Thoughts.

Thoughts like water,  fall easily.

Slow, the drops, unaware, but at bliss.

There is nothing to guide, and lost are they,

the thoughts that seek, a home to return.

Questions follow the answers met.

Hopeful, but futile. An unending journey.

The kaleidoscopic world, a labyrinth.

Thoughts pulled closer, sinking in,

even as they try to break away.

To reach out, I reach within.

If words are the assets of a free mind, why is it that we often find ourselves trapped within the boundaries they offer? In an earlier post, I had spoken about how much one should appreciate silence, and agreed, nothing would probably describe anything better than complete silence, and a quiet moment of understanding. Yet, this silence, seems too difficult to adjust to. The basic desire of a human is to communicate. To listen, hear, speak, and share. But do we really need to define everything?

Imagine a house on a far away land. A place that touches the skies, reaching out to the clouds. Lush green grass all around. A cool, gentle breeze surrounding the tiny cottage, with the hum of a local brook meandering nearby.

I'm not very good with imagery. My literature isn't as great as many people whom I know of. But my views, they are precious to me. The only support that I could hold onto if everything else seems to haze away. This is why I fear criticism. If I am capable of adjusting with any sort of a view that might come across me, I really hope, that people accept, even if they don't agree - to whatever I believe in.

I just long for my imaginations to become a reality. If only one could share the marvels that one thinks of, with others, in the exact same way they seem to reach into the empty voids of ones mind, filling them up with colours the the true eye could never visualise.

Back to the cottage. That place would be perfect. A moment  frozen in time, for eternity. I didn't choose a beach, an island, or another fancy place. This little cottage, atop a silent hill, some how captured my mind.

Now imagine yourself living in such a place. Alone. Not a single person with whom you could share your words, or your silence. Somehow, this forces me to believe that, the one thing, more important, than even sharing your views, is the mere company of another living being. 

But I savour solitude. The sly single digit upon that clock mocks me. It's way past midnight, and I have only solitude as my company right now. I cherish it. It's one of those few things I appreciate in life. Some time reserved for me and me only. Where I can lock myself away from the world and pen down my feelings unafraid of any sort of criticism.

The words trapped in me, often scream. Perhaps everyone feels so. I don't run away from my own thoughts though. I see to it, that they meet what they seek. But I wonder, if the only way to do so, is by surrounding myself with the people I care about. Words fail when ideals differ. Silence fails when the understanding is low. Perhaps laughter, happiness, or even sadness, binds us all. 

There is no place for masks. But they inevitably reach out, covering my face when I'm afraid to hurt anybody, or to show someone that I've been hurt. As long as it doesn't harm anyone though, they should be fine. Perhaps giving, without hoping to get anything in return is the only way by which one can live in the world outside. 

That world outside, it doesn't make sense to me. Broken people, breaking others, and them breaking others, and so forth. I remember the time I was plainly shocked by an act of a close friend. A sinful act, for that time I was a child. "Why would anyone want to be the bad guy?" I remember, asking another friend. 

With time, I learned that both the bad, and the good were... Almost the same. The one's screaming about the goodness, made the bad visible. All this, was just, a game of words. Word play, as one might call it.

That cottage on that hill? It's still there. It's quiet and, one could get all the solitude he or she ever desired while living there. Even though an optimist, the reality of this world saddens me. I may appreciate the good - the bad - both, as equal necessities required for this world to flow forward, but nevertheless, the sight of any helpless person discourages me. 

Illness. Old age. Death. Misundestandings. Fights. Hunger. Disease. Does this world really need them? It doesn't. And me, I'm heartless. Looking at it all as if it were all science. Trying not to concern myself. Trying to understand relations as if they were some sort of a mathematical equation. I think far too much to do me any good. But as I fear, I think far too much, for me to be able to do any good to this world.

I'm tired of trying to figuring things out - for now. Thoughts not acted upon are meaningless. Aren't they? If lost, never to be found again.

I don't want to support the good, or the bad, or anything for that matter. I just want people to realise, that they are alive. They have a heart, heartbeats, and for as long as they can breath, nothing can really harm them. 

Oh how I wish to tell them all about how easy this life really is. But explaining it is such a task! Pretty sure most don't even want me to hear me out. And no, I would't want to be a burden. Who would want to be one? My words fail. My silence fails. And I seek solitude again. A place somewhere, in my mind, on that cottage, with the cool breeze that would speak to me, understanding me completely. Perfectly. And I shall write, finally, allowing my views to take control, and not fear.

