took three years of hardwork and toil to earn, and that too, just like that.

Its inexplicable. I can’t seem to do anything, yet I’m tired, yet I force myself to do everything on my to-do-list, and at the start of a new day, another more important list finds its way into my head and you guessed it, none of it is ever done.

I am actually going through a phase in my life, being accustomed to a decent amount of luck and… well, being cut some slack the ordinary amount, a phase where I am undoubtedly nothing more than your common, average, misunderstood (here goes) Loser.

I can not seem to finish what I want to on time. Things deep rooted in my heart never actually come out and take a physical form and all that hard work I’m ready to put into seems to hide behind my tv or laptop.

Despite almost a week of doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING I find my body still the throes of being attack from over-stressing myself. Somewhere I know I made a mistake grammatically, but bare with me here. My neck is still killing me, I’ve forgotten how to lead life without a headache, my back pain could make a full grown man cry and my weight loss would have every model in the world jealous. And these are the problems I can make fun of. Wait till you hear the rest.

It’s like I’ve become the flash. I run around doing all this stuff but no one really sees it because I dont linger around begging for the credit. And guess what, I get the blame instead. And when I try to get the credit, I get the blame and a tag for showing-off.

I guess I am the Mayor of Loserville. Population: one. I’m not your ordinary loser too, I actually fight this losing battle day after day after day after day. And when I do decide to “go with the flow”, everything takes a turn from bad to worse.

Maybe the part of my life that I thought to be normal was abnormal and now the universe is shifting to make way for my permanent-resident-of-Loserville life. The only other explanation is that the universe is conspiring against me and this reasoning is rather tiresome, so maybe this is where I’m headed. Ms. Unlucky, Ms. Blame-Me-When-You-Got-No-One-Else, and a bunch of other clever names I could come up with to call myself, among which my favourite being (you guessed it) Loser. Without any prefix.

Loser Smith.

Yup, sounds about right.

Facing The Storm

When it hit, I was still caught up in my head. The tensions, worries, anxieties, they were all there, and it was just the beginning of my break.

I was stressed out, depressed and was barely thinking of anything except my incomplete to-do lists. I was thinking of no one and nothing outside of what I had to do. I was told by many that I was lonely, but the fact remained that I had no time to be lonely. There was always something to be done.

When it hit, I was not prepared for its full impact.

At first I barely noticed as I briskly moved about, completing my tasks; then as I fought the opposing tide of people on the street, it seeped into my awareness.

I was still sweating, but the sun was no longer beating down my neck. The cool wind lifted some of the hair strands of my face and that was when I suddenly realized what I was up against. One quick look heavenward and it was confirmed. The day’s forecast fought itself into the front of my head.

Heavy, stormy weather.

I looked down at my crisp white cotton shirt and light brown pants. Not the best choice considering I was far, far away from shelter. And just like that, it exploded. The rain pelted against my aching back harshly, showing no mercy as it drenched my shirt and had it clinging to me like second skin. My hair fell loose and clung to every fold near my neck and prevent quick movements of my head. My shoes were soaked through and I could feel the water circulate around my toes.

The sidewalk was suddenly deserted as people huddled under any kind of make-do roof for protection. They now observed me, the only idiot who’d waited long enough and was left standing alone in the rain. A quick glance told me, if I wanted to join them for the same protection, I needed to loose half my weight with in a millisecond or, have one half of me dry while the other half continued facing nature’s wrath.

I stood there staring.

And stood and stood and stood.

By now, there wasn’t a cell on my body I could claim to be dry. I closed my eyes to calm myself – and suddenly found a peace come over me, like never before.

The silence was healing. The steady pitter patter of the rain was therapeutic and the water beating down on my seemed to relieve me of all my tensions. Knowing I was causing a spectacle to everyone else buy standing statue still in the midst of a storm on an empty sidewalk, I quickly open my eyes and began to walk. I walked through small roads, puddles, got wet by the splashes of cars passing by me – but I kept walking.

