I Understand Now What My Mom Meant by ‘Books will ruin your brain’

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Sometimes I start talking and stop because a voice inside begs me to (not a ‘voice’, voice). I see the look at the other person(s) face and my tongue slips a little. That is my cue to stop talking. And then suddenly I am tired. Then I just feel like being quiet for the rest of the day.

Sometimes I hear something so absolutely ignorant and so fundamentally abhorrent that I have to speak up. And I talk until I bring the other person down and defeat them in every aspect of that horrible utterance. And then one of the following happens:

-They accept that their premise was wrong. (either truly, or just to shut me up and still save face, what is with people and saving face? If you are wrong and have been proven wrong..fess up and learn something instead of strutting around like a plucked peacock, jeez)

-They give me a ‘agree to disagree’. (the root of all my hatred)

-They successfully bring up some points that force me to reconsider. (respect)

-They give me a vague stupid twisted line which involves words like ‘Belief’ and ‘Everyone is like that’ or “This is what Life is” as if it is supposed to answer everything. Or sigh and look into the distance in a way that is supposed to be mysterious and deep as if they hold the secret of the Universe and it must not be uttered. (the Kantian spiritual mystics that will be mentioned by name in my suicide note)

-Or they attack me.

….not the topic, not the discussion, not the points…me. Instead of defending their baseless doctrine….They attack me.. pouncing at everything they can grab at. This part has always amazed me and is the most commonly observed scenario in my experience. The shouting, the frothing at the mouth, the personal remarks, the offenses taken…my God. What a spectacle. My mom does that too, although her counter arguments are ‘Because it is said so’ or ‘You are not old enough’ or ‘I am your Mother’. And then when I know that the argument is useless and stop talking….I get a whole lecture on morality and values. And the lips move and all I see is air coming out that means nothing. I can reduce it to ashes with one question but by that time..my head already feels sore and I am already bored.

Last night I was in my bed, cold and shivering, reading Rand…. I put the book down, closed my eyes and apologized to myself. I apologized for living in a delusional bubble all these years. For writing crap and believing in crap. I was sorry that I had wasted so much of my life believing the wrong things and pursuing the wrong purpose. I now have many of the answers to the questions that confused and wrecked me my entire adolescence. I am not saying they have made me ‘happier’ but they have saved me from the unnecessary torture that I wrongly..or maybe so rightly..termed ‘Sacrifice’. And to think I took pride in it. I do not blame my mother anymore, I do not have an inkling of resentment towards her or anyone else who influenced me as I was growing up. My choices. My mistakes. My faults.

But sometimes.. I want to stop them and ask…do you understand the full meaning of what you are saying? Why are you saying it if you do not understand it, if you cannot defend it the slightest? Do you understand what you are doing? Do you actually get it? Or are you copying someone who did it before you? Tell me why are you doing it? What do you want from it? What is the purpose of your existence? Do you know who you are? Did you try finding it? When? How?

…………………………………………..

 

When I was young and dumb..which was last Tuesday, I think =P I used to say that I was too ‘dead’ to love someone or be in love. And I named my lack of attraction a scar someone unnamed and unessential left me with. But I was wrong. Love is the epitome of personal values. And the reason I did not fall in love with you, you and you was not because I was frigid to your charm…it was because I was frigid to your values, your ideals and above all..your mind.

I am sorry. I should’ve known better.

emotional-intelligence

Unread and Untitled

This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me,–
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.
Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me! 

To my heart’s core, I feel sick. Sick and tired and worn out. Enough is so darned enough.

When I look at myself and say or state, I never assume that what I am saying is true for everyone or what I am saying is a pure FACT, why? Because I know my heart and I don’t know anyone else’s. I don’t know what stages or circumstances the other person goes through. For stuff I always give MYSELF justifications. But I am sick of that. Sick of cutting myself open for people who will do nothing more than cut more. I am tired. I am half-crazed keeping my damn mouth shut. Sick of letting everyone have their way. You don’t trust me? You don’t like me? You think I am a liar a fool a cheat a player or other terms you so frequently and tonelessly use. Leave me alone. I am not gonna sit here let you say all that or I am not going to prove myself. I am purple. I don’t exist

But, if for a second you thought of knowing me, rather than making up baseless assumptions as per your life experiences. YOU NEVER MET SOMEONE QUITE LIKE ME. And I swear that you won’t. And what did you do? Make me a victim of indirect accusations? You know who I am? I am a kid who is barely of age. I am a kid that met so many liars and cheats than putting your thirty years together I am a kid who watched her dad die right in front of her bloody eyes in that bloody ccu I am the kid who’s gonna die of cancer in just a couple of years to come AND STILL YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME?

Hear me, oh stranger. I too possess a half-healed soul. I too die every night and still wake up every morning. I am a kid who never quite understood how to play games. For a second there, when I met you, I thought I found a friend. But you smashed me with the perceptions that my soul never tasted. Just because you know my name doesn’t mean you know my life! I am as pure as that wind that talks to me every morning. Hate me if you may, leave me if you may, don’t mistake me, don’t accuse me. I am not asking you back. I never had anyone from the beginning and oh stranger, I have long been standing far from the maddening crowd.

Now I walk away

(Stanza from Emily Dickinson)

From you I have been absent in the Spring

Here’s a story I have to share. I’ll be blunt and toneless. I have no emotions for it.
Few months back, I was at my Uncle’s country house. Big and green. It was night. Dark, cold. And suddenly there was this storm. I love anything that has to do with wind. All of my cousins sprinted outside and went mad. I sat on the steps and was way too happy. Life was nice. Life was.. okhay

And I would listen to no one. Nothing bothered me. That was the time when my happiness was not polluted by ill thoughts. The storm raged and the trees they flaked, branches lashing through the brutal wind. I had no idea. I was young and.. stupid.

There is that tree in the lawn. It was planted by my grandma. Everyone loves it. It consisted of three main trunks. Whether it was one tree or three.. I never bothered to find out

So in the morning we saw one of the trunk bent. No doubt hit by the wind so hard. My Aunt saw it and said that it won’t last. It’ll die. I contradicted.. Come on Mami (aunt) it’s just bent.. even split but it’ll live, (I have a thing for going for people or things less loved and less known, contradicted and mistaken) She looked at me and said.. It’s been shaken from the roots, honey. The weather was unkind. They’ll cut it

Sure enough. Two days; it wilted and went yellow. Uncle took an axe and cut it and threw it at the side of the lawn, sorry for his mother’s memory

I never felt so dead

Months have gone by. That trunk has been covered with moss. Mushrooms and grass and a few flowers have grown over it. People don’t even recognize it. Nor do they sit under that tree anymore. They say.. it’s lost the cool shade. They say.. the two trunks, blooming with green leaves, can’t give shade to a lot of people now.
And..

It’s not Autumn already…

(Title : Shakespeare’s sonnet 98 and A book by Agatha Christie)