750 characters


I woke up around 4:30 in the morning because I accidentally heard my friend’s message while in the bathroom and had to respond. The response took some thinking, and my brain woke up. As I was recording a message to her, my husband woke up as well. He always smiles when he looks at me. Even if he’s half asleep, dead tired after a long day. And it always makes my heart flutter. So we spent the morning talking and joking about the funniest, sweetest things until it got late and he had to go to work. I dozed off a little as he tip-toed around the room in dim light, getting ready and trying not to make any noise.

Today I am off from everywhere. I spent most of my week running around the city and needed a day desperately to myself, so I could get my house in order and work on some important projects. I took a multivitamin, made myself some breakfast, and was about to make a list of things I needed to do when I thought of visiting my blog again. I need to practice my writing as this current project requires some creativity. I can always start a new blog, work on my Medium page or use one of the hundred thousand platforms available for writing and journaling…but WordPress..will always remain special. And it will always call me back. Stats don’t matter now, if they ever did. 

I am going to start with making the bed, then doing the dishes, cleaning the kitchen. Then imma dust around, mop the floors, and fold some laundry. I will then water my beautiful plants and arrange them properly for the sun. When this is over, I will plop myself on the sofa and work on my projects- one being my application due tomorrow. 

The portion I am stuck at is ‘What past experiences impacted your journey leading to your medical career’. The answer needs to be in 750 characters. What to say and what to leave out? What constitutes an impaction? Who will I be blaming in these 750 characters? How much of it will I be shouldering, and how much will be plain finger-pointing? Maybe I am thinking too much into it. Maybe, I will be done in less than 750 characters if I say:

I did things that weren’t expected of me. I was supposed to obey, prostrate and sell my soul to a world of men run by women. My career was supposed to be a commodity meant to get the highest bidder. Instead, I chose to live my own life as I saw fit and cut cords with everyone who was fashioning a noose with the bonds I had with them. And I found happiness, love, and respect from the most unexpected of places. It was all my choice and I am proud of myself.

So…suck…on…that

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?

Ode to the Smoothie Jar.

skydive-sunrise-man

I started writing in a journal/diary because I needed to vent. I needed to share my feelings and thoughts and I used to be a child with no friends with parents determined to let that status remain. I was afraid if I talked out loud about the tales in my head, I’d be deemed a moron and judged too harshly for writing fantasies as I grew up in a household where there was no other career imaginable but medicine and there was no concept of computers or internet or even artful hobbies. My sister gifted me a diary in grade 6 and since then I have kept one.

I started blogging for the same reason. And because I read in a quotes book something like someone who doesn’t have his writing read doesn’t write at all, something something I don’t remember it exactly (and google was no help). I totally disagree now and maybe then did too but it got stuck in my head and every time I snuck away somewhere to write I would feel it repeating again and again in my mind. And I remember when i did actually show a story I wrote to someone I valued highly…I got egg in my face. The former (quote) doesn’t bother me anymore but the latter (egg) still does.

But I won’t lie, having your work appreciated is a pretty addictive feeling.

Anyhow. Now that I have passed the peak of sharing and publicizing what I write and feel (and teenage), I have come back to the state of ‘Love thyself’ and I have never felt better in my life. The resentments have passed, emotionally I have matured, I see things better. But it has come with the penalty of exactly this:

“All your life, you have heard yourself denounced, not for your faults, but for your greatest virtues. You have been hated, not for your mistakes, but for your achievements. You have been scorned for all those qualities of character which are your highest pride. You have been called selfish for the courage of acting on your own judgment and bearing sole responsibility for your own life. You have been called arrogant for your independent mind. You have been called cruel for your unyielding integrity. You have been called anti-social for the vision that made you venture upon undiscovered roads.”– Ayn Rand

sigh.

now what does a smoothie jar have to do with it?

I’m coming to that.

I have been a naive, wide-eyed optimist. Then I went and became a bad, venomous cynic. Now I am dwindling in between with a spectacular blend of sarcasm, doubt and skepticism. But I still believe in all that is good, all that is kind and all that is beautiful. For a realist, I have an unflinching concept and hope for love and happiness.

I pet my uncle’s watchdog the other day, I have known him for 6 years. We have had a strong relationship of sitting together in summer mornings, the only time then it is cooler. I have never seen him as a pet but an acquaintance I respect. I never feed him or whistle at him. I had never pet him but yesterday I did and it felt like a torrent of affection had finally broken through the damned walls I build inside to hold them back. (Wow, that was so sickly clichéd, Imma go rinse my mouth)

Three years ago, there was big jar of mayonnaise in my aunt’s fridge. And it had been there for a couple of hundred years. I finally broke down and told her to throw the wishful monument away because NOBODY IN THIS HOUSE LIKES MAYONNAISE AND THIS IS NOT GOING TO CHANGE. And when she didn’t do that because boy, is my aunt lazy, I went to my uncle and long story short.. I got sentenced to check every medicine and condiment in the house and purge the dead and the expired. What a field day I had. I think her house looks so space-y now that I freed up an extra room and inside of a Trojan horse =D (bad joke, I know.)