My mind was frozen, and it wasn’t because of the chill running through my body. Yes, the water was cold, but it was like a reality shock to my system.

Sometimes life is about more than marking off items from your day-to-day lists.

Sometimes it’s all about looking at the bigger picture.

And sometimes, it takes a storm for you to realize it.

I walked about four kilometers in the rain, oblivious to the glances I was getting from people around me. Wrapping my hands around my wet torso only seemed so very natural that I felt comforted by the motion.

I could hear my own wet footsteps against the rain water, and the occasional vehicles pass by.

When I neared my home, I took the longer route, knowing it could adversely affect my health, but at the moment all I cared about was that feeling of serenity that engulfed me.

I went up to a lonely height and watched as the water descended on the city below me. Somehow the height magnified my tranquility. I let my eyes close and felt the water cascade over my face and felt it mingle with my eyebrows and eyelashes. I felt the water trickle down my face and as it did, I lifted my face up for more. More.

At some point my eyes opened and a rush of color flooded my vision. It was still raining but for me it might as well have stopped. It had served its purpose. There was no urgency, no necessity, no pressing engagement and no important appointment more important than for me to realize that I was NOT lonely.

I was alone.

And that made all the difference.

Wanted: Silence

Midnight. I watch the flickering shadows on my ceiling, cast by the cars passing by way, way below. I block out their honking, the silence in my head helps keeps my illusion of being isolated.

I’m in a bubble. Transparent, fragile and light. Then again, maybe I am the bubble – could I float otherwise?

Fly away. I fly away past all the roof tops and clouds.

Far away from any signs of life I’d recognize.

It’s not enough.

I’m gliding down a river, the trickling of the water lulling me into a false sense of security. I am the stream now, taking with me all that stands in my way, determined in my path towards my destination. I flow where ever I can, take whatever shall move. I am powerful, and free, and rapid.

I need more.

I walk along the woods, hearing and seeing nothing but the path in front of me. I walk, and walk, and walk. I observe the fallen leaves, the stones and insect life so different from my own. I walk until I reach the end of the woods, till my feet cry from exhaustion, till there is no where else to go. I am tired – but my mind is still restless.

Something is missing.

I open my eyes and watch the shadows dance above. The noises trickle back into my consciousness and I grit my teeth. The blaring horn of the bus. The screech of the car tires. The rev of the motorcycle… No, no, no. This will not do.

I am the storm. Forceful, fearful, fast and consuming. I destroy everything in my path, I have no mercy. Bow to me, bow to my authority. A casual flicker of my eye could change the world as it stands today.

Horn.

Dancing light. Is that what I’m reduced to? What I’m forced to endure?

I sit alone. There is no one, no time, no sound, no light, no feeling. It is a cold place, this darkness, but I can only sense it. I’m in a corner, my legs pressed into my chest, my arms wrapped about my knees.

I cannot see anything, yet I am not frightened. From the depths of my mind strikes a familiar, haunting tune. I cannot place it, yet I’m sure I’ve heard it.

I know every note, every symphony, every tone, every bar, pitch and scale. It fills me, thrills me, chills me and… kills me? I cannot contain it for long. The music peaks… and I no longer am. There is no existence, not anymore. There is nothing.

Nothing and everything.

Five hours later, I wake up cold and alone, curled up on the titled floor of my room.

White Heat

Me, the loner. Me, the black sheep. The rule-breaker, the freak, the forsaken?

So many decisions, so many paths to chose from, so many ways to go.

And yet, at this point – it was just me and the fire.

I watched it dance, flicker and tease the air around.

It didn’t make me uneasy – then again, fire never does.

I watched the golden flames lick the grass not far from me. I watched the flames caress the blades, and watched as the green turned to dust right before my eyes.

I watched the blaze, watched as it grew and grew, and grew.

Then, it crackled merrily, a few feet above my motionless body. I could almost feel the flames mirrored in my eyes, yet the heat hadn’t penetrated to my ice-cold limbs yet. Ahead of me lay the most beautiful scene I would ever see. My city, at night, with the reflection of all those brilliant lights in the calm waters of our sea.
There was no sound that registered in my head, other than the fizzing of the fire.
In a way it completely reflects the way I feel, that burning and lack of control on how it spreads, then again it’s so different from my restraints and rules.

