Toeing the lines of controversy.

So, my personal writing challenge was a bust!

But it's not like anyone is reading this anymore so I guess this failure can be added to the long list of my personal failures. Can you imagine being a celebrity? All your failures are in the public domain. How faunting must that be!

I think the fact that I cannot even keep up with obligations I put on myself just goes on to prove how I love to toe the lines of controversy.

Either that, or that I don't have too many friends left anymore.

Anyway, seemingly some really good things are happening in life right now.
So is it time to put myself up for another personal writing challenge?
Maybe.
This is where my commitment phobia comes all out. 

Personal Blog Challenge

Considering a job, responsibility, mental drama and laziness leave very little time or motivation for writing, I have decided to set myself up for a personal writing challenge.

I will be posting on this blog every day this week. It doesn't have to be anything substantial. It needs to be words strung together without the pressure of the thoughts making sense.

Let's rock this bitch!

Random Thought: I find it pretty weird that I will have no problems at all if any person from anywhere in the world happens to stumble open my blog and follow it regularly. However, as soon as I find out that someone I know might be reading this, I flip!
I wonder if it would really be this easy telling your thoughts to a stranger if it wasn't for the internet. 

Pursuit of happiness.

I think it happened sometime last night when I thought about him after years. When I was intoxicating my soul and seeking happiness in arms I shouldn't be in at all. It probably is the easier way to blame my issues with commitment and relationships on him entirely but I don't know if it is the right way. Nothing happened last night but it took me back to time where I did not need anything to happen with anyone because I was with him. That was enough. Ironically enough, it completed me to the extent that now that it is gone, it's taken a part of me with it. Just very recently I had met someone who was doing such a fabulous job of stitching my soul back together. Needless to say I ruined it and perhaps a little bit of her too.

But where does that leave me now, I wonder.

From the looks of it I am probably in a place where I know in my head that my happiness is what matters the most but I am too tired to deal with the drama that'll follow when I cause unhappiness to other for my sake. I don't know if the above sentence made too much sense.

Coming back to him, I remember so distinctively our last time. He always could look right through me. Even the night when he lay his hand on me, I know that he knew I was more sad than scared.
I remember so distinctively our last time because it was then when I had truly put my guard down and cried for hourse curled up on his lap. When I had told him that I couldn't go on pretending that I was fine despite everything... that he affected me so much more than I had accounted for... that I needed to never see him again for the sake of my sanity.

I think that was the bravest I have been in a long time.
I wonder what made me think of him last night. I would like to find out. 

People's person.

As much as I need people around me, I think I am too much of my own person. 

We could rephrase that maybe. 

I like people around me, it keeps me occupied. Over the years, I would like to believe, I have managed a choreographed detachment with most of them. Or maybe that's how I choose to flatter myself because at the end of the day, they're people; and people are all I've ever known. Or had. 

I haven't indulged myself in too much world cinema, I have read only a few books, I can't tell one music band from the other. It is clear that I am probably the strangest creative person one might come across; presuming I am creative at all. But all my thoughts are based on people...stories people have told me, theories I have heard from people, things I have observed from people, skills I have picked up from people... that's all I've ever had. Of course, most part of any relationship you have with anyone, good or bad,  is in your head. So have all my interactions over time been my own projections? I couldn't possibly be that cool. Because that would mean that I have just had a version of people that worked for me. 

That's like having an apple pie instead of an apple when you want to keep the doctor away. 

I've often said that lack of writing is almost always a sign of the lack of misery in your life. 

I'm writing again. 

I think I'm dependent on people for doing things for me, sometimes even emotionally. 

But I think I am too much of my own person to be somebody else's. 

In other news...

... my blog turned 4 in February this year.

Clearly one of my longer relationships.

I think my first hint of doubt in myself and the other person is after the first 6 months into the relationship.
I am not saying it's healthy, I am just saying it is.

Happy Belated Birthday Blog. I'll always read you even when no one else does. Like right now. 

Let's Start Over?

It comes to me every now and then, the feeling of writing, but I let it pass.

All my thoughts, fears, insecurities and theories seem too trivial to be recorded now I think. 

Or perhaps, they've become to personal to be documented. 

Either way, I let it pass.

I wonder what changed today, that I did stub my cigarette and put my glass of coke away, to get my laptop out of my bag. Blogger was the only tab I opened because I just didn't want anything else to distract me today. It's not like I have something pathbreaking to say but today I just had to see this little white bugger of a blogger box with its blinking cursor and fill it up with words strung together in half baked thoughts. 

What I didn't realize is how frustrating this would be.

Frustrating because I think I have forgotten how to write at all really; presuming I did have a hold on that craft ever. 

If I were writing right now on a paper with a pen, I have a feeling I'd be in a room with crumpled paper strewn across the floor. 

Eye Spies.

The dark eyes that mesmerized
The Urdu like speech
The voice that was akin to that of the cuckoo birds
The hair that reminded you of captured nights
The tresses so alluring, you were afraid to let go
The lips; the kind that would take not being kissed personally
The dark eyes that mesmerized
The gorgeous eyes that intoxicated
The beauty that poems are made of
The beauty that's always held captive in the sonnets of love.

How come you saw just the intoxication in her eyes and not the sky?