I’ve been away for a while, well, quite a while. Away from everything, social media, web, my blog; people. I’ve been away, at home, sitting in this chair, staring at this white screen, enjoying my isolation, my solitude.
I’ve been away thinking. Thinking about all the things I never saw, thinking of the things I’ll never see. Thinking that I’ve been lucky to be here, thinking if I’ve been unlucky to be here. Thinking if all of this was meant to be the way it is, thinking if this is what I created up from the scratch.
I’ve been away wandering the woods, not the materialistic woods, the ones that we create around ourselves to hide from the unknown outside them, and get lost in the unknown within them. I’ve been wandering on foot, on wheels, and on wings, in virtual military bases, cities, beaches and seas.
I’ve been away rebuilding, myself, again from pieces. Trying to regain what I lost, weight, muscle, and broken bones? The heart, the memories, the people, the comrades that I’ve lost. It is like they are still here, I feel them, I see them, but the bridges across are broken.
It is hard to understand and put it apart from real, it is hard to believe that it is true. Ever since I’ve been away, I have heard people talking, about me, about my decisions and my choices. I’ve heard people appreciate at a distance, I’ve heard people disapprove at my face. I’ve heard people wanting to hear from me, I’ve heard people being glad that I’m gone.
I’ve been away choosing, to start all over. I’ve been away choosing to take this further. It’s now, or never. It was pushing to the limit or falling back and reclining on this unbalanced chair. Fear of running to fast into the oblivion or toppling off head first. It’s death, either way, then why shouldn’t I give it a shot? It’s now.
“You don’t get another chance, life is no Nintendo game.”
– Eminem (Love the Way You Lie, 2010)
There is something each one of us has, something that is so simple and yet is the solution to most of the problems in the world. Just a look at someone, just an interaction with something, someplace where you find a home or might be just a memory of someday and it does the trick.
It could be that special someone you need to have coffee with in the morning or meet once in a day. Someone you need to walk around holding hands with or listen to. Or might be watching a movie together. Doesn’t matter if you have to stop it halfway through or you keep it on and no one’s watching it, all that matters is being together.
It could be something, a game, a song, a book, a picture or a smell. It could be just a powder you need to smell every day. The first thing you do in the morning is you open the box, let that smell in. Let it overwhelm you and let yourself surrender in it. Your box of happy smells. Letting those old memories resurface, the days when you used to be happy.
It could be a cafe for all you know. Someplace where you find your home. Someplace where you went with someone a few years ago. Where you first held hands and she first fought with you to pay the bill. Where you first came to know that neither of you has been to an expensive cafe before and don’t know what any of those mean. But still somehow, order “Caramel Macchiato with Soy Milk” at the same time and then shout “jinx” together too. So you jinxed jinx and then end up paying for each other’s coffee even though you both ordered the same. That’s basically splitting the bill.
It could be the memory of that early morning coffee with them, it could be a memory of smelling the box when you are away, and it could be the memory of the cafe. Either way, you are thinking about coffee. Have some now, let them come in, let yourself lose. As writers, we write from memories, no wonder they ask,
Are you even a writer,
If you don’t have coffee?
P.S. Just showing my love to coffee, not a coffee sponsored post.
I have been very fond of races ever since I was a child. I wanted everything to go fast. Faster than it could and fast enough to spin around the world and tangent into the space. Just line a coin slips from the end of the spinning thread? I loved races especially the ones I could interfere with because then I could cheat to make my favorites win.
Whenever it rained I used to stare at the drop on the window for hour. No one let me out after my sinus incident. So, I used to pick up one drop declare it as my favorite to everyone at home and then name it as it rolled down. Now, “Jerry” is my favorite drop and no other drop should reach the bottom before it does because Jerry has a race to win! I would tap at the window under every other drop to slow it down. It broke my heart when Jerry didn’t win. I used to say that it’s not fair, Thomas had a head start.
And all the way down I wanted Jerry to win but when it did reach the bottom it disappeared. It died? Without waving me a goodbye? All the way down I wanted Jerry to come first, but when it did come first I was sad that all others are still alive and Jerry isn’t. After a few minutes there was another Jerry rolling down but it isn’t the same. The previous Jerry was faster and more polite and shy and funny. It isn’t the same anymore.
Today, I miss Jerry, not for all his achievements and victories down the window, but for the drop he was. Unlike, everyone in this world trying to race up the ladder, Jerry wanted to be close to earth. As close as he could be. Not that he was afraid of heights, no, no. In fact had gone to be the highest man on earth and then he hopped down. He said it was too lonely up there. Cold too. He won a few more races before he said his goodbye to the world.
I miss Jerry not for his races but for the man he was.
We all want to be Chocolate,
I’m just glad Blueberry never said that,
I hate the “Backspace”
Before technology, feelings never had that.
More often then not, all of us change or try to change to blend into a group, a society, a community or a bunch of people that are “cool” at the school. All of us want approval. We want to be a part of something that catches attention. We want to be known for something, even if we don’t want to do it! Basically, we want people to know us for who we are not? Why? If the above drink was chocolaty, it wouldn’t have caught your eye.