The first few rays of dawn creep towards me, I can feel them reaching out. They irritate me, for I know, with them comes the shock of realization that reality always brings. And I don’t want it. I do not want reality to interfere in all that is so pure, heck, so clear in my head now.

I do not want to dismiss this with the blink of an eye.
Tonight I learnt a lot. About life, its meaning and purpose. What exactly I learnt cannot be expressed in words, only feelings. And hence, that much harder to explain. I hesitate to blink, even though my eyes begin to water. I plead to myself – no, don’t let go.
Don’t let me go…

Involuntary. I’m too weak. As my lids sweep down, something inside breaks. I open up slowly. The magnificent fire is smoking as it takes its last few breaths. I watch it in the cruel light of day that grows stronger and stronger. I feel all the madness leave me, draining out of me slowly. Sanity overcomes me.

I stand up. This is me now. No silly emotions clouding me, no indecision lingering. The truth is cruel, so am I. I know what I have to do.

Dust off the past. Actions precede the words, I’m dusting off my clothes. I pull myself to my full height. The eyes, they narrow themselves. Too much light, too much to see. All I have to do now is focus.

Strides that would make a pack leader proud, I’m walking away. The fire dwindles away completely to smoke. I don’t even glance back. Step, step, step.

Chin in the air. Time to be a leader. Time for me to forge my own way.

Traffic and Me.

I remember when I was younger that I was a cheerful person. Content and at peace with myself all the time. I had a short temper, and if provoked I was a demon on fire, but when I was on my own, it never lasted.Nice things just floated in and out of my mind, I couldn’t help it. They say ignorance is bliss, and with my under-developed social-observation skills, I was at complete bliss. My moods generally were of a sunny nature. Unfortunately though, over time I became too busy to notice or care about anything but what was going on, and what was expected of me.

Today I walked home.

The bus stopped at the other stop, further than I’d expected, but as always, I’d squared my shoulders, turned up the volume and did what I had to.  Sometimes it’s as if my phone is testing my patience – it’s idea of full volume changes every time hit the ‘play’ button. So instead of drowning out everything around me, as it sometimes does, I was still very conscious of my surroundings.

I heard the bus as it blared for someone to get out of it’s way. I heard the man shout back violently, defending himself. I heard a car zoom by me faster than it was supposed to, a motorcyclist honking as he swerved in and out of traffic. For mid-afternoon, I was faced with simply too much teeming activity. I trudged on, my books heavy on my back – as if I needed a reminder about my upcoming doom in the form of exams.

The heat penetrated from all directions, the sun straight at my unprotected head, the ground heat burning through the soles of my favorite, well-used and worn-out shoes.

I heard girls my age giggle and laugh as they exchanged encounters and replied to the text messages they got on their expensive, stylish, over-the-top cellphones. I heard the guys comment as every girl passed by them. In all probability, both the groups, by their relaxed postures, seemed to suggest they were in no hurry to escape the heat. They were likely to have friends who’d come at the drop of a hat and whisk them away into the security of their homes. It’s what came with being popular. Or normal, I really wouldn’t know, being a bit of a recluse myself. Taxis stopped, asking me if I needed a lift. A man from behind the counter of his shop asked me if I wanted something to drink or eat, and one glance at his fly-infested display had my stomach reeling. More autorikshas stopped to see if I was going their way, or if I needed to go somewhere.

I did, but I wasn’t going to pay them for walking a mere kilometer. Okay, so it was hot and yes, I’d have done anything at this point to spike the volume of the songs I was listening to, but after the rather worrisome week I’d had, I was in desperate need of some time for myself. I sorted out the route I would take, in my head, and began walking in my headstrong, brisk walk that I’ve been told is distinctively mine. I tried to let the music take over me, but just as the song was about to… “lift me up”, the drilling began. Ilooked up from the road I walked on to see that the road I’d chosen, was the one less taken – no pun intended.  This one looked nothing like the image the poet’s (Robert Frost) words painted, I was in the middle of a concrete jungle and a concrete dig lay ahead of me.

