Tag: life

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I’m back…I think

Hi. How’s everyone. I’m back after the endless silence.

I won’t make any promises that I’m back for good. Because, really, I don’t know 🙂

After days of dried up ink flowing through my veins, I conjured up something. And my favourite band (Chase Atlantic) helped me out. They know the dark side of me better than I know it (And I really embrace my dark side), so that’s something. So, here’s the something, I’m talking about:

I can handle the world. I really can.

What I can’t handle is myself and every extremity of mine.

I can’t handle the fact that nothing scares me.  The fact that I’ve accepted that love is really not for me. I can’t handle the fact that I love so deeply. The fact that I can’t conform. The fact that I can’t do what I’m told to do. The fact that I glorify revolution because rebellion is the storm that rages in me. The fact that I don’t belong.  The fact that I accept but never move on.  I can’t handle the fact that…I’m human.

I think  that’s what I want in life. Something or someone that can handle me. The whole of me. No filters. So, I don’t have to edit my soul.

Just me at my highest. Because that is when I’m at my lowest. 

That is all I want out of life. And the universe will give it to me, life will give me something that can handle me. Just not how I want it. 

I’ll get doses, fleeting moments. 

Drugs that I won’t be able to overdose on like I want to. 

I’ll be living in the sky but then it’ll all  turn to black. Because all in one moment, I’ll be going to heaven and returning back. 

And that realisation is the story of when I’m feeling low.

See y’all when I can. Really missed this, writing in the spur of the moment 🙂

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Writer, a word I’m in love with

Hiya sweeties! I’ve been very busy, schoolwork, schoolwork and more schoolwork. (Read: SOMEBODY HELP! SOS)

Anyways, it took me forever to write this post, partly because I was so invested in reading this book called “Deep Work” by Cal Newport. I highly recommend it even though, I’m not done with it yet.

Today, I’d like to talk about something very dear to me: words. Since I can remember, I’ve always had this fascination with words. Words, words, words. They were my chemicals in a science lab. I could play around with them, not take myself seriously, take myself seriously, experiment with what works for me and what doesn’t and just generally hone the craft of writing.

Around last year, I finally got the courage to call myself an artist. A writer, a poet. It was a terrifying process, labelling myself. When you’re a writer, you see, you wish with every atom of your being to be called a writer and yet, you don’t actually call yourself one. Why? Because you’re not sure if your writing is even counted as valid or worthy enough for you to be called a writer. Fortunately, I got through that alive.

But today, suddenly a thought struck me: I call myself a writer but am I really living up to it?
I had become a hack who never wrote but fell in love with word : “WRITER.” I realized that writing only when I want to scribble all over the notebook is not ever going to make my writing take off where I really want it to go.

I really believed I was doing something. But I’m not. Writing, right now, is something that I play with over the weekend. I don’t want that.

Writing is one of the things that calls to me. I wanna write and write and write until I’m drowning in my words, submerged in them to the complete point of no return.

After the realisation that I wasn’t really accomplishing anything, I had this ache to write. It didn’t even had to be a good piece. I just had to write. So I did. I painted out 500 words of a scene that I had in my head. And, I thought, this is what I want to do. I want this. Everyday, I want this. Just one hour of uninterrupted writing while Jazz plays in the background.

After this connection with my emotions, I felt like this is something that needs to be shared. I found a profound connection when other people my age were still struggling to explore the world.

As a young writer, I take it as my duty to be as honest and as prolific as possible. I hope that I can finally live up to the name I’ve given myself, a writer.

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Hiding

Hello, lovely people of the internet.

I’m clueless. So, I’ll just write about…. “the horrifying ordeal of being known.”

I am opposed to this statement with every fibre of my being. Do you ever feel invisible? So positively unknown that you just want to collapse into yourself? Do you ever feel absolutely unseen and it startles you?

I don’t really know if anybody else feels it but I know I do. I feel like there is a version of me that I feel inside me and I believe to be “me” but it feels like nobody sees that version of me. And it feels like they’re interacting not with me but with a projection of their experience of me.

I believe people to be dimensional and multi-dimensional. Even those people, who speak their mind or wear their heart on their sleeve, have layers.

I feel like the innermost layer of me feels a lot and thinks a lot, craves love and attention, hopes that the idea of soulmates are possible, is a hopeless hopeless romantic, simultaneously looks at the world as an idealist and a cynic. But, I don’t really show that side to anyone. I feel like that part of me which is vulnerable is a soft, soft, soft side of me and I don’t want it to harden. And thus, I don’t show it. And thus, people don’t interact with the true, undiluted version of me. Ultimately, it’s my fault that people don’t interact with that part of me. Which is frustrating. Because I want people to know about the true me but I also don’t want that part of me to be diluted by the world.

Does that mean that I’m faking? To be completely honest, I don’t think I fake being me. I feel like I show my logical side all the time and emotional side rarely and thus, people think I’m a robot and I can’t feel.

So, according to me, I show a filtered version of the real “me”. Do you people go through the same? I’m truly curious. Tell me in the comments.

Whom am I reserving this special side for? I have no idea.

