Dying of love

2011-12-04T21:34:00.001+05:30

Ever had that feeling things weren't as they were supposed to be? You know, when you're talking to someone you've been speaking to for a significant part of your life- and someone you expect to understand every bit of what you're saying- and all of a sudden, they're not them? When that feeling of security and knowing you're pure about what you're saying, something you know isn't malicious and thought the other person ALWAYS knew wasn't, is suddenly bombarded with every last bit of blasphemy and irrationality that the world can offer?
My bet is that I'm not the only person who has felt that way and I'd put my money on that being 100%correct.
Its got to be one of the most frustrating feelings in the world- even more frustrating than trying to squeeze your way through the men's side of a deck on a Bangalore public bus when everyone suddenly seems to have a thing for sodomy. The instantaneous urge to rip your hair out, smash the nearest TV dish and the absolute need to bitch-slap the hell out of your bed is not even the worst part of it. Yes, the real hassle is when your hormones are settling after the aforementioned ritual and your friends from above- no, not heaven- take over. When image after image of what things used to be roll past your eyes, like in the case of that guy in that Bollywood movie. Slowly you get eaten up by real-time hallucinations that you used to associate with "that emo fellow on Facebook" and exponentially lose every speck of self-esteem you ever had. That is just stage 2. Because life is a twisted maniac who always wants to have the last slice of cake.
In stage 3 life then puts you in "self-consume" mode. That time when you're supposed to be elated about your friend who just got on stage for the first time in his life becomes the time where your head is going, "What if I got up there and proved my worth instead?". That's bad eh? Wait. Because the same head will then tell you that you wouldn't be able to do that in a million years. And then starts the decline. Your once-upon-a-time "complete life" mocks you like you're the idiot who lost that extra mark because you showed the teacher your honesty. You lose your grip. If you're one of the weak ones, you tell yourself that you will kill yourself. If you're the cocky kind, you tell yourself that you deserve to die. If you're the cynic, you pronounce yourself bad because "a dead brain is a dead man".
Every minute of your life is stained with the ghastly juice of what could have been but never was when all you really have to do is this, this, what I'm doing right now- F***ING YAP.
That's it. Rant like you're a teenage American pop sweetheart and more often than not- as it is in the case of the teenage American pop sweetheart- people will listen. No matter how sappy or whiny you sound. The world is always a sucker for that. In fact, you might even make it to "that emo fellow's" wall. You will be surprised by the amount of people who care. What you mean to the world will overpower what you once meant to this person who can't seem to say anything nice about you anymore.
Talk.

Why do I keep coming back?

2011-10-03T20:58:00.002+05:30

Ever since the apostrophe button on my keyboard started acting up, I realized the importance of having the full 104 at my disposal. I was also reminded of a few years ago when I had just started blogging with some zeal and the exact same thing had happened- I have an up-down relationship with keyboards. The memories, came gushing through to my jaded "behind-the-eyes, below-the-hair" clerk and before I could reminisce, the idiot had skipped processing to give me this: sit on your perch and blog again.
And on the back of my newly-found love for digital media and freshly-brewed notion of confidence that my blog might actually have more traffic than that thing in college that they call the welfare office, I decided that it is time to do exactly that.

So I did.

If you've known me long enough- heard me brag about myself, long enough- you will know that saying the words "I'm a blogger" means a lot to me. If you're the ONE person who has actually read my writing, you'll know that this isn't my first one. If you're one of the World of Warcraft packs that have been forced to tell me my blog layout looks good, you have just found yourself another riled up vacation.And if you're reading this post- HA-HA.

Right arm, all over.

Dying of love

Why do I keep coming back?