Blocks: Writing

Writing for pleasure is coded language forI’m into BDSM“.

There is a lot of joy and happiness when you see a finished piece is a big fat lie, an orgasm lasts longer than that fleeting moment of joy. I’m proud of my work that has been published but I always want to do better or I see a possibility of how it could have been better. I haven’t wanted to write in the last month or so and it has been nice. There was a huge weight taken of me, this probably is the most relaxed I’ve been in the last three years.

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PC: Sad Dareen

But now that this blissful ignorance has passed a month and has turned into a little fear in the corner of mental thinking space and has started collected to go full judgement day on soon and I’m defenceless.

This blissful month wasn’t fear-free all the way, there were moments of pain, anguish and desperation to write anything. I gave and wrote a line or a sentence and sounded like a bag of shit and I didn’t try writing again.

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Vague memories of travel are moments of liberation. ©Vinay

I remember comparing myself to Justin Bieber, he’s 10 days younger than me and has gained the fame and fortune that I’ve wanted since the age of 9. I wasn’t exceptionally talented, I had fairly good oratory skills and a knack to write funny or impressive stuff compared to my group of peers which impressed very few people, if nobody. So the possibility never died in my head and still seems to survive somewhere deep.

Screw JB, I just want to get my degree without having to do a Sirsasana and this is when I regret bunking Yoga classes in Jain College, maybe it would have come handy. The biggest fear I’ve been nursing like my first born is of losing everything. It’s easy to say everything and not mean much, but there is a possibility of losing everything and it’s only growing stronger with every fleeting second.

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Flowers, books, and incense used to be therapeutic. ©Vinay

My laptop had a bad case of the virus and I lost all the digital data I’d acquired over the last three years. I had a lot of ups and downs in recovering the data and I couldn’t carry my heavy heart anymore and decided to cry; but not a single tear drop escaped my eye. We read narrative reporting in class and the piercing coldness hit so hard it was impossible to hold back my tears.

I’m on the edge, all the freaking time and its better I take things slow rather than trying to juggle too many things because if I blow up, it ain’t going to be a pretty sight. The pain won’t go away, but I can stop acting like a pin-cushion.

Emotional numbness, disregard, contempt, hatred are growing in my heart and I don’t want to uproot them. I don’t want to talk to people, there are a few I want to talk to but a minute or two into the conversation and I want to run. There isn’t anything I believe in, pessimism is my constant state of being and the height to which I don’t care has reached peak. It’s impossible for me to do anything else on daily basis, efforts I put to get through the day are draining me of my, everything. Exhaustion has left me paralysed and with bare minimum.

Scarlet hair

It’s raining again, the damn weather is so unpredictable; but I guess its good thing that it’s raining right now. I’m sitting on the corner of the bed and staring outside her window; memories rushed on to me like an avalanche. “Who the fuck has a giant glass window that doesn’t have any means of opening it?’ she said, the first time we got here. She hated it so much that she fell in love with it.

She seemed nice, very polite, and always said the right thing, wore the right clothes, would always get her hair trimmed, and never let it be a mess for longer than a day. Always wore clothes that covered her arms, and legs; always wore a scarf around her neck, it made her parents very happy, and her land lord always took a minute in the morning to tell her that she’s a good girl and it’s a nice hair cut that she’s got or some polite crap.

Neither the dragonfly tattoo, nor the scars from cutting herself for the last so many years saw the light of day. At least not till that evening by the beach, when we kissed for the first time. It was where our first everything started, where we started to fall for each other, I think. We sat by the beach, on my green blanket, and sipped on the ice tea that was heavy on some old monk and shared a joint under the starry sky.

I woke up with her hands in my hair, and mine around her waist; my cheeks turned pink under the soft sunlight and I just watched her breath. The sand grains on her cheeks, hair and everywhere else glistened; she woke up to me staring, shot me a smile and pulled me closer.

A picture from the beach was on her wall, we were smiling like carefree children, building sandcastles, but that smile didn’t last very long. When we got back to the city, things weren’t so pretty, we fought a lot, didn’t have the patience to deal with each other’s flaws or problems; felt like we rushed way too fast into everything. She didn’t like the way I kept my hair, was always angry with life, people, the world, and just about everything. If only I knew what she was dealing with, or that she channels her anger into the world, because anger was the easiest emotion to muster at any point of the day. I guess patience isn’t my virtue, and with my terrible learning skills, I was no walk on the beach, and dealing with my shenanigans  only made things worse.

I run my hand through her wet, scarlet hair; and my eyes moisten because the last time we fought, she yelled at me for touching her hair, and told me to never set my hand on her hair again. Now I don’t want to stop running my hand through her hair, in hope of her waking up to yell at me.

The lilies I bought for her last week had started to rot, her room smelt of both the lilies and the stem rotting; that should have been a sign, because she always took care of the flowers and plants in her room. She poured all her life in to them and they never could love her back enough; and the void only grew bigger.

Lily.