My best friend forever. Even if he isn't aware of it.

Write, and erase.

I begin to write, when I don't know what to write.

I
I write
I write to
I write to think
I write to think and
I write to think and question
I write to think and question what
I write to think and question what I
I write to think and question what I could
I write to think and question what I could write
I write to think and question what I could write.
And this leaves me confused, and I erase.
And this leaves me confused, and I
And this leaves me confused, and
And this leaves me confused,
And this leaves me confused
And this leaves me
And this leaves
And this
And

And then I erase the written, erasing my confusion.

Let's go to the mall - Today!

I'm at a mall! Malls make me happy!

Take this food court, for example, The grandparents gladly chatting with their grand-daughter while she munches on the McD burger, that occasional young couple - obviously on a date, a small family with quarrelling siblings, a tired business man staring into his laptop with dire eyes, the small kid tugging onto his mothers hand while crying tears of frustration, a stout man devouring the extra large sandwich with complete dedication. All these people, they make me so glad! This is why sometimes, I absolutely adore crowded places. People are so different, yet so similar at the same time. Blame the ambience or the music, malls make me feel like as if I were a part of a slow movie. A slice of life!

Everyone is dissolved in their own tiny, yet infinite worlds. I wonder if anyone inside this enormous building is thinking along the same lines as me!

Malls are just one of those mediums, using which the nuclear families can move out of their urban households, and take a break from the hectic life. The feeling will not amount to the fun one might have in natural surroundings, but it feels good to realise that people would still like to take time out of their busy lives to do spend time with the ones they love, or doing things that they love to do!

Also, if you're living in the city for more than 17 years, the fact that you might bump into an old friend in a mall, during weekend, is as probable as not being able to find an empty seat in the food court during rush hours. Almost certain. And yes. I did meet an old friend! Came across a not - so - familiar senior student at my college too; but I chose awkward ignorance over awkward smiles. Silly me. Should have greeted him with a huge pat on his back... But then, he probably didn't know me. (Ignooooooore.)

The other best part, well, one of my favourite part in a mall, is the book store. I learned far more about the world sitting in that small comfy corner than I usually do while sitting in front of the laptop all day long. Fact: Toy Story saved Steve Jobs's career. Like whaaaa? Fascinating, isn't it? It's just one of the few things I learned today.

The concept of a mall is bloody brilliant. The days when they were considered to only be a shopping hub are far gone! The mall is now a place filled with grandparents, smart teens, crying infants, and workaholics - all seeking a days break, relaxing, learning, shopping... Or yawning. (Hello there, Mr. tired janitor!)

It's no secret. For those who embrace crazy, mall's are the perfect new playgrounds.

• Walk backwards on an escalator. (You're a failure in life if you haven't tried this one yet!)
• Wink at that clueless child in a non pedophile, yet cute way.
• If... (Or if not) you're a girl: Bat your eyelashes and pretend to be Julia Roberts while looking at that oh so hot - yet unattainable - guy with model like features.
• Talk to a salesman and share his grief regarding the thick headed customers.
• Skid and slip on the marble floors!
• Use the hand dryer in the washroom to blow dry your hair. (Works perfectly.) Try it next when the room is crowded. A sure shot way to make people giggle. (While smoothening your hair at the same time!)

I left the mall with a heavy heart. I guess I'll be coming here again, soon.

While leaving the premises, make sure you turn back and offer the building a genuine salute. The mall is the brand new urban temple after all! For all sections of the society to hop in and partaaaay all day long. ^_^

Focus!

Light. Let me be.

Your identity.

This post is based on what your identity is, and not on what, or who you are. There's a difference between the two. Having said that, let's begin.

Everyone wants to be accepted. Some try fitting in, whereas some change their surroundings, or even people, to suit their own preferential environment. I simply detest the people belonging to the latter group. Why change others if you're too thick to adjust yourself? Isn't it good manners to change yourself to suit the needs of others? An unsaid goodwill? 

We see a popular social pattern here. A pattern, most of us are familiar with as it can be observed during many circumstances. The bad, the one's with attitude, prevail. While the one's who try to keep other's happy, or simply hide, do not. 

So is it good? To have the air of an attitude around you? Or is it better to be helpful, and still be the saint?