The roads had been cut off crudely with what looked like toy diversions, rocks were lined unevenly around the surface of the road which suddenly dropped several feet into the ground,

deep enough that I could see only the necks of the cranes and heavy-load machinery inside the pit. What caught my attention more, was how people, as if inheriting the quality from goats, were waltzing through the maze of the rocks, stones, mud, gravel, sand, flint, concrete, cement etc etc with such ease. And by the way I was being jostled, clearly I was expected to do the same. There was just one other alternative for me, I had to turn back and go the longer way in the heat – or, I could walk… er,  tackle this out. I was secretly broke, having spent my last travel money for the copy of some notes in college I would never see but had to have in case I was asked to produce them on-the-spot.

So far, as was a habit, I hadn’t completely stopped walking, I’d merely slowed down to the speed everyone normally walked at, but if I was to successfully make it to the other side of the ravine, I had to quicken my steps.

I felt the sweat trickle down my shoulder blades, my back already protesting from the load I was forced to carry. The shoes were on their last leg, so I had to tread carefully, a leap there, a slip here, oh better hurry out of the way for the-ridiculous-motorcyclist-who-thinks-he-could-fit-a-moped-through-where-one-couldn’t-stand-steadily-with-their-two feet-on-the-ground, scurry past the horde of workers who for some reason stopped their work to stare at me, leap over that wire, use the electric pole for help as I swing to the next safety spot – there! Aching feet and back, dress soaking with sweat and holding my nose so I could avoid the smell, hair plastered to the skull by some mis-fired water sprayed at us back when we were crossing the pit, hands red from clinging to all the extra support I’d needed…

I was out. I’d made it to the other side.

There was a weak sense of accomplishment in me, slowing building up. All week long I’d been succumbing to the fear that I was changing, but for the worse. I’d never been comfortable with frills and flower patterns, but lately people told me I was becoming more feminine – and that scared me. I was used to being rough and crude, blunt and bold; femininity suggested I do these things differently, or even not at all. I looked back at the male-infested road (or whatever it was called). It took me only a second to realize that I had been the only woman/girl who walked through the pass, which was probably why the workers had stopped to stare. I let the embarrassment fade before the pride kicked in again. I had done it without a word of complaint, and honestly I’d do it again if I had to. The giggling girls and their cellphones could take a hike, this was they way things were done.

I continued my quest home, only half done, but the rest of the roads that led me there were easier. There were uphill and steep, had their own fair share of pot-holes, but I was looking forward to the shade and the relative quietness. I saw leaves now mingled with the mud, dirt and sand I walked on – what we roughly refer to as “road”. Just that, a few greens amongst the angry shades of orange, had me smiling.  I felt the volume of the song increase, and even though the song playing wasn’t particularly my favorite, it lifted my spirits further.

By the time the giggling girls and the pointing men whizzed past me in their fancy cars and bikes, I was soaring. The music was back again, lulling my senses into a state of false security and isolation. I didn’t acknowledge their pitying looks, instead I pitied them. They did not share with me my sense of accomplishment. They would go home and continue with their lives, just as ever before.

I was not changed. I did not have an epiphany. What I did feel was reassurance. I knew who I was – that I hadn’t changed from who I’d worked so hard on becoming. I was still me. I still looked a challenge right in the eye, without flinching. Longer hair and girly sandals meant nothing to what lay inside. So I might have become more soft round the edges and easier on the eyes, it did not mean I had become any different. And yet… different – what did that mean any more? I hadn’t found joy in so long, it seemed like a fairy tale to me. I no longer thought of myself as living, “surviving” seemed more appropriate.

I reached home to an empty house. We didn’t get any direct sun rays, then again we never got any wind. I walked into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. I slapped cool water on my face, then let it drip dry as I bit into “lunch”. I sat alone on the table, the music lulled by the softness of the song my phone played.