I still can’t believe that she’s no more; or that I’ll never hear mellow and vibrant voice singing to me, waking up to her warm smiles, falling asleep in her arms, or how she says “I Love You” after kissing me. My room will never smell like lilies or rajnigandha that she always picked for me and left in that green wine bottle we first split and emptied.

https://500px.com/photo/124079333/oriental-lily-by-thevinaygreen

Dive

I didn’t get a lot of sleep, and ended up oversleeping. I had to be in clas s in less than 45minutes, managed to shower, stuff some food and managed to reach class in twenty minutes but I was still late by ten minutes.
It’s a fairly average day and since last night’s conversation, today feels like it’s the day. I was excited, agitated, and slightly terrified, but I knew it was today and that the right moment would appear.
I was done with classes at twelve in the afternoon and I had to kill time till three or maybe I could go there by two and just hang out till everybody started showing up.
Went out with a friend to grab lunch from this new eatery outside college. It was a little room with a kichen and no place to sit, got myself a chicken roll and she got herself a really bad sweet lasi that I finished for her.
I like how we get along, get past fights, conversation and people. She had plans and went out, I had to hang around till it was two or three.
At two I decided to head to our usual meeting place and found it locked when I got there. Sat outside with my headphones on and passed out till one of  them showed up with a guitar.
We waited out on the balcony for the others to show up, and the guitar was being played and there was singing too. Out on the fourth floor, beautiful music playing and a voice worth falling in love  seemed to set the mood.
Eyes were shut tight while playing and singing, didn’t have to worry. Took a post it, wrote a note and stuck it on the wall opposite to the guitarist.
Took off my shoes, stared at my green socks for a minute or maybe less and walked up to the end of the balcony. It was an empty field, pretty flowers around and stood on the ledge, contemplated if I should contemplate and then I jumped, heard the music all the way till the end.

Attention Seeking

I just want attention.”
I thought it would feel different, to say it out loud. I was hoping I’d have an epiphany and all my problems would go away with a “puff” (sound). I just had to say the words and Magic, “voilà” its all gone.
I realised that there was a problem and tackled it in a way that wouldn’t physically harm people around me and or even myself (Jump from one person to another and don’t get attached or emotional). But my friend pointed it out that in the process I was hurting myself on the inside and I’d tip myself over considering how vulnerable I am, it annoyed me. But I didn’t understand why.
A lot of things were said, it hurt a lot and I wanted leave then, because my eyes got moist. But something told me to stay and I listened to it, I heard everything he said. I processed it, “you don’t have to act cool with us, we know you aren’t”, laughs and “we also are not cool”, he said as the cigarettes he smoked crossed my face and I continued to dodged the smoke. A hard save, but not good enough to get away from the smoke.
“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to. It might seem like a nice thing but its going to hurt you.” A small exchange of nods, she tells him to stop and he dives in for a save with, “You are in a delicate place, and stress on any side can break you.”
The pungent beer was up my nose, she made eye contact and he abruptly but smartly ended it and moved on toba topic.
Her, “I told You all that, your reaction was ‘wow’, X had more to say about it than you. And you complained that I’m replacing you with x.”
“Some people have real problems. And you crib about little things.” He was now telling me my problems were smaller than other people’s problems.
Him, “slow down on the cigarettes, how many are you going to smoke.”
Her, “you know sometimes I come to college just to smoke…”
Conversation about where he asked I bought her, I say same place I bought him and that atleast she was worth the money even if she was more expensive than him.
*laughs, smiles, Stares, glances and hums*
*beer sipping, cigarette puffing and munching on cheesey fries*
I sat there quietly, let the tears burn inside and a few minutes later I was in a better mood and asked him to complete his thought, because I wanted to hear it.
The conversation furthured and she asked, “what do you want to hear or know ? It shouldn’t matter what he says, its his opinion and didn’t you tell me you want friends who’d be honest with you and not keep things from you?”
Him,”tell me what you want me to say ? Should I tell you, your awesome? That you are very cool ? Is that it ? Will that help you feel better?”
All this went down when I told him,”say it. You’ve got me all figured out and know me the best. Go on, tell me yoor opinion.” He says it was an observation from what I’ve said and he’s seen. Somehow he picks a fight and does he not see how much distress he’s causing?
Or am I just a terrible person?
He’s angry that I dislike people. I don’t like people, he gets to hear about it because he asks. All he has to do is not ask and that’s the end.
I don’t hate him or her, I love her. She’s the best thing that happened to me when I was in the worst place or time of my life. He is one of the few guys I don’t feel like I’m tolerating, I actually like him.
I know these relationships may not last forever. I’ve spoken about it with both of them and decided to enjoy the present with them and not worry about a future I have no control over.

Startled

Pink lips closed in on mine and I woke up gasping for breath. The last thing I remember was the face up close and the beautiful brown eyes looking in to mine with a gorgeous smile.
I was startled because my messages weren’t being viewed for over week and I took a hint that it was time to stop waiting.
I made good friends in the process of finding out about the pretty eyes,and I love spending time with these friends.
The dream, a painful reminder or just my brain being a bitch, I’m not sure. But I have spent some time thinking if I like just the pretty face because I did see it only once.
I also had to acknowledge that there was something more than the face I liked, something beyond the prettiness.
The smug expressions, confident walk and simplicity in dressing and the curly hair all over the face. I still skip a beat, when the memory of the kissing flashes in my head.
Getting over that face won’t be so easy.

Damn.