I emptied the glass jar, washed it and took a couple of showers to wipe all the smell that was the almighty mayonnaise. But kept the bottle. Soaked it in essence of lilies and formaldehyde to get the label, smell and traces off (I can’t stop with these jokes, feel free to blow your brains out). For three past years, I have used it for so many things. A fairy lights lamp, pen holder etc etc. But none would fit. I would again put it way back in the cupboard (or far under my bed because I break things I can see), dissatisfied. With an internal restlessness that where to put it? What to do with it?. It just wasn’t it’s..purpose(?)..to be a jar for the doodads of my fleeting hobbies..

Until I got into making smoothies.

Have you ever felt..the Click? Like you were at the right time at the right place? Like you were holding perfection in the palm of your hand? Like a perfect pen, a perfect essay, the perfect shoes for the perfect dress, the right pose for the right picture that makes you look rightly 20 pounds lighter =D 10 multiple choice questions right in a row, right book with the right ending just as your stop comes on the bus and the perfect song for the very right situation?

That was the purpose of my jar. And I cherished it. I loved it. I cared for it. I labelled it with my name, just so I would be part of something that was so complete. Just to catch a glimpse of all that is at home with itself and what it does.

Until I left it on the counter last night.

and the maid broke it in the morning before I woke up.

My heart is dead. There is no hope. All is lie.

Fuck you.

 

 

 

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

green_text_leaves_why

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

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

“Those who hate most fervently must have once loved deeply; those who want to deny the world must have once embraced what they now set on fire”

How do you tell someone that you hate them? Look them straight in the eye and blurt out that you despise their very existence? How do you say, that their pettiness bores you, that their presence brings you no charm, nothing at all. That it is worse that being numb, worse than being paralyzed..worse than being in a coma itself.

You sleep on it, you pack your bags and go on a trip. You cut all modes of communication. Anything that would change how you feel. You meditate. You learn about spirit and you learn about life, you cleanse your body and soul and just as you return from that godforsaken journey..a blow smashes into your gut and makes you double. Nothing has changed. You feel exactly the same, those faces provoke the same exact feelings, those exact feelings of disgust, anger and loathing. Them you loved for so long have a such a distorted image now, you don’t see them anymore.  A despicable numbness spreads all over your body and you run out, gasping for air

 

What do you do, ey? What do you do now?

 

(Title: Quote by Kurt Tucholsky )

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

“Okay, what does ‘okay mean?” “It means, okay, I hear you.”

colors-paint-splash-orange-blue-green-yellow-white-drop-black-background

I’ve had people as my friends. Few, but yes, there have been some. And I have always observed the exact same pattern with all of them, since I have been the same person and have attracted the exact same kind of people. Amazing people. Everyone was different. They were all strange and exotic in one way or the other. They all took a little something from me and left me with a little bit of them. Sometimes I don’t think I am this one person with my own thoughts or personality. It feels as if all those people made my persona and all those books fed my thoughts and imagination. Just when I think I am tired of the same thing over and over, something does actually happen.. I thought it only did so in movies and books. Lol

One thing has happened consistently all my life. I’ve never had anyone stand up for me or defend me. One might think it’s because I don’t do so either..but no..I’m a pretty aggressive and strongly opinionated person. Hell I have defended my enemies, in the literal sense of the word. But I don’t know how it feels to have someone defend you, back you up when someone isn’t your blood relative. When they have no real motive nor reason to do so, I have never known that feeling, except once. I had stopped longing for it..for as far as I can remember

And just, fifteen minutes earlier.. I had friend help me. Just for the sake of helping me. I had a friend..think of me as a person, not a frigid pile of flesh and bones.

Well. As much as I don’t want this event to go to my head, it still feels a little good. A little nice. Like holding a small chick in my hand. Have you ever held one? It’s soft and light and fragile…and so yellow

 

BABY-CHICKEN

(Title: Rainbow Rowell’s Attachments)

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

poker face

I am tired to my bones running into the same kind of people every day and every night. Wherever I turn, I see the same faces, same pointless drivel flowing from their lips and it makes my stomach turn. I see them reading the same worthless books, quoting the same quotes, wearing the same expressions and saying the same things. And this afternoon I wanted to jump from the bus

Lord I don’t know where to turn to. I am going to be buried in work soon and the very idea of the workload is getting me into fits of panic..but I’ll get through it, like I always have. Whether this is the actual issue or whether something else is going on inside me.. I do not know. But the very idea of the plain brain washed puppets I live amongst.. it just makes me angry. I always have believed everyone is different, unique, that they all have their own wars to fight, own battles to win and plenty of fears to conquer..but give me something now. I have never called people around me any names. Never judged them, never expected anything, never really saw them. But when I try.. I don’t like what I see..

It has become so repetitive that it enrages the hell out of me. Same deceits, same devotion. same ideals, same rationalizations. This city that city. All the shows saying marriage stinks and divorce is inevitable, all the books saying religion is a false cover for horrors we bind ourselves in, parents demanding respect, teachers claiming it as their right, patients cursing doctors, doctors cursing patients, same menu in the hostel mess for four years, riding the same bus, looking at the same people..loving and cheating and hating and lying…

I’ve taken breaks. From God, from friends, from books, from tv, from internet..once, twice..so many times. They all return and they all make me toss my lunch. Give me something ! Give me something that’ll make me turn towards you and see your face and know that I haven’t seen you before, in all those crowds and in all those cities. Show me something I haven’t seen before, tell me something I haven’t heard yet. Amaze me. Make me fall in love. Make me coil in hatred.

Do something..

tired sticky note

 

(Title: ‘Do You Know Me by John Mayer)