Bait and Switch

I wonder if this sunshine could break me, as I lift my head and let it warm my face. The rays seem to hit a thin barrier and when I touch my face I feel as if a thin layer of skin is covering an eggshell underneath. Maybe I am a painting, an abstract construct even, a child’s art project. Could this light get so strong and break my face? Would then this covering of skin stay? Or would it collapse within itself, into a crumpled heap of eyes, lips and nose? Or would it shatter too, dehydrated by the heat? Turn into dust and blow away? What would remain then. A headless anomaly seaping into the cement floor?

Will this sun do what every aspect of love and warmth has ever done to me?

Bait and switch?

42

The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy has always been a rescue for me whenever I have been sad, lonely and whenever I didn’t feel like dealing with the world. Reading it has always been like sitting next to a totally bizarre person in an airport waiting area, a person you encounter every time you travel through this particular airline. You’ve seen this particular man so many times and are so looking forward to running into him with his over-sized bag and his red pullover that the one time last October he wasn’t there; you stood in the boarding line crestfallen and strangely disappointed. And life felt a little off. It is the familiar insanity that keeps me safe from a little unknown craziness from my own.

This is what this book means to me. That strange man in a red pullover.

I read it when I need to phase out and music just won’t do. Drugs and Alcohol aren’t my thing. I love my life too much to cut myself or try attempting suicide. These things don’t interest me. But whenever limbo tightens it’s hands around my neck and it just ain’t fun anymore… this is the book I gotta read. It sometimes gets to a point where I stop and start to identify with Marvin, the depressed robot.
You know what else I do when I am sad, lonely and feeling absolutely pathetic?
I write on the walls of a ghost town.
My house is the purple one in the street of yellow.

 

 

Don’t Panic.

Elastic Heart

Every few weeks, usually after when I deal with over 200 patients in a single day or over two days the utmost, a certain piece of my machinery breaks. Around patient number 152 I can feel the blow jogging that piece out of place and around the 167th patient, I can hear it hanging by a thread and then soon by patient number 198..I hear a pop as it flies out and I know I have broken down. I see two more people and run outside as fast as I can, holding myself together so I could glue another piece in. If I get so lucky to find it.
I don’t, usually.

This morning, around 3:35 in the morning..I felt my back break. The entire week came crashing at me. All my emotions, all my buried baggage came spilling out as I sobbed on the deserted footsteps of the casualty operation theater. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away. I wanted to dig a hole in the very cold marble I sat on and disappear for a while. My shoulders shook with all that was pent up within me as it just poured and poured and poured. And then the wind started to blow. And a dust storm rose, stinging my swollen eyes and settling upon all my wounds.

Right then, someone tapped at my shoulder and I looked up. It was my patient with acute exacerbation of asthma I had managed an hour ago. He had tracked me down to the last place I could be and wanted me to recheck him so he could go home. And perhaps, would I be so kind to check his mother’s blood pressure?

Of course. I’d be right down.

The patient left and I slowly walked down the stairs back to meet my colleague who had been covering for me for the last 10 minutes. Feeling started to return to my numb toes and dust ridden eyes as I sat down to check patient number 201, smiling and making small talk. I could feel the glue drying up and the machine whirring.
Come at me, now, oh dear pain.

 

I got stamina.

Ode to Idiots

This post is full of shameless self praise and big-headedness,with a score of judgement on every living soul I have met. Those who take offense easy,
You’ve been warned.

people people

I am creature of impulse, not of calculation. There was once a time I regretted it, but now I don’t. When I was very young I used to think everyone around me had a better understanding of life, that they knew things I would never understand; because they had wholesome families, they lived in big houses and they drove in cars while I came from a broken home and had to travel for hours in a smelly van to get to my school.That somehow their brains were sharper than mine and their thinking much clearer and open. And by this I placed some sort of an invisible responsibility on them. That they were ‘supposed’ to give a crap about my existence and they were ‘supposed’ to understand what I was going through. There in was the birth of my resentment and deep dissatisfaction.

And school went on, and college went on. I got into med school. Same problem. I would ‘expect’ them to understand. I would ‘expect’ them to care. I would resent them if they didn’t. And most often, they didn’t. (why would they? Duh). And I always thought that it was the same thing, that I just didn’t knew any better. I made mistakes because I was lacking the typical upbringing they had.

Boy, was I wrong.

Because, man, are people dumb, deaf and blind!

They walk around as if they are the only human beings on earth, I s them talking such bullcrap that it made my eyes water with anger. Oh, I had an anger phase too. But then, I started to really look at them, really see what their patterns were and that’s when I saw a whole new kind of…dumb.

I am not an advocate of selflessness and the delusion of altruism. I was, but I no longer am. I think thinking and caring about others is a wonderful deed. It brings me great happiness too. But the idea of sacrifice is way too distorted and overrated to be held that high. I would never want my pleasure to be the cause to someone else’s pain (Ayn Rand would put it differently), but I digress.

So, I saw the very friends of mine making the same mistakes over and over. I saw them running from confrontation, keeping things in their hearts, building resentments, taking the wrong way to deal with a situation that could be dealt with so straightforwardly, lying, hiding, hurting, hating, crying, fighting their many problems, some letting the grief bury them, some putting a brave face all the time, loving those who hurt them, hurting those who had been there for them for an eternity.

They all turned out to be..so normal.