I chewed my food as realization struck me.

Unbelievable, but it seemed that after so long, I was complacent once more.

The Exceptions

He is silent, helpful, clever and one of the most principled people I have ever met.

She has a great sense of humour, a flair for giving advice, passion for life and a great love for music.

Neither of them have PhDs, but he has a masters from IIT Delhi and she is a gold medalist from one of the best universities here.

To you they might be partially interesting strangers, to me and my sister, they are Mom and Dad.

When they’d gotten married, they barely knew each other, a near scandalizing thought to me. I cannot imagine it- even when faced with proof of it day in and day out.

Dad’s got a soothing presence, while Mom’s constant moving has me feeling like a lazy bum.

When I want a hug, just… because, I go to dad. When I have a problem, I run to mum- and then get a hug anyway.

Sometimes, even that reverses. Throughout my childhood Dad has been the constant pillar I could lean on, and Mom the one who helped me fight my demons.

But that was nothing more than “Mom and Dad” for me. That’s what they were there for, right?

Dad’s job in the Navy and then in ship building caused him to leave us a lot  in the middle, and that was my wake up call.

Suddenly things had changed. Mom was working, but she also played the role of Mom and Dad. Of course Dad’s daily (or 3 times a day) phone calls helped too.

He visited us once a month or so- and you could literally hear the house sign in relief as the madness slowed down to a crawl around him.

And all through, for me, he was “Dad”.

Now I am old enough to see that if either of them wanted, they could have bailed on us anytime. There was no need for Dad to shunt up and down so much, to call so much and overwork himself. There was no need for mom to face our adolescence alone either, while managing a difficult boss at her job, no need for her to face the tension about what our exams meant for our future.

Either of them could have stopped caring and thought about themselves- it takes less than a second to do so.

But when the going got tough- Mom and Dad stood by what was best for us, not caring what it could mean for them.

So what did it mean for them?

Dad finally shunned his job that far off from us and took a transfer to one that would bring him back to living with us. We were ecstatic- naturally, but none of us more so than Mom.

I still dont know exactly what it cost Dad to do it- and the implications in his job, but I do know that he’s never been more happy- neither has my mom.

And the best part is when we (my sis and I) sent Mom and Dad off together for a short trip nearby, they returned early because they were “bored without us”. 

Yet when I see them together, Dad’s teasing- Mom’s sarcastic response- I just know I am beyond lucky to have grown up with them- and I just instinctively know it would have been the same even if I didn’t share genes with them.

Till today I see them asking each other the simplest things, I have to remind Dad to buy Mom flowers for their anniversary and my sis explains Dad would be home on time if his job allowed for it- and I just am filled with warmth.

This is my family. They are where I came from- I have all genes in me, Mom’s curiosity and Dad’s lack of, Mom’s temper and Dad’s practicality, and all their other genes, recessive or dominant.

I can choose to be like either of them as per the moment purely because I have both of them in me.

I woke up to my Dad teasing my mom today. I woke up startled, but when I realized what had wakened me, I couldn’t help but smile.

My parents. Separation, five or more years of adolescence from 2 girls (and mine was especially bad), all our house moving, the job pressures- nothing kept them apart.

Of course they still fight- but who doesn’t? Its in their compromises I read the love.

Almost all my life I said to myself, I made me. This could have been because it was “cool” to say it, or because in my ignorance I really believed it.

But now I know better.

I am who I am- because of my parents. Whether they directly influenced me or I learnt from the lessons they went through, I know I am who I am because I grew up with them.

Because they looked after me, care for me and loved me unconditionally.

And, I might add, they are still hip in their own ways, despite being my parents and all.

Dad wanted to teach us how to drive- and he did without turning grey. Mom loves my music and when she walks into my room, she increases the volume. 

My parents. I don’t say it often enough, but I love them and more importantly I respect them.

I never thought I’d say it, but I find myself forced to. Here goes-

Thank God for arranged marriages!

Rantings of the now 19-year-old.