I recently started off with my under grad college. New place, new people, new surroundings, pulled out of my shell, embarking on a new journey all together. I've seen people try to fit in. Some are good at molding others too. Perhaps the 'I don't give a damn attitude' works. To make a difference, to have an identity, you need to differ. If you don't, you're just another person, like a sheep, allowing the herd to guide you.

Mind you. I'm not trying to say that being the sheep is bad. You always have a choice. And no choice is wrong. Nothing is. But in this post, I'm purely going to try and figure out how one can make a difference. Cuz, admit it. Most of us want to.

One can differ only when he or she is confident enough to say no. Or if he or she perhaps has an opinion about everything. There will be a few people, who would prefer to keep quiet, already afraid of how others might judge them. But trust me, when you silently help others, while not trying to figure out your own self, you're helping them, but not yourself.

Don't beg to differ. But stick to your own morals and values. Speak about them. Don't be highly opinionated, but for building your own identity, which you rightly should, step up. Confidence is secondary. You need belief. That's the first step. Believe in yourself, and  confidence will follow. Shortly after, your own unique identity will reveal itself, which would have been built up slowly, with every word you speak, or every gesture you make.

Identities may change from place to place, depending on how you tackle situations in different places. The identity on a social networking profile, for example, could easily be different from the one you actually have with most of your closest friends. 

People identify you in their own ways. So even if say, you're in a group of 20 colleagues, there will be 20 unique identities of you. If you differ though, make a difference, stay, as I said, opinionated, these identities will merge up to form a better picture of what you are personally.

Your identity could be a positive, or a negative one. Negative identities are stronger, and the people who have it, might always have an extra edge. But it's a wrong way. A short cut. And short cut's never work. Be positive, hard working, and in a long run, it shall be beneficial. It's a stable way of thinking too.

What you truly are, is always going to be different than what you think you are. What you show though, can easily be changed. So even if you are being yourself, try and put forth your views a little creatively. How other's see you as cannot be changed much unless you are really good at tackling people and their psyche. All in all, nothing except the real you is true. And no one can ever describe that real you perfectly.

Until then, do try and make a difference. Even if it is in a small way, do try and have a positive identity. There's no fun in being the sheep. (Not that I'd hate you for being one! But it's simply not any fun.) 

Ciao! Fellow travelers!  

Crash and burn, then rise like a phoenix.

Sometimes, I feel, that the cycles of the daily rituals get a bit too repetitive. Take a phoenix for example. The poor mythical creature lives to die, then rises up from the ashes... Only to die again.

Shut your eyes right now. Think. What would happen if you were to live for only 10 seconds more. When one say's that the whole life flashes before you, as you're about to die, it's just an idea. For one truly doesn't remain, to remember enough the thoughts of his last second. We live as if we would live forever, simply forgetting that one day, at one particular moment, everything that ever was, or would be, is going to vanish into a mysterious abyss. A place we probably would never know anything about.

So why do we enjoy this daily roller coaster life? Action. That's what we need. An action on the spur, or perhaps stretched for a long time. But action is needed. Something for the community. Something for evolution. Stop and stare, to realize where you are. Once you have, gear up, and start moving. You're going to make a difference in this world, no matter by what magnitude.

The phoenix shall die one day. But it grows, heals, helps, while it lives. Death is just another start for the creature.

Silence.

I usually don't get angered easily, but today, I did. I raised my voice while speaking to my mother today. Lashing out my wrath, the wrath trapped in me due to my hatred towards all the rough things that life had to offer. It wasn't much. The suffering. But it did amount to some. 

I had decided that I would speak no more. How else am I suppose to describe anything perfectly? Silence is the only way by which I can describe something best. Not jeopardizing its infinite beauty.

My mother lay confused. I wasn't speaking at all. A smile is what I gave, not only to her, but every other person I met today. Uncanny, but it did work. Strangely, I realized today, the language of smile, silence, is all that is needed. The two make us realize that life's perfect.

Isn't it? Despite all the troubles, pain? Laughter, love? Tension, confusion? Life is perfect. But it can be described best only when one doesn't try to describe it at all. It's painful, this realization. Knowing that you'd never reach the end. Knowing that this imperfection, and accepting it, are the only modes by which one can make true sense out of things.

Realizing this would make you smile. You will smile, not for you have finally found an answer in this maze. But for you accept it, and can finally see the beauty in incomplete things.

We try to speak as we try to enforce our ideas on others, we speak, we order, we wish, but never listen. Silence gives you the power of listening. Listen more, learn more, speak less.

