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Back to Basics

Sitting on steps

There’s a little something I call…Back To Basics. It is basically the assumption that we all become that one person in our life when we are, about somethings in ourselves, all we could be. And it happens when we are young. And then times pass we grow up. Incorporate all those changes and experience in us..but then again..comes a point once or more, when we slowly revert back to that place and pretty much become that person lost somewhere deep in the synapses of our brain and the layers of our skin. I don’t know.

I was sitting with Kate on the entrance steps, we both were wearing the most casual, really old, ready-to-be-torn-next-time-we-wear-it clothes, weather hot and stuffy, books surrounding us, laughing at a sudden thing that’ll pop up from some drug, reminding us one thing or the other. And pretty much making a mockery of everything Pharmacology stands for..

And I loved it. I came back, dropped my books on the floor and fell face down on the bed. My long legs dangling over the edge and welcoming the breeze from the window over my sweaty back.

There are a lot of things that dictate our existence and our personalities. Wanting something doesn’t mean it’s right for us or it will stick. Some people are meant to be a little different, a little alone, a little sad and a little crazy. Call it cowardly explanations but sometimes these are the only answers there are.

So tonight when Kate asked me why I wouldn’t text back to my little cousin who, Kate doesn’t know, used to be my best sister before she moved away to a whole new country with her family and went on being even happier than she ever was with a lame old soul like mine..

..all I could say was..aye..she’s better off without me

 

skipping-rocks

 
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Posted by on November 2, 2014 in Incidents

 

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Tale of Calamine Lotion and Quiana

calamine-lotion

I live next door to a beautiful paranoid brainiac. So the tale goes this way that she had a mild skin reaction on her neck. It was mild at first, but then it turned into this monster that attacked parts of her face. Next thing we know, there are screams and paranoia everywhere =D

We all love her, the entire corridor, btw  (in case she reads this post and something offends her and kills me in the middle of the night). So she went to see this doctor at the hospital.

Being popular does a weird thing to people. So does money. And if you have both of them..boy, it is a disaster. So he prescribed him a measly Calamine lotion without proper checkup. And let me remind you again, our exams are close and this dermatitis was really getting on Quiana’s nerves and..on mine too =D (again, I love you Q)

So. Week went by, but the doctor said..no..no… Calamine is the way to go. For those who do not know, Calamine and zinc oxide lotion is commonly used to relieve pain and itching from poison ivy, poison oak, poison sumac, sunburns, rashes, and insect bites. Calamine and zinc oxide also helps dry oozing and weeping caused from ivy, oak, and sumac poisons.

Where the hell would our Quiana get hold of poison oak and ivy? The girl is the sweetest person alive with no general attraction towards leaning on trees and smelling grass =_=

And Quiana’s neck got worse. And boy,were we angry at the doctor

So..at last, when Quiana could take it no longer and the rash had now spread all across, toward her shoulders and a bit south (I’m guessing), she decided to visit a private clinic and viola.. a pile of money, half an hour and bucket full of ointments and drugs and two days later.. The rash almost disappeared and Quiana lived happily ever after

And the whole incident..just brought me down. I am not saying I doubt the medical opinion of docs and that I know more, I just hated myself for that one moment when I thought I might become that doctor one day..and I might have a bunch of people hating me for not caring and wasting all this study and resources for…nothing. Nothing. I do not wanna work in a private clinic (no matter what my parents say) I wanna work at a decent Government hospital. But I do not wanna become one of those people who lose the good decent stuff in them as money and fame comes and time passes.

The End

not interested throwing papers in the air

 
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Posted by on October 26, 2014 in Medicine: Year 3, Tales of Two

 

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The Journey Within

sitting by the road

I am not walking, I am just sitting by the side and gazing far ahead. All I see is..this road. This beautiful road. Flattened by the pressure of so many who have walked across it. Day in and day out. Forward or backwards. Carrying all the weight of their worlds on their shoulders. Such a poetic path. Such an elegant lane. It bends every which way, disappears in the dirt sometime, breaks down and mends again. I see it, then I don’t and then it emerges again.

And I see them walking across too, the flesh that shuffles ahead and the soul that quietly follows. The noises in the silence vibrate through the concrete that sits and the dirt that blows. I put my palm lightly over the concrete, wary of the secrets and pain it might hold. But the stubborn hardness reveals nothing while the wind screams away in my head. The questions ring through the ground and the answers blow away.

I wanna step on this road too, walk across the footsteps of so many who came before me, and disappear like they did. Leave my mark on the ground that won’t talk and give my silence to wind that won’t stay

Some other day, some other day =)

 
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Posted by on October 24, 2014 in Balderdash Thoughts

 

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I met a girl who sang the blues.. and I asked her for some happy news..she just smiled and turned away

blue flower

For how long can you talk about the same thing, for how long can you pour yourself out? The insides are gonna run dry one day. And if the pain and anger stops feeding you, you will shrivel up. If you are filled with some other thing this time,only happiness and peace, the same puncture holes aren’t big enough now. There will be no breaths to come, or you will no longer be able to so take them in. Either way, it’s pretty much over

Is it over for me? Was it the anger, the pain, the sheer illusions that made me write? Made me breathe? Made me something different from so many I have met or avoid meeting over the years. Have I run dry? Or is it the continued happiness? The peace, the  prolonged absence of that lingering pain? End of the struggle, or mere acceptance of the defeat?