Sometimes I feel so inexplicably… trapped… it just feels so surreal and inexplicable.

I feel way more restless than I normally ever would… ever. I find the urge inside of me to do something- anything! and yet I cant seem to curtail the feeling that there is nothing there for me to do!

Sometimes I just want to break free.. . free from what I’m not quite sure, but free, truly so.
I want, no crave a life which is much more… rich, fulfilling and definately more satisfying than the one I lead now…

I’d like for the colors in my life to glow, to be more than just the dull black, white and grey… I’d love for vibrance, taste and excitement to flow in and out as they please, for the colors to tease and ease my temper, for me to experience the richest of tastes and I’m not talking just about food, although that in itself is another thing I dream of.

Food that simply melts in my mouth, a thousand flavours teasing my senses, a book that keeps me glued to a sofa, making me forget myself, life and time as a whole, a movie that has me wishing it wouls last for much longer, a painting that makes my fingers itch to feel the texture and trace out the outlines, a dress that floats on me and feels like a dream, a house that I could explore and get lost in, a car I could just drive on as it purs in encouragement, a song that stays in my head throughout the day and makes me smile, a friend whos comfortable silences leave me content, a night with the stars oh-so-bright, not a cloud in the sky, a morning thats crystal clear, a rainy afternoon and an evening of entertainment, and i just float on like that…

Too much to ask… No, not really. I just want a life of variety, one which has both ups and downs, and even some moments of dullness for me to catch my breath. I want to live in a house with bright vivid colours, a house with the view of a lake or something, which in turn would be my little hideout.

I want a circle of deep, trusting friends, a group of us who understand each other and do nothing more than hang out with each other and in that respect, show each other that we care.

I want to eat flavours that are simply devine- melting, teasing, tempting and yet utterly satisfying.

I want the loyalty and the warmth of a pet in the house, which will get me through the loneliest of days.

I want a life,  which so much in it that I would feel lifetimes aren’t enough.

I want to have happy dreams, not ones where I long for more.

I am happy with what I have now- or so I feel. But I am restless- because I want more- and I know its on offer somewhere, sometime for me. The question remains, will I get it? And if so, will it be the right time for me?

All this ranting is pointless, but its an outlet, a way to say I need more, I want more- but I’ll survive and do what I can to get it.

Time is cruel.

Rain On Me

I dont ask for much
But when i do, I ask it sincerely
I’d dont need those green bucks
Just rain on me fiercely

Feed me no honey
Pour me no wine
Rain water on me-
Thats what i call devine

Let me lay there
As the water falls
Feeling stripped and bare
Breaking past my walls

Drop by drop they splash on me
Drop by drop they seize me
Drop by drop they intrigue me
Drop by drop they release me

Rain- it controls me
Rain- it posses me
The steady beating of the drops
Have me begging never to stop

Grey skies, rough winds,
Whisting gale, lightning and thunder
I stand amidst with a wide grin
Staring out with awe and wonder

Pelt me more- take me away from reality
Roll away all that numbing pain
Take with you all my insanity
And leave behind nothing- but rain

Wash away my fears
Mingle with my tears
Lift me up with the wind
Happiness to me you bring

Rain
At the crack of dawn or peak of night
Rain
Leave me not
Rain
You make me strong, bring inner light
Rain
Be with me when everyone else has gone.

A tribute to the man I loved

I’m not sure where to start

Where do I even begin

to describe the man I loved

a love that came from within

Growing up I never came close to

knowing his actual value

until I sat down by his side

and learnt the story of his life

he took my hands in his frail arms

looked me deep in the eye

said no one could do me no harm

it was always hard to say goodbye

“I love you” he told me,

every time we met

“I love you too” I said,

wanting no regrets

he was patient, he was kind

he was brave, he was strong

he taught me the importance of time

Why the hell did everything go wrong

Cancer reared its ugly head

it confined him to his bed

and we watched in horror 

as he fought to see tomorrow.