I spoke with my mother towards the night. Speaking my heart out, letting her know, of what I thought. That I was sorry. I presume I still wasn't able to reach out. No sweat. After doing what I should have, I simply smiled, and retreated back towards silence.

I smiled.

The five classical elements.

Each of the five classical elements, that is; Fire, Water, Earth, Air, and Spirit, when thought of separately, with complete concentration, has the capability of giving a person infinite peace.

Now, classifying everything into these five is one way of doing so, a school of thought. Scientifically speaking, I do not trust this sort of characterization of materials. But, fact remains, as it's just been my observation, that when one walks under the rain, cherishing every single drop of rain that falls upon his skin, or when watches a candle, the flame, or when he walks on the sand, by the sea, observing how his steps leave foot prints, breath in the smell of petrol, or of course, meditate, it pulls you into this weird sort of trance. A place where your mind begins to empty itself of the various ramblings it otherwise thinks of continuously; Even if it mostly occurs for a tiny moment at a stretch.

These elements are powerful indeed, it's a pity they seem to lose their beauty when mixed. Maybe that's the secret lesson hidden here. To judge everything with what tiny things it's been made of, and not just the complete picture; For the tiniest of things often hide the real story, as well as beauty behind a thing.. Or even a person.

The single girl child... On marriages.

Before I begin, I'd like to point out, that the following post is strictly constricted to the old fashioned, rural based thinking. It might not exist in most households with modern thinking, but in a few houses, including mine (and also the house, that is my brain), such thoughts do float around.

I was born in a family of high values. Where a belief, that the gender of a child born, wouldn't affect her future - stood firm. Where she, unlike a few unfortunate women in our society, wouldn't be deprived of anything. A place where she would be surrounded by views that are far from being sexist. At least, that's what I thought.

I am a single girl child. My parents love me, I'm aware. I was never pampered though, my parents have made sure to teach me the best of manners a girl could learn. They've taught me virtues, that are usually taught only to the men of the family. I was happy. I was a girl, yet, strong enough to take the decisions of my family, like a man. An independent, bold, yet sensitive woman - that's what my parents desired me to be. But no, they never forced their desires upon me. They've given me complete freedom. The freedom to lie, cheat, be happy, make mistakes, learn, everything. All this, made my life perfect. I never misused this freedom that they gave me. I tried my best to be on my heels, do the best I can do, in whatever situation I was in, as long as it was something that I believed in. They always guided me, warned me, yet supported me, all along. This is how my life was perfect. By giving me everything, my parents, gave me, a life. A perfect life. No, I was never treated like a princess. But that is exactly what has made me. Understanding, open minded. I've grown to thank my parents, for whatever they have done for me. I am lucky, I often thought. Like I said before, I was happy.

It is only recently that a more mature thought has crossed my mind. Perhaps you do grow up with time. That's what our parents tell us, don't they? I never doubted them. But it's true. The process of learning, growing, is actually distinguishable. You will easily realize when you've grown up. Growing up is always painful.

Being a single girl child, doesn't give me the opportunity to continue my family's legacy. The feminists would revolt at such a thought. But it's true. My parents do not complain, and its a problem, purely created by me. I asked my dad a few days ago, if he ever wished to have a male child. The answer was expected - it didn't matter. It probably doesn't matter to them the way it matters to me. After I marry someone, my father shall be a grand dad, probably, someday. But his grand kid will not have his name. He shall have my husband's surname. The hubby's legacy. Immature thinking? Probably. If you aren't a girl child, that is. But for the other single girl child's, they'll understand what I'm trying to say. 

The problem is not too difficult to counter though. Like what my parents have taught me, I do believe that there is a solution to every problem. Just like this one. How about this  - I marry a guy, have about 2 kids, divorce him? So that I can give my children my own surname? The one that is a part of my bloodline? Or should I probably marry someone with the same surname as mine, a distant cousin of mine, perhaps. Or I could marry someone, who is at par with my parents thoughts. The modern thinking. Where the man is strong enough to allow our first child to carry my birth surname. 

So immature, this talk. But it does matter.

I do not find the institution of marriage stupid. On the contrary, it brings stability to the human kind. Adjusting, compromising, they are the ways of civilisation, something which we ourselves have evolved to get accustomed to. But the fact that men feel that they need to be the bread earner of the family, and never the woman, is absolutely hilarious. Even when women earn, it is better for them, to earn less than their own spouses. It's very rare to find a man who is not moved my outwardly or materialistic capabilities. But man has always been the stronger one. I myself will not argue upon this fact. It's just one of those things in nature that is unfortunate. But perhaps, it is needed, to maintain order. 

