One Big Mess

Sparked by the Daily Prompt

My room’s a mess.

I need to correct that sentence. My space is a mess. My room has two halves – my roommate’s and mine – and though hers is not immaculate, it is tidy. Mine, on the other hand, is another story.

Think two chairs, two desks, side by side. The desk on the left has two bottles kept to once corner, a pen-stand in another, and single bag. The desk on the right has, well, a lot of things – a pouch of medicines, some cotton, nail-polish remover, whiteboard markers, comb, boxes (no, really, why are there boxes?), empty packets, thick books, cardboard (meant to be used for craft that never happened), and a lot of paper. The chair on the left has a bag. Usually, the bag isn’t there either. The chair on the right is home to a mountain of clothes. The word ‘mountain’ is not an exaggeration. It’s overflowing.

Let’s look at beds. The one on the left has a nice sheet, two pillows, and a blanket. The one on the right has, among other things, clothes, a teddy bear, a photograph of my parents in an envelope, a remarkably large number of worksheets, paintboxes, a airtight container, and hand sanitizer. I imagine this is possibly Hannelore’s worst nightmare. (If you don’t know Hannelore, read Questionable Content and find out!)

It’s not like I haven’t tried. I occasionally try and fold my clothes and put them in the cupboard. I try to organise things into places so that they belong somewhere. But with time, there’s one thing I’ve realised. My things really don’t belong anywhere. I can’t assign a fixed position to everything and maintain it. My mind is a clutter, and thus, so is my room.

I am not going to justify being a slob, of course. But the question was, what is more of a clutter, my room or my favourite device, and why. The answer is, the fancy device hidden beneath my scalp and skull is messier, and thus, so is everything else. And how it got that way? Well, I suppose eighteen years of memories and information have been strewn about like a collage instead of being compartmentalized in some fashion. There are no boxes. Just a sea of everything that makes me me.

Did I go off-track? I’m sorry! My thoughts went overboard!


Lying to Myself

Inspired by today’s Daily Prompt.

We all have those situations where we tell ourselves the same stories, repeatedly, till we believe them ourselves. Sometimes others can tell that we are putting up a facade to convince nobody but ourselves but rarely, if ever, do we catch ourselves in the act. We are always so conveniently oblivious to our own follies. If I had a vial of truth serum that I could give just one person and then ask them some questions, I’d take that serum myself. I’d have a list of questions to ask myself, hand it to somebody else, and make them record their conversation with me. I’d like to know just how much I lie to myself day after day.

There are so many questions I would ask myself. Have you really got enough sleep today? Do you think skipping that meal is healthy? Do you really not care about your figure and health or are you just convinced that your stress-eating will never really go away? Do you still try to recreate your only-too-premature first kiss in your mind? Do you genuinely think the medicine is helping or are you just too concerned that your parents and doctor will worry if you don’t respond to medication and so you act you’re okay? Are you actually comfortable with your friends? Is there something still nagging you inside, something you can’t seem to be able to get rid of? Do you still think you’re an attention-seeker?

Thinking about all these questions, I’m confused. Do I really know myself at all?

Grown Up Dreams

Prompted by yesterday’s Daily Prompt

I’ve been busy, busy, busy. And so much busyness keeps me away from my blog. But here I am.

When I was ten, I wanted to be a botanist. I don’t know what had got the love of biology into my head but I suspect it was more to do with the fact that I didn’t want plants to die out. Now Biology doesn’t feature in my IB subjects at all. No, thank you very much, I’ll pass.
Besides botanist, I also wanted to be a writer and poet. Till date, this desire burns on. Let’s see what happens. When I am not doing schoolwork, I might devote my time to something wonderful and strange.

I also wanted to be famous. And loved. And happy. I wanted to be an optimist. I wanted to be a happy girl in a happy place.
Now, I am a cynic who has a sharp, sarcastic and swearing tongue. Quite a contrast to what I wanted to be but hey, not many of us have life all figured out at ten, right?

Now I just have grown up dreams, not dreams about growing up. Is seventeen really that old?

You’re Everything I Need

Prompted by today’s Daily Prompt

I don’t necessarily need a prompt to tell me to write about you, my boyfriend for over two years now, best friend, helper, and soulmate. But since today there is a prompt, here I go. Let me now rant about things that I have told you before that you have never believed and the things I have wanted to tell you but somehow, not said.