There was nothing special or different about them. They knew nothing better. Their privileges had not given them an understanding of someone else’s lacking (?). They would give the same advice I read in a magazine or watched in a movie. Their problems weren’t that different. They said or did nothing that I hadn’t seen or done before. They were just people, lost in their own worlds, trying to make it out alive. People. Just People. Ordinary. Beautiful. Tragic…people…

They didn’t know any better then, they don’t know any better now. I lost all my resentment the day I understood that. Before, I tried to be good because that was what I was taught. Because that was what I was ‘supposed’ to do.

Now I do it because I know that I know better

Try me.

hands-with-plant save

It’s just the strangest thing… I’ve seen your face somewhere

looking around in a crowd

I honestly thought I was done with blogging.
I mean…really.

I mean..you’ve got your friends on one side, then you’ve got your studies and you’ve got your little dramas and you’ve got a relationship and you’re losing weight and you don’t care about social media, you don’t have that need to connect with any more people than you do and you don’t have the inclination to be your old melancholic self anymore..it’s all tied up in a neat little bow. You have no big inspiration, you have no new thoughts to share..what little you feel you jot it down somewhere. It’s all very ‘Dear Diary..’ you are uninfluenced, unfettered, well-adjusted and happy in your favourite way. Perfect Imperfection. I could kiss karma if I found the bitch.

But then March comes

 
and
boom.

I am not allowed to be afraid.

Crossroads

I have written about my heart being heavy, I have written about it being broken. I have written about being happy, I have written about being content. For anyone who ever cared and to whomsoever it ever concerened…I have written it all.

And then I stopped, for I had no new feelings to talk about, no ecstatic incidents to share. Everything was a copy of everything that had happened before and everything I saw was something I had seen before, every thought, every word and every moment. Happy sad happy sad, happy happy, elated, sad, sad, confused, confident, happy happy happy..

And there I was, once again..with that new feeling hitting my face. Again..after years. I had forgotten what it felt like to be floating in the air like a dying leaf,unknown, unanchored, weary and afraid of what would come next. Till now I was happy, adjusted. I could fight every obstacle that came my way, cut down every thorn that threatened to bruise me again. And then sleep with a deep feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction.

But I couldn’t sleep tonight. My mind was plagued with all kinds of thoughts, poisoning my existence with all kinds of doubt and apprehension.
My life is gonna change again.

Just when I had started to love it.

Unconditionally.

Better left unsaid, better left unfelt

up in the air

I spent an hour writing..everything. Pouring my anger into my laptop and editing it and constructing all those sentences and blah blah blah blah and a second before I was going to hit send.. I just stopped. Not today. Not now.

Have you ever felt so consumed with anger and hatred and total helplessness that your hands tremble and your eyes blur? The bad part is..that like before..it doesn’t pass ! It stays ! Boring deep into you and threatening to reach the core and blast you to pieces, or it stays like a burning ulcer which you know will remain for a long time

And the night comes and you sleep, and when you wake up in the morning..it’s still not gone. That taste of venom and acid is still in your mouth..

It’s a first for me. The other day my friend said that my anger lasted twenty minutes, that when I wake up, I forget the very name of the person I had a quarrel with. And it is true. But this morning when I woke up, it didn’t feel that way. I wanted to hurt and claw at someone. Just so the fire would go. But it stayed, the entire morning, the entire noon and part of the evening

And then I saw the face of the person I was angry at. And then I saw that face for good ten minutes in my head..and suddenly it all went away. The burn, the fire. It just isn’t worth it. Normally I give up at these things because I do not have the stamina nor the time to hold grudges or fight with people anymore. But this time I let a thing go because I had lost all the feelings of friendship I ever had, all the concern from my heart. Why do we feel hurt? Because we care. Indifference is the worse form of hatred for me. I’d rather fight all day with a friend than feel nothing at all. And how sad it is ! But we all have it coming to us. There is a limit to which a person can be pushed. Once, twice, thrice..so many times

And now as I read again the thing I was going to post earlier, I burst out laughing. Oh come on ! Grow up! Life’s too short to waste on people who don’t matter and things that don’t count ! We all know that yet we insist on indulging in all the crap in the world. *groan*

I have a research paper to write, a room to clean, a mother to call, a friend to bark on, a book to read, a party to attend and a big exam to prepare for.

Backstabbers don’t get a share in my life for today

And as for tomorrow..

Oye vey..

flying with happiness

Breaking Points

 PS_0357W_WEIRDER

It’s funny what things we learn every second day. And how bold we become when we’ve got nothing to lose, how crass when we just don’t care, so absolutely brave when we accept the facts and how…utterly light when we are done facing the reality and moving on

I’ve found a new way of pushing people to their absolute edge. That is: Showing them the weird part of my brain. That absolute craziness I hide when I care, when I am afraid that I’ll end up screwing things up. But take that part away, and you’ve found utter and absolute …madness

Because…once you’re past a moment in your life..you’re done. Gone. Over. Once you accept the actual thing. Accept what you really are and cast aside the petty notions of what you wanted to become, those images you tried to mirror, those standards you tried to live up to, those illusions you had shrouded yourself in..world is a whole different place. I am not saying quit trying to be better or to be achieve something..all I am saying is I’d rather be a psycho with fifteen sneakers in my closet than a washed up imitation of a pompous know it all.

That got a little bit out of hand there.. =P

And if I get that response, that true reaction when the other person, instead of running away to the other direction when I blurt the glaring truth, stays and bares those completely idiotic moments of their life, comfortable because..hell, they’re talking to someone way screwed up…the entire moment turns into such a fun memory they’ll remember for years. No judgement, no, nothing. The air is suddenly lighter and the blanket a little bit warmer

And when I find those who live in their sane worlds with their normal lives and believe they can make it with me…

Loosen up or run..

You’ve been warned =P

kid chocolate smeared

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

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)