TIME FOR SOME STEREOTYPE BUSTING! 
Women won't mind to lower their heads before the men. But we need our own respect. Being at home, looking after the children, is not a life we would wish for in an ideal world. In an ideal world, along with looking after the household, we women would love to embrace the adventure that this world has to offer. Being at home, earning less than you, is not an easy thing. It is unfortunate how some men think that women are rubbish, for they have no say in the talks of matters regarding the world. That they can't work, that they aren't the superior kind. (Of course not all men are like this, and to those men, we women would like to extend some love.) But it takes a lot to sit back, and pretend that you are not all that you could be. To sacrifice your dreams. To be a woman, is not easy, contrary to what most men think.

My father has spent days, nights, speaking about the story of our family. The bed time stories always enthralled me. Of how our life was, back in the old days, in the beautiful state of Himachal Pradesh. The villages, the palaces, the beautiful gardens, the kites, the princes, the princesses, the gold shoe's, the banquets… I wish to speak of these with my child. (Pardon the over - I want a child - syndrome. This is temporary. Probably. I'm rather thinking of adoption. Any who. Adopted or not, a child is a child. Gosh. When did I become so… Motherly?)

Back to what I was saying. It's unfortunate women are treated this way. I never realized anything strange about female foeticide , I never could understand why one's own mother, would agree to kill the child she held. Ruthless. But now I do. And the reason, even though, full of ego, pride, and completely old fashioned, is a true one. People might hide it, but it does reside in their minds. For a few, they have thought of it, a countless amount of times, for the others, the idea is still trapped deep within their brain, waiting to be hatched. But trust me, it exists. Way's to continue your legacy.

All in the name of evolution. The basic fundamental need, and the way of nature. (I'll elaborate, in perhaps, another post.)

If I had been a guy, I would have certainly held much more freedom. My life would have been different, in terms of all the daring acts that I've always wanted to do. Its true, I've attempted a few, but such things are never encouraged by my relatives. A girl doesn't drive a bike! She should atleast  know how to cook! The basic need, and the sentence, every lady is made to listen to, at least once in her lifetime. But there is so much more then just cooking!

Am I proud to be a girl? Heck yes. Is it okay to be a single girl child? Of course!!

But all in all, a girls life isn't that easy. It's not easy for a single girl child at all.

AND after this AMAZINGLY confusing rant, I'd just like to make one thing clear. I in no way, have any complain with anything that ever was, or that will ever be. Amen.

Until next time!!

On the power of a 'To do list.'

No, this isn't a 'To do list' that I'm planning to jot down, but just the reasons of why one should always have one ready.
To do lists are amazing. Not only are they easy to make, but they also end up giving you a reason to live! No. For real. Make a to do list, gawk at the amount of things you ought to do, and if you're a free bird, add things which pull you out of your comfort zone.
I have seen by experience, that a to do list, does really clear your brain. Not only does it succeed in keeping you busy, it also makes sure that you're always up to something that's going to benefit you, in someway or the other. Apart from this, when you have things to do, and you, by all means, just have to perform those tasks, what's better than a piece of paper which will always remind you to complete it?

With my exams done, it is finally time where I can embrace my love for the to do lists. Pencil's and rough sheets, here I come!

Slowly.

String by string, a needle's swing, dipped and pulled - slowly.

A fine violin, the strained tune, stretching it on - slowly.

A laughter quiet, a blaring cry, shifting the spirit - slowly.

A dagger thin; stabbed in, without a regret - but slowly.

An odd sort of compassion.

I've always seen her on that road, right under that particular oak tree. Huddled against the huge trunk, wearing the same light blue sari. Helpless - yet, patient. The old woman, who was perhaps in her seventies, sought for refuge around that place. It was her home, her world.

I never spoke to her. I never knew her name. Whenever I passed the street though, I never failed to look out for her. The four eyes met often, but the two lips remained sealed. Nor did she utter a word, and neither did I. What was I to say to her anyway?

A small silver bowl always lay before her dry bare feet. If not a lucky day, the bowl often remained empty. It was strange. She never looked like a beggar. She seemed too proud to be one. Still, a few people dropped a change or two as they passed by. She always remained quiet. Thankless. Patient.

