Writing Exercise - Tumblr Posts

It is pretty lucky of us to find people with whom we can confess all rights and wrongs of our heart, and not be scared about being judged or hated. To not worry if our confessions could change their perception of us. To be assured they'd read what our inner selves wrote at that time. To pour out everything and not curse ourselves for creating a mess.

There's a popular moral trend of selflessly doing for them, without questions or expectations. But it ain't practical to let them exhaust your resourcefulness till you turn into an empty pot, till they diminish all light within you, till they pull you out of your own alignments. So much that, you stop looking at your own worth and feel proud of how giving and loving you are.

What do you want to send yourself? The cheesy message of being the oh-so-perceived light of the world, or the strong message that your settlement demands same in return. That if you are kind enough to give, you must be alert enough to not give all of you.

"I wonder who are you when nobody is watching?"

"Uhm...carefree?"

"woah! Carefree as in the threatened kind?"

"Nah! Carefree in the no judgement kind."

I believe, as we age, we come in terms with how we have grown up. We make a definite statement about ourselves. We have likes, dislikes, favourites and subjects that describe the course of life we have taken in the past years. I also believe, that as we age, we finally drop the idea of adapting to the world, and stop finding the real in it. The people, the scenes, the circumstances, however difficult, don't deter us to the point of breakage. Because we have come in terms with ourselves. And the forces of worldly parameters, no more influence our course.

"It was just a phase!"

"Ah! That's where you are wrong buddy!

You cannot call it a 'phase' and dilute it's importance into non permanence. I don't recall anything permanent in life. It's so not life if it is permanent. And well, that implies, life, yours and mine, is a phase too."

At some instances, the world just stops for us. We are frozen. Either from excessive glee or from mind numbing pain. But it does.

Well, there is the point. We may be frozen for some instances but the earth still turns, and moments still walk past us like unbothered passersby.

Like oh Earth! Just stop with me. Let us together make this moment eternal. Let us be stilled for a few moments, look at each other, share the happy or sad, and then restart like nothing ever happened. Like a friend. Not the way you do. The passerby ways.

I love being trusted as a secret keeper. Like come dear, shed all your secrets in me, and I am so good at it, that I shall forget that myself or atleast pretend to forget for the sake of your security. I shall not talk about it again, even to you, so your forget you even shared it with me. And I shall go down in my grave, proud that I kept my words of keeping it a secret.

On the contrary, I can't hide things about me, in me. I have to have someone to share it all. Be it a person, or papers. I trust papers to not leak or tell my secrets to anybody, and I try to trust people to do the same. Time tells me who succeeds, but it is beautiful to bare myself all before someone and not be worried that I caused a mess. Like even if it all spilled, like pages, they would collect it all and keep it the deepest drawers of the library, situated in their hearts.

There are instances when I am absolutely absent as a person. The instances I question myself what is the point of all this? And then I think of the humans I have my best moments with and there is the point. The point where my existence, and all the rashness of the world seems worth bearing.

If your tomorrow starts without me, know that the last conversation we had ended on the best note. Harbour no guilts or ill feelings if you couldn't address me the way I deserved. Know that your importance didn't lie in the superficial expressions, talks or exchanges between us, but deep within my heart, that always made me love myself a little more for bringing you in my life.

If you feel sad about my absence, know that your presence for that one moment made more sense than my absence for eternity. If I included you in my heart, you'd always own a special place, even if the heart dies. There, in every fleeting moment, my absence shall caress you even if my presence couldn't.

I would love to know you miss me, but do not hold on the memories so hard that they bruise your palm. Your hurt shall pain even my dead body.

Instead, remember me once in a while, smile as huge as you do today beside me. Your smile shall make me immortal. Even if we are realms apart, I shall still hide behind your softest smiles.

"If I were dead tomorrow.."

What about the feeling when you have heard so many stories, so many perceptions and so many thoughts that you know too much about people, who know nothing about you?

What about the feeling when out of politeness they ask about you, and when you start to reply, the story somehow triggers their topic and they become the subject?

What about the feeling when after all this, they believe they love you, for being their emotional support, but oblivious to the fact that support goes both ways?

What about the feeling when wanting same energy, support, love and compassion is considered selfishness and only self burning is considered the true form of affection?

This process of growing close, growing together and then growing apart. Life is such a tragedy.

I am baffled by the uncertainty of the next moment. It wouldn't be a big deal if right now I am sitting in a comfortable blanket, all warm and happy and the next moment, the world comes crashing down upon me. In the worst way possible.

I might be enjoying my most favourite song on the radio, and the next moment my heart may give up. In a literal way.

I might be thanking God, at this particular moment, of all I have, and the next moment I receive a call of a loved one gone.

I might be walking down the meadow breathing fresh air, and next moment my leg may slip, breaking me(and my leg) in the worst way possible.

I might be eating my favourite food right now, and the next moment, I may choke to death, when some particle constricts my trachea.

Such uncertainty in life and still I have such big plans, and continue to make some everyday. This uncertainty clouds my mind in the worst way possible. And probably this was the reason of Antonio's melancholy as well as mine.

It is not always possible to hold the same throne in someone's life, where you make them sit. That doesn't reduce the worth of you but there is a more beautiful throne waiting, where the owner awaits your arrival and shall cherish you like they do to a king. The subordinate throne, where you deserved better, is only a reminder to not settle with what looks good right now, but won't in the long run.

It was a bitter pill to swallow,

but effective enough in deed.

They will take your all,

But won't return when you need.

Sometimes we end up explaining too much of ourselves, our actions and behavioural pattern. It is natural. It is a humanly instinct to want to be perceived right. But in the meantime, we forget that the world doesn't look at us like it is the judge. A judge who will responsibly consider the facts and deliver the judgement with righteousness. Instead, the world is a prosecutor, the opposite side, which shall, to the best of it's ability put forward all the arguments that prove us wrong.

This is where the concept of 'mysterious air' kicks in. We eventually stop explaining as we realize the nature of the world. It becomes important to not let the self proclaimed judge namely world to pass the judgement. Mystery-no more remains a fashion, but a necessity.

We have always wondered what will save us from death. We rarely wonder what will save us from life.

There are times when all of us wake up at the middle of the night, and nothing seems alright or suitable. Sometimes despite being at home, we realise we are not at the place that feels home to our hearts. And if you look at it that way, then we are always hustling to reach home. There is a home shaped void in us, that will fill only the day when we find what we are looking for. A place that is home to our hearts.

Suffering in silence is not bravery, nor it is an act of self sufficiency. There is something fulfilling about being vocal about what goes on in our hearts, good or bad. Certain presence often drives us to the realisation that suffering in silence is not worth it.

My biggest tragedy is that I never feel empty. Even when I am at the abyss of nothingness, I feel so much of it inside. I feel even when there is nothing to feel about. I feel my existence, my breaths, my beats, and all that explicit outer stuff that constitutes my surface. This feeling of hyper awareness, me knowing myself like we know A-B-C, me self condemning myself at the smallest of misbehavior, me beating myself up for every mistake.

Often, we complain people are conceited and do not accept their bad deeds. I think that is the obliviousness I want to feel some days. The art of only embracing my good side and being in denial that the bad even exists. That is how people live. That is how people save themselves.

And I have been dying everyday, every moment, and every single second.

-An excerpt from the autobiography I will never write, Vanshika.