We were classmates.
Partners in class.
Close friends.
Miss-call mates.
Texting-everyday-all-the-time mates.
Best friends.
Secret crushes.
And now, we’re best-friends-and-relationship rolled into one, separated by the Arabian Sea during my vacations and by a bunch of state boundaries when in school. And the journey has been crazy, crazy, crazy. But you’ve stood by me through it all. ALL. I’m undeniably lucky to have you in my life and to have the fortune of sharing my life with you. And now I need to tell you just how proud I am of you for all the things that you do.

You can control your temper even situations are crazy.  Whether it’s your cousin annoying you a little or a classmate pissing you off, you still keep your calm. You never lose your head. You are sensible enough to not go wild. I might be short-tempered queen but that does not mean I don’t appreciate how well you keep your temper.

You can face the hardest of situations. Your mom has had to leave you during your examinations because your dadaji was ill. You had to cook for yourself. You had to walk SO much in the unforgiving Muscat sun to reach home and you had nobody to shower you with love and affection once you go there. You’ve always taken care of me when I was tending towards depression, when I had to rush right back to Muscat on emergency medical leave because of a haunting past and you’ve held my hand through my tough times like they were your own. Even right now, you’re doing your best to be the strong boy whom his mother can depend upon because nanaji passed away. I know how hard everything is for you right now. I know how lost and desolate you feel. I know how torn apart you are. And I know you’re going to come through, strong. Life throws bullshit at you and you just walk through it. It hits you, beats you, throws you to the ground and you still pick yourself up and walk again. I will always be there to pick you up again but I am so proud of you for every time that you’ve done it on your own. I will always be there to wipe your tears away for you but I am proud for every time that you’ve done it on your own while I was away from my laptop. I will always do my best to stand before you and not let life attack you but I am proud of you for every time you’ve handled it well. You’re a wonderful person and I am so very proud of you, just as many more people are and should be.

You can accept all kinds of people. It doesn’t matter to you how they are unless they are hurting someone… then it matters. But otherwise, you’re never judgemental. You know what’s happened to me and you’ve always been supportive, loving and caring and never once treated me like I’m some weird victim. You’ve just stood by when I needed you. And for that, I thank you. Because God alone knows how I would have gone through tenth grade board exams if you hadn’t been my rock when my first term exams sucked and when Ma fell ill during my finals.

You’re more intelligent than you give yourself credit for. You have so much potential to do well. Also, you’re one of the most hard-working persons I know and I think you’d come second only next to my sister (she’s… I think she’s a workaholic sometimes!) You push yourself if you’re not good at something and do your very best. I am proud of you for doing your best, for always wanting to improve… for being you.

These words are not enough to express how proud I am of you for all the little things you have done – prevented one of your closest buddies from ever going astray, getting to know all my friends irrespective of whether you’ve met them or not, trying to socialize with new people even though you’re shy (especially boy-shy), getting along so well with my sister… these are just a few things.

You’re not an embodiment of perfection, I agree, but then no one is. And you, in my eyes, are as close as it gets to being just perfect for me. I am proud of you and I always will be, for every step that you take along your life. I love you so much.