It was a normal summer morning that day. A trip to the market required me to cross that street again. My hands shoved deep into the pockets of my jacket, I strolled down the lanes. The next few moments were going to be unexpected.

The lady was still seated there. Today, with her eyes closed. I stopped on my heals as I observed her closely. Her wrinkled hands were curled up into tiny helpless fists. Her slimmer form, seemed more weak then ever. Oh, how could have her children left her this way? Did she even have a family? I had thought of these things often, but today, I was just too curious. I pitied her.

I pulled out a few coins from my pocket and bent down low, wanting to drop them in the bowl as silently as possible. I didn't want to wake her up. But just as I leaned forward, she opened her eyes and hissed under her breath. I widened my eyes and froze. She smiled towards me and shook her head, pushing my hand away. "It's yours." she whispered, as she ushered me to continue on my path. Her eyes did recognize me. Perhaps she had noticed me before as well.

I remained silent, gave her a small nod, and hopped back onto the road. With a faster pace, I hurried down towards the market. The lady was so strange. She seemed too strong - too strong if compared to any other woman of the same age. The moment we shared was indeed weird. I suddenly didn't pity her anymore. She seemed like she needed none. I took a longer route back home as I returned from the market that day.

The next time I crossed the street again, I remembered to smile at her. She looked towards me with her usual blank gaze. Embarrassed, I looked away. The presence of an odd sort of compassion we held for each other was unmistakable, but I decided to stop thinking about it. Perhaps, that is what she really wanted. Silence, respect, and just a bit of compassion.

Unerring.

When trying to find solace,

the breath of light upon my face.

It’s tender feel, throughout my soul,

touch beyond, griefs console.

Light beneath the truth’s gleam.

Let alone, beyond control.

Shimmer the touch, sweet nothings,

perhaps a glow, and the lights acclaim -

to the mighty and strong - a chapter closed.

Yet it sings, the futile song.

Can you feel? Tonights pain?

The mighty light? The endless rain?

The stream shall flow, to reach its end,

light shall follow, in a gleam bent.

A fare truth, a nice game -

Perhaps you might, try again.

Her shoes.

Tall, long, sturdy heels.
When you walk, you walk with your chest puffed out, a smile - rather a smirk, with an air of complete confidence around you.

That’s how She feels when She walks in them. Strutting past you, giving you a smile, a wink, or a sad pout. Those heels, yes those shoes, they connect to her heart. With these imaginary strings of invisible colours, scents, that don’t exist - But She knows they do.

When She’s seated upon a bench, drenched in the rainy water, staring at those extended feet of hers, wriggling her toes that peep out curiously from her scarlet peep toes… You’ll never know or figure what She’s been thinking. She’s rather secretive about it. There’s something She’s always hiding.

A stumbling walk by the lanes, those heels, rather than the popular belief of stinging her shins, lift her up.. Up, not only by a few centimeters. But up above the clouds.. High in the sky. No, She doesn’t look down, She looks up, eyes fixed afar, on galaxies and stardusts that twinkle only for her eyes.

Those shoes. Those tall, long, heels. They complete her. And She’s thankful to the fact that She has legs.. That She can walk. Crouching down, bringing her knees upto her heart, She encircles her legs with her long thin arms, hugging them close. She’s glad that they make her feel beautiful.

Her legs, her walk, her stride, her shoes.

A dream.

Darkness. All around me. The forest was quiet, apart from the low moan of the crickets singing nearby. The frequent owl hoots reminded me that there were other living creatures that dwelled in the forest. What I was doing here though, I had absolutely no idea. There was a distant thundering, warning me of the lurking storm. Me, I couldn't see a thing. Well almost… My surroundings were drenched in pitch black darkness. All the trees that stood around me, rose from the grounds to the infinite skies above, shrouding the grounds with an unmistakable thick foliage. Did they shield the moon from the lands, or was it a new moon? I couldn't guess. I slumped on the slightly damp ground and shut my eyes tight. Alone. Lost. The thought of survival hadn't kicked in as yet. I traced a finger across my arm. I couldn't feel a thing. 