Its, different..different to be standing, standing knee-deep in a small pond of stagnant water after being sea sick on a boat for so long. Yes, the vomiting stops and you feel fine for a while..but after that…it’s just..too silent. Too green, too peaceful..and too still

Man, it’s too still

still pond

 

(Title: American Pie by Don Mclean)

 
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Posted by on September 6, 2014 in Balderdash Thoughts

 

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There are too many books I haven’t read, too many places I haven’t seen, too many memories I haven’t kept long enough

purple pink smoke

I was brushing my teeth the other day, looking in that foggy, droplet-stained mirror so early in the morning when the pictures started to move in my head so thick and fast. Childhood. I don’t care about that era, just like I don’t care about the teens that passed. I don’t even remember being a child. I have flushed away those memories so perfectly. I do that, I can erase an entire era from my brain if it has so much as one painful event. But I have never been fortunate to have one bad event, one is always chasing the other. I don’t think anyone ever is. I may remember the event, but everything else just melts away. And soon the memory itself fades. Taking every feeling, but numbness, away.

I suddenly saw my dad in a ward sitting right next to me. Wearing his glasses, reading the back of this new medication doctor had perscribed. Mom was back home, dad never brought her because she freaked out seeing me all hooked up to wires. I saw him carrying me around and getting me over to have my height and weight checked, all the while helping me hold the oxygen mask. Somehow I cannot remember the conversation. I don’t remember one conversation with my parents in my childhood. Or with anyone, as a matter of fact. No words or sentences, just silent pictures that move sometimes. I do remember once in a hospital I had to have stitches on my arm due to an injury and I screamed on top of my voice My Father will kill you if you try to hurt me. He’s in army. He has a gun

(He’s never had a gun, at that time I did not know that he was an army doctor. I just knew he wore the uniform. Kids can be so dumb)

And I saw him telling me I was like seven sons to him. And telling me it will all be over soon. I can’t remember how he said it. I can see his lips moving, but I can’t hear his voice. And I so remembered the gray walls of those wards and the chemical smell of the masks I breathed through, and those green inhalers and the box of Pringles I used to get every time we came from the hospital.

And I can see my mum waiting, wide eyed, when we returned. I don’t remember what dad said and what she replied. I can see their lips moving, but I don’t hear their voice

So I just rinsed my mouth, splashed water on my face and popped a pill before the pain in my arm would shoot up. It hasn’t hurt in months now but the anticipation is a trigger itself. Some memories just become demons and never stop chasing, some pasts are so deeply rooted in the present that to erase them is to melt away…dissolve and vanish.

I am not too worried about it

cleaning foggy mirror

(Title: Quote by Irwin Shaw)

 
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Posted by on August 14, 2014 in Balderdash Thoughts, Incidents

 

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Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.

fire away

It runs through my veins like blazing molten lava. I can feel it coursing through my vessels and burning my fingertips. I can feel it melt my bones and disconnect the tendons, with muscles snapping like rubber bands. It feels so real, and it has the power to reduce me to the shadow of the person I was. It hits me so hard and so deep that all I can see is fire, all I can say is venom and all I taste is that metallic edge of blood in my mouth. The fire roars and threatens to reduce everything to ash and smoke

Next time, I am just gonna to let it

 

 

 
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Posted by on July 28, 2014 in Few words to say

 

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Monster by the door

Haunted mansion

Ever since I have been home, I seep during the day and am up and running at night. There are plenty of reasons for that. A lot. But one of them has to be the peace and privacy. I like to be left alone. I like to eat alone, I like to read alone, I like to watch tv alone. I like being left to myself doing everything in a my own queer patterns. I don’t get that during the day. People come out then

It’s not that strange when monsters of our past chase us around. The moment I switch lights on to this huge hall at my Uncle’s / now our place, I have this feeling of a monster lurking around. There’s a reason I don’t watch horror movies, you never know what gets imprinted in your imagination and follows you from there on. It’s totally my imagination I know. But those five seconds before turning the lights on I am mentally preparing myself for the reaction. And the scenarios differ everyday in my head

Sometimes I think what if it comes in a flash, an inch closer to my face and disappears before the light fully spreads. Just in time for me to see those red lips widen and see that foul flashing smile. I will surely scream. And scream a lot. The entire family will run from the neighbouring houses and I’ll just keep screaming “I saw, I saw something, God, there was someone here”, etc etc. But then I don’t know, my reactions are very different when the moment of crises comes in real. But I don’t see myself fainting

I will commit suicide if that ever happened

Sometimes I think what if, when I switch the lights on, it is already sitting on the sofa I sit every night. What if it has slung its shoulders in that lazy fashion over the wooden back and slowly raises its head up as I stand there, thunderstruck and numb with fear. And says something. Sometimes I think the voice will be raspy. Sometimes I picture it smooth and velvety

Sometimes I think what if, I am sitting peacefully, watching a sitcom over the laptop perched in front of me, same hall, same sofa, way into the night, a cloaked figure enters from the backrooms where nobody lives now. I go still at the sound of thick fabric rustling in near distance and it comes forth, and sits right by me. It’s head cocked in a mocking manner, eyebrow pinched up and that wicked smile etched again

cloaked

And tonight.. as I walk to switch the lights on once again. In my head, I see it standing by the door of the drawing-room. Midway, not coming in, not going back. A reluctant figure. He raises his head slowly and dejectedly. Looks me straight in the eye. And goes back. I don’t scream, I don’t faint. I don’t scream. I remove my hands from the row of switches and turn back to my room

I’d like to sleep tonight

lying in the forest

 
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Posted by on July 18, 2014 in Incidents

 
 
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