Leaving On Jetplanes.

Here's the deal : Since the age of fourteen, each time I have liked someone enough to picture a happy future with him, complete with the cushions I want to buy for Our house, the person leaves. And no, I am not talking about a sad break up. Just magically (and tragically, believe you me!) the guy's geographical location would change. It's true! 

It started with Ryan, whom I lost to cancer. (RIP, you.)

Growing up with an Army circle had its flip side; the guy's Dad got posted out of Delhi.

This one time the guy's family had to move to Malaysia because the family without a father had suffered severe business losses.

And then when a certain 'he' was sent to a hostel in Chandigarh because he was caught by the father with a few traces of some innocent hash on him. 

Finally, my mother-of-all-complicated-relationships-in-the-universe guy had to move to the US for more than just a couple of months, when I was certain that he was the one I wanted to make some babies with.

I stopped falling in 'love' after that, for some reason.

Love or whatever the hell kids call it these days. 

I realized that maybe it's jinxed. It's the Universe's way of mocking my looking down upon the breed of 'long distance' relationships. It's true. I don't understand how talking on the phone and now Skype qualifies you to call what you have, a real relationship. I'm not questioning the love both parties may have for each other or the commitment. But I just don't buy the 'in a relationship' tag that they might choose to endorse even with their grand emotional turmoils.

Point being, I didn't do the whole love charade anymore. I did do all sorts of 'love things' though. With all sorts of 'lovely people'... just never with as much involvement, I guess.

Then last year came this blow of my confusion and subsequent dealings with my potential bisexuality; which ended very Very badly, might I add. I am still an all out supporter for one's sexual rights and choices. Only, some experimentations, like mine, don't end up like one might have played them out in one's head. 

Funny story, though. That, for some other day.

Anyway, during that 'phase' (?), I fed this obsession for this girl. This girl I love. 

As platonic as it is and as away from my cushion-buying vision as it is,
it's still love.

And hence, no points for guessing, she's leaving next month. For Bombay...

......................................................................................................................

So anyone out there who might be having any visa issues or some such, come!

Come and make me fall for you.

And before you know it, you'd have left for another land.

To those days.

This one is to those days that are like today.

When the futility of life doesn't bother me too much.

When I hardly prepare for the exam I am to take the next morning.

When I don't see the need to feed my only OCD, that is, bathing.

When I don't contemplate the miseries of my life or my worker-like feet.

When I don't get pissed with the world's happiness.

When I wonder why the use of handcuffs as kinky doesn't work for me.

When I want to get into bed just when most are getting out of it.

When I refuse to learn anything new and not only out of arrogance this time.

When I smile foolishly at the things I know are meant to last.

When I don't need each one of my smoke rings to say something to me.

When I don't mind when people don't take my insults to them personally.

When I understand my flaws and don't hate the idea of correcting them.

When I feel too lazy to even breath but know that it isn't laziness.

It's probably peace.

I am happy as a child, I think. 

Bring Me Flowers. Talk For Hours :)

I Was Always A Cool Kid :)
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Where the truth lies.

People lie because of their reasons. The reasons that make perfect sense to them, anyway. But the most common excuse for lying is because one 'cares'. I don't buy that at most times.

Then of course there's the great shield of the 'little white lies' that don't hurt anyone, apparently.

I'm no preacher who's going to go out of her way condemning lies and saying that she has never lied in her life; because that'd be a lie. All I am saying is, lying isn't cool and is so much harder than telling the truth. Also, how does one remember all the stories and little details that go behind backing up each lie? The sadder part is, most people I know don't seem to be taking as much offence about it. They see it as a part of life. 

I guess they're right too.

However, you know how there comes that one time when C really likes B and A is obsessed with B and you find A lying to B stupidly, in A's quest to keep B away from C?

As twisted as it is, C ends up feeling oddly at peace somehow. C likes the idea of C being important enough to cause someone to lie.

No points for guessing who C is.

Yes, it's me.

Us Sadistic Hypocrites...

Sigh.

Nerd Me.

How is it that even the cap of a stupid orange pen you're using to underline seems to be talking to you?

How is it that all your energies are channelized towards critically analyzing a wall?

Is it just me or does it feel like vacation period right when it is not supposed to?

Yes yes... yours truly is taking University Finals and chanting mantras in her sleep to get average marks. All my life marks have never mattered. They were always really just a number. Hence, to think for them to have gained such magnitude of importance before my last year in college is amusing, to say the least. 

Anyway, I took my first exam and by the grace of the Universe (and the University?) it went quite well. 

...And there were four!

You go around with no care in the world. You meet people, chill, dance, get high, love, laugh, eat, shop...