I woke up with a sharp intake of breath. A storm was at its peak outside my window. Another sudden thunder. I shot my eyes wide open as the sound reverberated around my room. Wrapping my blanket around me, I crawled over to the window beside my bed, pulling the curtain away as I greeted the violent clattering of the rain drops across the glass. I wiped the glass with my sleeve, peering out as I tried to take in the surroundings. I peeked below, towards the foot of the building, the road, the shore, and the massive ocean that lay beyond it. The sea was violent, the waves crashing on the rocky shore, its waters struggling to hold back. The buildings that lay along the crescent of the road, the shore, were grey, moaning quietly as they stood firmly against the storm. The city lights twinkled under the rain. Not a single car drove past on the road that lay painfully still between the building and the shore. The infamous Marine drive, lay helpless, and exposed to the nature's exasperation. I looked up towards the sky. A mass of silver and white emerged behind the grey clouds now and again, which were shortly followed by a roaring thunder. The noise was deafening, cracking across the impatient heavens. 

A soft thud on my bed pulled back my attention to the room. I dragged the curtains back to their initial position and turned back. Kitty, the stray kitten, lay huddled against my feet, curled up in a small trembling ball. I leaned forward and picked him up, holding him close against my chest as I pulled the blanket over us and laid back on the bed. Another blaring thunder. Kitty twitched his tail and clinged closer to me. "Hush now," I whispered, "Let's just hope the lightening's not near us, yes?" I stroked the kitten across his tiny neck. It must have been around 2AM, a Monday morning. "A blaring welcome to the new week," I sighed, "Well hopefully, for you and me, they'll cancel the school tomorrow. I could bake you some cookies, perhaps sleep some more.." Kitty replied with a soft comforting purr, I wondered if he understood what I had meant. 

I shut my eyes close and heaved another sigh. I was too tired. Too tired to remain awake, too tired to fall back into that lonely dream. I wanted to escape. To somewhere peaceful, to somewhere in between. Minutes passed by. I kept brushing my fingertips across Kitty's soft fur. His rhythmic purring, my slow breathing, the roaring of the thundering - now distant, they were all luring me into a cold, unusual stance. I hummed under my breath, wanting all the more to escape into the coldness… The calmness. The peace. My surroundings seemed sad. My heart seemed to be in a state of deep distress, as if the invisible wires of flaming iron had wound themselves around the organ. A strange kind of numbness that began with my toes, rose up towards my shins, my legs, my abdomen, chest, arms, my head… Blankness.

I stopped moving. Suddenly. Too suddenly. I couldn't feel Kitty anymore. Nor could I feel the blanket. I opened my eyes and pulled my hand closer to my face, observing my skin under the soft grey light. Ivory. Pale. Silver. I narrowed my eyes before rubbing my palms against my eyes. A relaxed, yet painful throbbing resonated inside my head. I hauled myself up against the wall, before bending my torso and stepping down on the floor. I walked around aimlessly, the woollen carpet doing almost nothing to soothe my bare feet. My room should have been drowned in darkness, but no. I could see everything clearly. Too clearly. I shifted my gaze upon the clock. The hour hand stood before the minute needle - both pointing towards the number three. Too early for sunlight to sneak in my room. But the rain, had it stopped? I couldn't hear the thundering anymore, just the low wail of the dying winds. I turned back to reach across the bed and pull back the curtains, but my hand froze still before it could touch the cloth. I curled up my fingers slightly as I observed my hand, my knees suddenly felt weak. My skin was a pure silver. Translucent. I widened my eyes in horror and shifted my eyes towards the bed. Under the mass of blanket that lay huddled upon it, her head peeked out. Holding the kitten, between her long thin arms, her eyes were shut. Her pale lips slightly parted, my body remained immobile under the veil.

Dead.

Not being you.

It's not easy being yourself. With social platforms like Facebook, or Twitter, or even various blogs, people have been introduced to various means by which they can pot ray their lives to others, in a way they would like to be perceived as.

I don't think this is a good thing. In a way, one could say that it does define a person more. But definition - Is that the ultimate thing? To define every possible thing. To have answers? To define your own life, and present it to others. Perhaps give them a few memories by which they'd remember you by.

Not being yourself, but being someone you'd rather be. Isn't it similar to not accepting reality?

There will always be some person, who will long to be in your place. To have your story. Think that your story is tragic? And no one would want it? Think again. I know of a few who love tragedy too. I might, infact, be one of them.

My life is perfect. Perfect family. Perfect friends. Perfect problems. Nothing overly tragic. Just the normal things a normal teenage girl suffers from. I long for tragedy. I smile when I cry. Why you think? Thats because I need tragedy. Something to give my life a story.

This is how I desire to make my life aesthetic. It's unreal. Not justified. Wrong.