A-to-Z of Me

Prompted by Daily Prompt

A is for my acerbic thoughts, sometimes words and rarely, actions. Yes, I can be a little forthright sometimes. The truth is hard to deal with, isn’t it? Well, suck it up.
B is for my bold stand against bullies. I hate bullies and if you’re going to be a bully and I hear of it, I will punch your face in.
C is for clumsy. I trip, I hug the floor, I injure myself. My knees are marked with umpteen injuries and I still have a limp from a ligament injury. I am clumsy queen.  C is also for claustrophobic. And cynical. I am such a C person, you C.
D is for devious. Hurt someone I love and you’re going down, one way or the other. There’s not an ounce of doubt about it. On top of the ‘people I love’ list would be my sister, the rest of my family and my two best friends. You’ve been warned.
E is for my enigmatic poetry, and sometimes my mysterious way of talking and communicating. Do you like riddles?
F is for the fantasy worlds that I love creating when I write stories. Such Utopian worlds.
G is for garrulous. Leave me with the people who I am close to and I can chatter about utter rubbish in pure glee.
H is for the help I’ll give you in your time of need. I am helpful. I might not like people in particular but I do pity them.
I is for my immature, baby-like face that never seems to grow up. Especially when you compare it to my thirteen year-old sister’s. She’s four years younger than me and looks more… mature and grown up.
J is for jaded and cynical. Anyone would be jaded after having more than their fair share of sickeningly happy movies and stories only to find out that real life is nowhere close.
K is for my kaleidoscopic range of amateur interests – photography, film/video-making, writing, doodling, singing, playing the guitar, dancing, counselling friends in need… etc.
L is for the lies that I can tell so easily if I need to cover up how I really feel. And I can do it well, very well. I’m practised.
M is metal music. When in doubt, listen to metal. A7x, particularly. (How I wish I had their latest album…)
N is for narcissistic. I might have had self-image issues before but I am pretty damn awesome, I’ll grant myself that much. I mean, I’ve put up with enough crap and I am still here. I have every right to love myself. A lot.
O is for obstinate. Gosh, sometimes I can be extremely stubborn and obstinate about my opinions, views and wishes. Sometimes even about silly things like… I MUST HAVE SOME PEANUT BUTTER IN MY ICE-CREAM.
P is for punny. I like pun jokes. Good puns, bad puns, mediocre puns, meh puns, PUNS. I love them all.
Q is for the quintessential survivor that I am. My life is mine. I’d rather be the superhero of my life than the victim, thank you very much.
R is for realism. I am not an optimist, though I do believe I used to be. I am not a pessimist either. No sir. I am a realist. I only state what is real, what is bound to happen. It’s not my fault that people don’t usually want to hear that.
S is for sarcastic. Does my sarcastic sense of humour bother you? Oh dear, your opinion matters so much to me that I must change my personality for you… easy to see the sarcasm, huh?
T is for tall and tomboyish. This can’t possibly need further description… right?
U is for understanding. Ooh, what a shocker! How can someone sarcastic, cynical, jaded and all things not nice actually be understanding? I didn’t always used to be a Little Miss Bitchy. And all of my niceness hasn’t completely vapourized. If you are in need, I am likely to help you. Unless you hurt someone I love. Then you can cry me a river and I would be happy to drown you in it.
V is for violent because I have a temper. Do NOT mess with me.
W is for my wandering thoughts that often meander into countless directions.
X is for xenial. I can bridge gaps between other cultures and strangers quickly. I communicate, after all. And I listen. It’s what I do.
Y is for the yearning I have for humanity to improve with possibly a little push from my side.
Z is for the zeal that I put into the things I really love doing. Like writing. Writing is a passion that gives my creativity a chance to bear wings.

That’s my A to Z. What’s yours?

Dream Home

With bricks of understanding,
Cemented with love,
With happiness within and
A roof of strength protecting from above.

Where tranquility reigns and
Neither time nor people can rip apart the seams
Of family bonds. That place
Is the home of my dreams.

Prompted by today’s Daily Prompt

I actually don’t really have an ideal image of my dream home. Home, to me, is the concept of turning a building into a place where you can return after the day’s toil is finally done with. Any building can be a house. But it takes warmth, love, strength and understanding to make a home. There could be better homes in the slums in Mumbai than in the outrageously extravagant Antilia owned by Mukesh Ambani. There could be better homes in the humble dwellings of villagers as opposed to the palace of a queen. My dream home needs a happy family, a soothing ambience. Happiness doesn’t increase with square footage, with expensive furniture or with 7BHK flats.

Far Away

I stand before your judgemental eyes
What else is left for me to say?
Your words are all that matter, right?
Go on then, have it your way.
I will keep up my pretense and lies
And let you think you know me, day after day.
I’ll never let you know that despite being here,
In my head, I am so far away.

I cower before your authority,
Myself I’ve begun to despise
Thanks to your ability
To make me feel like I’m never right.
I will be strong and just hold on
And keep searching for a better place to stay.
I am here, right before you, yet,
I am so far away.

I cry at your hurtful words
And finally fall to the floor asunder.
Ripped, torn, broken, wounded,
While upon my dull existence I ponder.
I will not bring a knife once more
To my wrist. No, this time, I will pray
For someone else to take me away from here
To take me somewhere far away.

Prompted by today’s Daily Prompt

It’s quite coincidental that this title is close to one of my favourite Avenged Sevenfold songs So Far Away. It is true though. The furthest I have been from home with parents would be Switzerland; without parents, to boarding school. But to be far away, you don’t always need to be separated by physical space. Sometimes the mental distance is enough to push you apart, apart, apart…