Everyone wants, attention, everyone wants to be famous. You could be great at cat’s cradle but you are just afraid that you are a guy and it would turn out to be a little girly sport for you. Or you love riding bikes but isn’t that too manly? Nothing is gender specific!
Let’s be honest for a minute here. I did that too. I tried playing football and cricket because that’s what every guy does, right? I played basketball for a year. I never enjoyed it, I wasn’t good at it either. I tried blending in the “manly” groups. I did succeed, at the cost of tiring myself and being late for science classes I never wanted to miss a minute of. I had a crush in the classes, but that’s secondary! I love science too.
I tried nitpicking and calling names. I tried back answering everyone because that’s what teenagers do, right? I did it, at the cost of my own sanity. That’s not me. I would rather stay shut, let them talk and when they are done, nod and walk away. I cannot nitpick, would rather extend a hand if you fall down instead of laughing at you. Yes, I laugh at your actions, but not at you. i know you are smart, but sometimes we all act stupid and that’s humor.
I was nitpicked for writing poetry, in my school. It was a boy’s school. I was called lazy because I loved reading books, playing video games and staying indoors. When everyone played football, I would be sitting by the far end of the ground writing poetry about it. Or long passages. Or I would just talk to myself for hours about about what I could write about it and how I should write and what I shouldn’t. when everyone was playing cricket in the evening, I would sit at home and wonder if the protagonist is ever going to meet the love of his life. When everyone went out partying. I would sit at home and pull out jello-shots for the heads of bots.
Years, later today, when I met those cool-school-group, all of them have a belly. The already fat are now heavily over-weighted, the skinny got skinnier and the healthy got beer bellies. Me? I’ve always been a fitness freak. Right from the last year of school, none of them has touched any sport. Me? I’m a published author. I’m selling on Amazon locally and internationally.
It doesn’t matter what people say, there are always going to be naysayers. It’s our choice to not to hear to them. People around you might be succeeding right now, they might me making millions and some might be running companies already when you don’t even have a job. Some might have got married and settled with their idle mate, while you are still heart broke from the break up you had 3 years ago. It’s okay, everyone has a clock, we run with our speeds and our references. No one is going fast, no one is going slow. Everyone has a different race.
If anyone ever tell you, you cannot be anything, just remember we are all made up of star-dust. You are amazing. Just stay what you are. All of us don’t have to be same, none of us are same. We could be red and orange, we could be yellow and orange or we could be white-white in a few aspects. But we are green and purple as humans. No two colors are similar. Stay magenta, don’t try to be pink.
Stay Unique, Stay Weird.
We all at some point have been someone’s dictionary or rather Wikipedia. Maths, games, music, trends, threads you know answers to all their questions. But, sometimes this someone asks you a question you wished you never stumbled upon. You wished you never heard it ever again. You wished… You just wish it didn’t exist.
We all have our pasts, and somehow, we are all not proud of it. There is this weird thing about past, it just doesn’t seem right to anyone. Even though, military men say about their past pretty proudly, there are somethings they don’t share, and if you know the deeper secrets, turns out they aren’t very proud either. But what is it with the past? How could 7.1 billion different pasts be not proud of themselves?
We have made choices we didn’t want to. We were obliged to do things. Now, years later, that we think of it, it seems like the choices we were forced upon, were the fruit of the choices we made or were forced to make in the “then-past”, and those came from the “then-past”. The chain is long and repetitive and seems like the choices we have made were all wrong and so we are not proud of our past? Is that it? We don’t tell everyone our story because we made same choices we are ashamed of? Or might be, it is just that you never went hunting and killed a half ton animal?
We have made decisions in the past not because we wanted to, but because the other choices were scary. “I cannot split up with him!” Is a phrase I heard from a girl, who had called me over and had been crying for nearly an hour or probably more because her guy cheated on her. She had been crying for probably day or months now, those swollen eyes and dark circles contrasted her smile on seeing me. Yes, you cannot split up with him, because you are afraid of your friend’s reaction, your family’s reaction and more so, you are afraid to be single again. You were alone for at least 16 years? 15 or 14 maybe? but you were single and you wanted no one back then! Your Barbies and RC cars were all you needed to spend a good day. So basically, we are not proud of our past because we were afraid at the time we made that choice and we don’t want anyone to know that even “I” could be afraid? We don’t tell our stories to anyone because we are afraid of their judgement? Or might be it’s just because we have never been able to spin a fidget spinner for more than 2 minutes?
Our past is a part of us, and there could be no reason why you aren’t specifically proud of something that’s your own. I don’t see a reason why a gym-newbie isn’t proud of their half-inch bigger biceps, I don’t see a reason why you aren’t proud of the “C” you got on a test, you had failed earlier. I don’t see a reason to not be proud of our pasts and I don’t see a reason to not to be someone’s Wikipedia anymore.
There is nothing like the past, it is the best story you know, because it is the only story you have lived.