Now he’s gone

to a place far better

the battle is over 

there is no victor

He has gone to join his brother

Once again they have each other

Now heaven is a place wealthy with

the souls of both my grandfathers

Silence is a miracle.

Call it recovery, call it divine intervention, call it nothing more than a strong dose of caffeine, but right now my spirits have been lifted.Want to know why?I’ve just heard the voice in my head again. Lost in the background, but then again, silence is a miracle.
Know what the voice said?
You’ll never guess.
“You pink, contaminated, liquefied, concentrated, disposable, wasted, weak, pathetic piece of filthy shit!”Followed by a very solemn-“You’re different, you dumb ass!”Which, of course helped everything fall into place.I’ve almost never fit in. Big deal. Boo-hoo and all that jazz.I don’t need to fit in. After all what could I possibly gain?I still want to be happy and I’m happiest when I’m either:
A. All alone 
B. With people I care about 
Absolutely anywhere, doing the things I love.
And I can’t have that everyday, so its no use complaining.
Nothing will stand in my way. I will do all that I want, despite the pathetic attempts to foil me.
I am here to stay.
I am here to make a difference.
No wait, I AM the difference.
Arrogant? I think not.
Time to take a step back and look at the big picture.
I am Liza Smith.
I am not afraid.
I am going to have my way.I will get what I want.And right now I want to be happy.My happiness is something I control. Not some losers around me, ME.
Did you ever realize that it’s easier to be heard in silence than in a crowd?
Of course you did, silly, I mean have you witnessed it practically? Have you stood up for what you believe in, despite the fact that everyone thought you very crazy? I did it repeatedly. Thought it was the wrong way to go. That was the mistake.
When there is a silence hear me speak.
When there’s a crowd, hear me silence it.
When there’s a problem, watch me fix it.
I said it before I’ll say it again.Silence, it aint golden.
It’s a bloody miracle.

Tilting The Underground

 So… okay. Honestly, I’ll be the first to admit in a long line of people, that I have felt lot more emotions than necessary for somebody of my age (I have no problems in declaring myself to be eighteen). I also will concede to behaving immaturely, irrationally and sometimes over-spontaneously in many scenarios. More than once, I’ve done things that still make me wince when I think of them, and more than once I wish I could undo what I’ve done.

Maybe, just do them better. Redo the ridiculous parts, make them more… mature.

I can’t say the things I’ve done have made me who I am, because I ‘m sure if I‘d done them better, I’d be a lot happier. The things I’ve done with my eyes wide open… it makes me shudder.

Stupid things, funny things, pride-related things, innocent things, caught-up-in-the-moment things… sheesh! The list just doesn’t stop.

More than anything I regret … me. Not who I am. Not who I’m becoming.

I regret not being all those things could be… should be…

So I have hobbies… everyone does right?

Not the way I see it… because my hobbies… all the million things I love to do… I hate that I can’t dedicate more time to them.

I hate that right now I have to be focused on nothing but my studies. I hate that I have to wait to be able to do what I want, and above all, I hate that reality will come crashing in the second I think it’s finally going to be my time to shine.

Believe me when I say, I can make something worthwhile from what I do, it is not my arrogance or ignorance speaking.

I may not be the best, I may not be better than you, but I am good. I feel it, I know it. I don’t need to show it, bur for some reason I crave to do it.

The reason I face problems is because “it” could be a number of things. Depending on my mood, I have to alternate from cooking to drawing, painting with water paints, oil paints, listening to soft music, rock music, writing lyrics for my own song, trying to make a tune for it, sketching, imagining a story then acting it out, writing it out, writing plays, going out for a walk, exercising, working on the computer, reading a book, watching TV, calling up and talking to new friends, coming online to chat with people, catching up with movies I’ve missed, imagining a movie for myself to be in, going to the beach, changing my hairstyle, planning out stuff, talking to my mom dad and sis, meeting my family, meeting my grandparents, baby sitting my youngest cousin, spending time with my aunt, trying to keep in touch with really old friends, writing emails/chatting with cousins, searching for new music, keeping in touch with best friends, playing throw ball, updating my MP3 player and going completely insane in my room, dancing about to some catchy tune. I’m quite sure I missed some things out.

