Letter of Resignation

I cannot help you.

This evening I went out to buy some yogurt. I wore my warmest socks and my coziest sweater and wrapped a nice thick scarf around my head because it was really cold outside. Had a chilly five-minute walk. I don’t have many of these left here since med school finishes soon. I went, met a few friends there. That part was nice since I hadn’t spoken to a soul all day as I was cooped up in my room begging myself to study for the finals. But, I digress.

As I came back, up those stairs and through those corridors, I found myself regretting that I had lost the ability to give a crap. If that is temporary or permanent, I have yet to find out. I cannot find it in me to care about your troubles anymore. I do not have it in me to listen to you sink into a pit of self-indulgence and blurt out a plethora of words I have heard you and so many speak before. I can see them form a cloud of smoke around you, as you get lost in them, talking talking talking… A copy of a copy of a copy. It’s beyond me to bear it any longer.

I didn’t use to be like this, though. I was one of those people who actually feed on other person’s neediness. People who thrive in a co-dependent relationship (if you call that thriving). I was the person who loved hearing the other person talk and loved to give solutions, if asked to, of course. I loved people more for their problems and imperfections than anything else.

But I have lost the ability to connect with you anymore. I do not have the stamina to sit and listen to you be…so common. I do not have the energy to apologize when I fail to meet some mighty and high standards of affection you have in your mind, those cultivated by ill written books and misunderstood classics. I have no place for the guilt you inflict, nor do I have the capability to address the gaping voids you wish someone would fill and the seeping cracks you wish someone would fix. It is impossible for me to go back there. I wish it would pain me more when I tell you: You are on your own. Yes, I might be around as I myself am on this journey like you. I will give you my water if you are thirsty, I will give you my food if you are hungry. But I will not chew it for you. I will slow down if you want to rest yourself. But I will not carry you.

I will not carry you.

“There are only two seasons — winter and Baseball.”

Downhill

Pity by the time I can get down to write about the good days I am down with a bad one. Last few days have been good. Everything seems to be fine when the heart is light. I feel wretched at the fact that within the ten minutes it took for grabbing my laptop and hooking it to an internet source, my heart went down the low road again

So yeah, I, pathetically so, am gonna talk about that

Today was good. I got up so early. I charged my poor Kindle that died on my way back home. I read ”An Artist of the Floating World” sitting in the sun and *tried* cooking. Took a shower but midway the waters turned traitor and I was frozen into a big shard of ice. I am still shivering. And am drinking, what perhaps is, my fifth cup of tea. *Shiver*

You know, sometimes I feel as if I am watching over a fence, into the world of someone I alone hold close to my heart. You see into their world and don’t understand what’s going on. Big patches of stories missing. You long to ask.. but just cannot. It’s a brief feeling, for I know how to shut myself into barriers of smiles and laughter. It’s very natural for me. You can’t call it pretending

Anyways. Winters are on and I hope all your friends and foes remain warm

(as for the foes, don’t worry,you never know when the waters in the shower run cold =D )

winters

 

Title: Quote by Bill Veeck

You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me

What’s an inspiration? Something that gets a hold of me. Beckons me to get carried away in a whirl of thoughts, emotions and ideas. Something that makes me sit, uncap a pen a fill away the pages in front of me. For me, it is to write. For you, it might be so much more. Cook, draw, paint, sing. Something that brings out the inner us. The better. The great. That’s what you really are. That’s the place of utter content. The deeper wishes. The deeper you.

Being warm in winters. That’s just as if you found a key into my brain. Or a path into my mind. Leading somewhere deeper and so.. peaceful. Sipping tea, that is not that sweet but enough to jingle with my palate. Tea, not burning hot, but warm enough to sooth me. Holding the mug in my cold hands and brushing my nose over the hot handle, it feels.. satisfactory. Happiness is a great state of energy, marvellous state of the mind and the heart. But sometimes you don’t need happiness or devotion to soothe your soul

Trust me, a simple cup of tea would do just fine

Title: Quote by C.S. Lewis

Window Flower

Sipping hot tea, that warmth seeping into my cold hands from the mug. Sitting by the window, looking out to the street in the most clichéd manner ever. Looking at the lights and zooming cars but in reality not a sight getting through. Just sitting, nothing to do, nowhere to be. One of those Saturdays just so simply free

 

When being alone doesn’t hurt, it’s actually a very warm feeling to embrace…

And lonely as it is that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it be less—
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.