Life is miserable when you try to alter it. When you accept the things the way they are, and gladly acknowledge the beauty they have to offer, that's when you'd truly be happy. This is why I long for tragedy no more. Why waste time building a story, when I know mine already exists?

There's beauty in everything. A failed exam, a broken heart, an incomplete story…

Be yourself. Your story is unique.

Swaying back and forth.

She stared at the blank page that lay on her desk for a while, then shifted her muddy hues towards her right hand that held the pen. Gently tracing her thumb on the fancy pen cap that was fixed on its end, she moved her arm forward, and pressed the tip of the pen on the blank page, observing the first colour of the black ink on the sheet.

She bit her lip and traced her pen to create a small disfigured curve, attempting to jot down the the first letter of her name. 'S' ... She managed to write. She heaved a sigh and scooped up the sheet between her left fingers and held it high above to view it under the faint sunlight that shone into her room through a window behind her. Narrowing her eyes at the small letter, she tilted her head and hummed under her breath. "Who are you love?" she muttered as she plonked the sheet back on the desk.

Holding the pen tightly between her fingers, she traced a 'u' next to the previous letter. Pursing her lips, and writing in her irregular calligraph she completed the word, and stared at it for a long moment. She held up the paper again in the sunlight and shifted her weight towards the back, her head against the chair.

She moved the piece of sheet against the sunlight and observed it at different angles, her posture calm and composed. Her slow, yet deep breaths could tell nothing about the various emotions that were swelling up inside her. Her face was expressionless, but her toes were pressing deep into the floor below her. The fingers of her right hand were clenched around the pen that she held.

"Who are you..." she whispered again, her voice showing signs of both exhaustion, as well as a flamed curiosity that could never die.

She brought the sheet a few centimetre's before her eyes raised up her chin in an attempt to sniff in the scent of the sheet. Her eyes shut in unison with the intake of her breath. The sheet smelled of burnt charcoal, with a gentle outline of the smell of wet mud. She released her breath, and collapsed her hand on the desk, pushing her chair away from the table.

She turned her back, rotating on the wheels of the chair, and peered outside her window. Twirling the pen between her fingers, she placed it between her teeth and chewed on for a while, before flipping the pen away from her hand with a quick twist of her wrist, and snuggling onto the warm cloth of the chair that she sat on. "No one can answer that, but me..." she trailed off, as she shut her eyes close and slowly drifted off to slumber.

My tummy wanna has EPIC foods!

Midnight pangs are…  Kind of interesting. I don’t sleep at night. Well, mostly. That kinda sucks though, but I presume nearly half of the new age - techno savvy teenagers around the world do the same. I think of it as some kind of… Evolutionary behavior, so it really shouldn’t matter much. Besides, Sleep is for the weak. Yeah, that’s what I feel. 

So back to my midnight pangs! At about one last night, I was busy skimming through a set of chemical reactions that I had to memorize for a coming practical (with my laptop switched on!), when I had this tingly sensation in my tummy. Ehh. I was hungry. I flipped ma table all epically, well not really, but yeah, quickly, and ran towards the kitchen to gulp down a glass of water. I  was really hungry you know, so I opened my fridge in a hope that I’d find some legendary dish. The first thing I spotted, were some pineapple slices, waiting for me eagerly as the lay on the shelf. Cold and juicy. Yum. 

I pulled the bowl out, nommed the slices quickly, and peered down inside my fridge again, this time, looking for some junk. IT WAS EMPTY. Absolutely empty. (I really can’t store chocolates in my fridge, cuz storing them is actually very difficult when you have a great appetite for anything sweet.) IT WAS HORRIBLE. I was really hoping to find some chicken nuggets that I could fry… but oh well. I realized that I had finished them a day before. ._. Tough luck. 

Disappointed, I came back in my room and started searching for some dishes online. ZOMG. Now this is why I love the Internet. Some dishes that I came across were absofuckinglutely EPIC! 

I mean, COME ON, who’s not gonna drool when they come across things such as this —

Or this --

Or THIS --

OR… Wait for it…. THIIIIS!!! — 

The fuck right? O_O

So now! Think about me! Looking at such things when I was just so fucking hungry! ~Sigh.~

 After an endless amount of time I spent merely drooling over such things, I decided I’m going to make one soon! YES. And I shall never let anyone complete the dish. Ever.

You ask why?

Cuz I’d like to fill in my tummy with EPIC CHICKENEH JUICY left overs at one at night. Thats why!