I still refuse to call it arrogance.

Sometimes, like when I’m on stage, I feel this… this… confidence. A great calm. As if suddenly I’m where I should be. Whatever I’m doing – it’s perfectly right. I just can’t go wrong, and if I do, I do it smoothly.

The introduction, then I step on stage, turn to my audience, start with the same dull lines “I stand before you…” Suddenly, I’m not conscious of what’s taken over me. My voice modifies itself; it’s louder and clearer. My vision blurs – I see people but they don’t register. Suddenly I’m comfortable. I’m ‘in the zone’. I magically have a time sense and know exactly when to say what. I conclude- and say the most astonishing things, smile casually and walk off stage. And as I get back to my place I’m thinking “Did I just say that? In fact, hold on… exactly what have I been saying?”

Everyone heard my speech. Everyone. I notice as the eyes follow me. I could probably hear a feather drop. I get to my place, people around me – speechless. I rehearsed in front of them all a dozen times, saying the same things yet when I was up there, it all came out differently.

Especially my parting line: “I may not be perfect, not even close! But, you know what? I like who I am”

Where the hell did that come from?

An applause breaks out; polite, discreet. Hardly anyone’s clapping. Too stunned or didn’t they like it? Naturally, I accept the latter. And my feeling of elation and walking on clouds vanishes. I find myself crashing back to the hard round of reality. I over-did it.

The verdict? Enjoyable, but overdone.

Never mind that I took a trip from here to God-knows-where and back, within 20 minutes flat, never mind that I find myself still shaking, I over-did it and nobody appreciates it. How was it? “Good… as usual. You’re always good”

Hmm.

The same situation is not confined to my alleged skills as an orator. It happens every time I do something that I truly take pleasure in. Sing a song- nobody’s there to hear- but I still go for a ride on my journey to… enigma. The music, the words… I’m singing them but I’m not saying them. They’re rolling off the tip of my tongue. When I write my story – I forget who I am, let alone time passing by. The story unveils itself to me, and I as I write, I don’t exists; the story does. It flows out of me; I’m merely a tool to document the happenings.

Unfortunately, I can’t force this… this… happening. If I try to write just about whenever I think I must, rubbish comes out. Utter, ridiculous garbage. I can’t sing on queue, I can’t dance in the spot light and I certainly can’t sprout out dialogues when the timing suits. It has to be one hundred percent natural – an over powering feeling that I can’t ignore. Once the feeling has passed – I’m pathetic again.

I can’t predict these feelings either.

I awoke from amidst deep sleep one night because I felt compelled to draw. My eyes refused to close, and until the entire drawing was on paper, they remained open. I woke up early another day – and I never do that- at around dawn because a story had come o me, and I didn’t move till it was lunch time, by when I had written a good 80 pages. Once I found myself sprouting poetry during class and spent two hours- as the teachers continued to teach- writing a two-page, 14 paragraphed poem while following a rhyme scheme. And when I want to talk- well, I still have people who call me “unforgettable” while others who I try to impress don’t seem to notice my existence.

I wonder if it’s strange.

I know I’m strange – I get that. It’s just, if I had to pin it down to something and say “Yes well, here’s the problem, I drink too much coffee!”, or something, what would I claim the source to be? Brain damage? I should hope not!

I… don’t really know. No, I had a perfectly normal childhood. No, I don’t see spots. Yes, I’m sure. The only voice in my head is my own. My parents love each other very much, my sis, like all big sisters, is a constant but loyal pain in my side, and I guess I’m happy most of the time.

So no, I don’t think I’m crazy. I might be insane, (it’s something I call myself… ‘strange’, ‘weird’, ‘crazy’, ‘mad’… are just not the words I associate with me. I distinct remember I once ended my speech with “I’m insane… And I like it!!!”) but definitely not crazy.

I guess, until I find someone like me, I’m one of my kind.

And one day, I will be okay with that.

No, one day- I will be proud of that.