Also, there are other days when you feel this urgent need to strangle somebody. Sometimes yourself.

Over the years of your (rather unfruitful) existence which is filled with uncertainties of all kinds, you somehow manage to sail through just right. You learn your lessons, you pick up broken pieces, you learn to smile more often than not.

All in all, you realize that, contrary to popular belief, life is pretty long. And annoyingly so, sometimes. Couched in it's glory of bitter sweet moments, it's unreal how easy life is. 

So easy that it makes you laugh.

And then of course, it's exam time again...

The Painting of the Lions

There's an Aesopian fable of 'The Painting of the Lion'.

The lion complains about a picture showing a man killing a lion and suggests that if a lion had painted it, the result would have been different.

It is all about perspective and authority, is it not?
I am not questioning authority here and it shouldn't be denied when it's true.
However, authority must make itself accountable to the realities of experience.
The 'truth' of any picture often has more to do with the prejudices and predilections of the painter than the 'reality' of the subject.
This complexly mutual relationship must always be duly noted.

Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me...

I have nothing to write, really. Nothing relevant, anyway. But then again, do I ever?

It's 2:38am.
I am wide awake.
Waiting to be struck by inspiration. Or lightening. Whichever comes first.

I'm so bored of being me. It's happened! After years of (almost) self absorption, I want to be P!NK. I see how it's an unlikely choice, but it's true.
Why? 'cause she's strong.
How I envy strength! It's not like I don't have enough of my own.
Only, mine is purely feigned.
What is it about strength that makes it so bloody hard to have?
I would kill to be that girl who walks with her head held high, with her kohl-ed eyes carrying a thousand dreams and her bag carrying her entire world.
Oh wait! I am that girl. Only, that-girl me is an illusion. A carefully crafted illusion for the world to believe.

I think I need love. And till the time love makes it to me, some great sex would be pretty darn good.

For now, I'm going to sleep.
Hoping that I dream about wings on my heels tonight;
about the tattoos I want etched on me;
about the people I want to hurt out of spite;
about him and his recovery;
not about my lack of strength.
For now, I'm going to be that girl who walks with her head held high, with her kohl-ed eyes carrying a thousand dreams and her bag carrying her entire world.
Only, she also smokes like a chimney for no reason, laughs way too much, has a mood swing installed in her backyard, lusts after money, daydreams about drunk dancing in three weeks and continues to be oblivious about all things important and is favoured by all things petty.

Current Favourite Picture Of Me. I'm told this picture 'tells stories'...

Good Night.

People. Places. Faces. Phases.~ @Life Scenes.

People fail to fascinate me. They're so damn predictable with their set manipulations, loves, dislikes...et al. It's boring, to say the least. Why can't people dare to do something out of the ordinary? No, I don't mean the kind that would make them jump off cliffs for adrenal rush, but just something un-ordinary, you know?

Not extraordinary, just plain un-ordinary. I'd always figured that being clones of one another all the fucking time could get tiring, mundane and just plain dull. Not to mention, demeaning. People are too easy to figure out now. 

I could kill for someone to come and sweep me off my feet with intrigue.

Anyone!

Places, for me, are memories. They're like scents. I associate them with people. Yes, that same species that fail to fascinate me, no matter how much of a chance I give them. I have never been a traveler; not even an armchair traveler. I don't go out of my way to explore locales or plan a trip to the hills with nothing but a backpack. My holidays are, preferably, more luxurious than that. More indulgent. Or the beach. Or anywhere not as physically straining.

A little sleep, lots of bathing, some drinks, a few cigarettes, a couple of joints, a night of crazy dancing, straight hair, beautiful clothes...

I need a vacation!

Faces, I believed, faded out the soonest from memory. I believed that for the longest time. It was hard to reconstruct someone's face in the head, if there hadn't been an interaction for a while. But that was back in day; the good old days. However, today is the age of the Facebook. Even if you want to forget some damn faces, it's too networked to ignore completely Anyway, faces shouldn't ever only be about appearances. It should tell stories; and not your appointments to a plastic surgeon.

Beauty is A virtue, alright. But should it be The virtue? 

If only we lived in a world of shoulds.

Real Life Is Boring.

It should have been a sitcom. It sort of is; only here everyone isn't witty and funny and everyone isn't constantly getting laid. Ah! Getting laid is important. I just don't want to reach that verge of wanting to stick (any)things up myself. Baaaah. Back to sitcoms; real life is like sitcoms. Whatever we do is like a scene from our 800season long show, called 'Life', is it not? 

I'm just rambling now..

Here I am, at 3:08am in the morning, in need of a change, some colour, happiness, June;

My phases.

At Life Scenes.

It's almost too late to sleep now. Neverthess, shall go try.

Night.