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Don’t tempt me/ I’ll run away to the forest

I have a vast number of reasons why I haven’t written since May 1st but I’ll spare you all of them.

And I’ve decided upon a routine so, you’ll be hearing a lot more from me. You can expect 4 posts every month.

I honestly don’t know what i’m doing with my life right now.

Note: If you’re studying despite this pandemic, I’m very very very proud of you. And if you’re not, I’m still very very very proud of you.

Yeah, let’s continue, shall we? The only constant things in my life are music, sleep, food, some more music, reading, hating myself for not being productive, wasting my time and impostor syndrome. Oh and overthinking. I’m telling you as much as I love the indoors, this pandemic is so NOT helping my overthinking. It’s becoming worse. And on top of that for some reason I feel like, there’ll be no nature left after this pandemic and all day, every day, I just wanna cry about something that’s not true. HELP.

It feels like the end of the world which would be fine with me but I’ve only visited 1 other country and I haven’t taken enough pictures, made enough documentaries, written enough blog posts, etc. I haven’t immersed myself in art like my heart desires.

And my professional worrying brain, cannot find the energy to invest in school work. (Please note that studying and learning are different things. I hate studying, I love learning.)

I get it. Productivity and using time for doing something useful. But, I feel like all this “productivity” is on a very superficial level. And these days, I’m dreaming of running away to a forest with only bare necessities and living there, amidst nature. (I blame the movie: Into The Wild. WATCH IT. IT”S BEAUTIFUL)

So, there’s my life in the most simplest terms I could find. I hope you’ll excuse me while I walk away into ALASKA in my mind. I think I need help.

(Don’t worry, I don’t need actual help but maybe I do? I don’t know. Tell me in the comments if you think my dreams and my lifestyle needs help.)

Please excuse all the Helps.

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wakeupyou’redying

Gentle reminder: Every passing second, you’re closer to dying.

Gentle suggestion: Go Live Life.

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cOnfUseD yEt?

Practice doesn’t make a man perfect. But it sure does make a man tired.

Krishna Chaitanya (My Classmate)

Hi. So. Ummm. Hi.

These past few days, I wanted to take a break from life. Die. Then come back to life to see who actually cared. You know, the usual.

Let’s get on with this post. Nobody’s perfect. Perfection doesn’t exist. Or so we think. See, in life, everything is a paradox. You think that reality is something that exists. But, it is something that we perceive to exist. Because that is my perception on reality, I perceive reality to be something that we perceive. It’s messy business. Then again, the universe is a messy business. The universe is chaotic. And in that chaos, we find order. So finally is the universe chaotic or orderly or chaotically-ordered or ordered-chaotically? See? Complicated mess. Or simplified complexity? Or complex-simplicity?

Sorry. I’ll stop now. So, as I was telling (writing), perfection doesn’t exist. Or so we think. We are all imperfect. And we are perfect at being imperfect. So, technically, we are all perfect. But we are perfect at being imperfect. So, technically, we are all imperfect. So, the oxymoron perfectly imperfect is true. It’s not an oxymoron because it’s true. But it’s also an oxymoron because, perfect and imperfect are contradicting each other. So, technically, it is an oxymoron and isn’t an oxymoron at the same time. So we are perfect and imperfect at the same time. And perfectly imperfect is an oxymoron and not an oxymoron at the same time.

I don’t know if this makes sense. But it does make sense if thought about. So, this whole thought has sense and is senseless at the same time.

Confused yet? Welcome to my blog, where my sole purpose is to confuse you. Joking. Or am I?

Thank you for reading my confusing post.

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and then, there was this life

“What is life?”

“It is spontaneity in randomness. “

Hello mankind.

In the year of 2019, on a Sunday, dated 17th November, at 19:38 to be precise, a teenager with exactly 5061 days of life started writing her blog. It was a life changing event. For the first time in her 13 years, she believed that there was magic running through her veins. That her soul was comprised of victory. That she was truly free, for she controlled her mind as well as her emotions and feelings. She may not have lived long, but she knew that there was something in her that made her as old as the universe. Like she had experienced everything. Like she had once, long ago won in this experiment, we call life.

I am a poetic person. I hope you’ll excuse my dramatics. But my dramatics are only limited to my writing. In real life, I avoid drama to the point where I would literally die rather than gossip about people.

I refer to life as an experiment and here is why. It is a simple philosophy and everything that I’ve learnt from observing the trends in others’ lives just adds to my theory. We could do everything right, and it could all go wrong. Or, we could do everything wrong and it could all go right. Life’s unpredictable. The truth is that we cannot control life. And I, being the control freak I am, find pleasure in control. That is why, life scares me. Something, so uncertain, I could not come close to even liking. But the irony is that, I’ve always been attracted to everything that scares me. I have always been and presently am fascinated by my fears. Losing control is my fear. Life is chaotic. Life is randomness. Life is uncontrollable. And I am obsessed with figuring it out.

I’m an amateur in the world of blogging and I have no idea how else to introduce my ideas to the world. As I see it, I have to introduce myself before I introduce my ideas.

Dear reader, I thank you for taking the time to read this.

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