So-not long enough

More ranting and tears after a long break…

I tried writing. Tried. But I really, really badly didn’t want to write. I sat in front of the laptop and wanted to type but didn’t know what to say. Then I picked up my phone and looked for things on various social media platforms to give attention. I even thought about how tacky it was that I wanted to do something just so I could write about it. I never actually tried, tried writing. But I did think about trying to write. It was exhausting. I even made a list of things I’d write about

  1. The movies I keep going back to
  2. TV shows that I’ve been binge watching
  3. then I add something else and forget all about it

Because I was making all these lists in my head… And then I forgot.

But these are things that are…

© Vinay Green, 2017
My work space

I decided to watch Captain America Civil war, finally. Captain is my favourite superhero despite my disapproval of the things he represents at least in the first movie. I love the way his character is developed over the each film and through the series of three films. It’s a great watch and beautiful distraction from my thoughts that don’t let me sleep each night.

My blog has enough substance to have been running by itself for the last few months even without posting its generating 50-100 views a month and none of them is me! It’s something to be proud of but these posts are embarrassing and private thoughts that I put out for the world to see. I’m probably going to wait for the right push and delete the site after backing it up, hopefully. Or just archive it. I finally did manage to do some of the hard ones from my to-do list. Maybe I can finish more of them before I leave the city that I’ve always lived in.

© Vinay Green, 2017
A summer afternoon on the streets of Bangalore

I did a month of superb standard of socialising that I usually seem to muster in the months of summer when the sunshine is impossible to miss. Now the clouds are here and I’ve begun to ware out and my socialising strength is dying and I just want to rot. I’ve been constantly told, “You love to feel bad for yourself. Stop doing it to yourself.” and a bunch of other things that belittled my barley and vaguely existent self-esteem. I have whined through my blog and I seem to whine always and so much it was a joke to call me Whine-ay. Apparently, it’s very funny. I don’t see it because it’s at my expense but whatever. My whining is my call for help and I’ve been childish in dealing with it but that’s what happens when children are indulged.

Being called a creep wasn’t bad enough because I still didn’t stop trying to impress someone who only wanted to detest me. I have always loved the approval of a superior, teacher or anyone in the authority figures place and Freud calls it daddy issues and he’s probably not wrong. I was trying to compensate for all the attention daddy wasn’t giving. These were times where I was very impressionable like I have been my entire life and I meet people that I want to be like or please or am jealous of because they seem to please the people I bend head over heels to please. Now this obviously drives me insane but I manage to hold on to my sanity or whatever passes of for sanity these day to function like I’m normal.

Self portrait
Self portrait- a pink attempt.

To me trying to impress was an epic fail of historic proportion. In the end I was the reliable guy, dependable but not good enough to be what I aspired to be for two years. Moments like these are when my life flashes in front of me and the numerous times I wasn’t good enough or wasn’t white enough, pretty enough, smart enough, rich enough and maybe even upper caste enough. I do want attention and I’ve never had a second thought in asking for it but I was never going to beg for it. When I knew something was over, it was over. I wasn’t going to pretend like it’s fixed but doesn’t mean I’d go around being silly childlike about it except when I’m “Whinay-ing” about it to a friend.

What will it take an individual to realise they are being a bully. Just because you were bullied doesn’t mean you can’t be bully. My degree in Psychology has helped me access information and valid proof that proves a dominant power position is all that takes to make an individual from a sweet, sullen and potentially harmless to a vicious and savage creature capable of monstrous things. And this transformation is so subtle that it’s impossible to spot it even when it’s painted red and right in front.

The beast
A kitty that can claw your eyes out.

I feel heavy at heart because a lot of hate was brewed against me. People who acted as friends were the ones after getting into troubles and graves that I didn’t even dig. I slowly learnt my lesson and by then I had found bigger fish that were taking bigger bites of my soul and flesh. I by now had entangled myself into a web that I had cast to catch dreams but it managed to pick all my nightmares and magnified them to an extent where I only wanted to kill myself because it was the easiest way out of here.

I came to the last leg of the race and I stopped caring, there were too many frivolous complexities that I had managed to build but couldn’t break so I let them all stay.  But I managed to build up so much hate, fear, contempt and just plain sorry for myself that it’s over flowing through me and I need to end this disgustingly heavy weight inside of me by setting on fire and purging this pain.

I’d forgotten what it felt like when a tear rolled down my cheek leaving behind a moist trail. (As it manages to curve down my 12 O clock shadow and jump on to my neck.)

 All the Pictures on this post belong to me.

© Vinay Green, 2017

Hard Skull

Percolate. It feels exhausting, mentally because I have nothing to say about percolation. Then there are little ideas seeping in to my head, like how it takes time for me to do something or ideas to seep or something and then it percolates right out of me. For the life of me, I can’t remember what I was trying to say. It’s confusing, frustrating and annoying.

I’m trying to inculcate the habit of writing everyday, an idea I intend will percolate into my thick, hard skull.

I’m being hopefully, I know.

Tart it up

A giant biscuit tart the size of a large pizza, first with a layer of fresh sliced bananas.  Then a layer of fresh cream, followed by a layer of farm fresh strawberries and fresh cream after. Now a layer of butterscotch cake and ice cream is added and topped off with a generous amount of caramel sauce. The tart would feel like winter finally arrived.

A bite of something this delicious and sweet is required because it finally hit me. The fact that I’m going to be leaving, I’ll be gone and wouldn’t want to come back has arrived. It’s sad, slightly painful and just a little cold (but the cold never bothered me, anyway). I’m not depressed, I still want to leave and go ahead but I can’t seem to shake off the little sad feeling lurking around in the dark.

Where the hell can I go find such a huge tart? And why aren’t I satisfied? I just want to be able to move on without being held back or caught in a spider web.

FLAMES

FLAMES a quiz from my childhood that helped reinforce hope in hearts of the boys.

F- Friends

L- Lover

A- Affection

M- Marriage

E- Enemy

S- Sister

This was a popular game in my 6/7 the standard,(grade) that helped verify if your crush and you were compatible. The game required both names to be written and then all the common alphabets were cancelled out. Whatever alphabets were left you’d count them and that number would be the key. Use the key number to cancel the letters in FLAMES. The example below will demonstrate. I’ll try to check the compatibility between the names Trump and Hillary.

T               H

R                I

U                L

M                L

P                A

                  R

                  Y

The key here is 10 . Let’s use the Key on FLAMES.

F   4th

L

A   2nd

M  1st

E   5th

S   3rd

So according to the test the name Trump and Hillary have potential to be great lover but it will change if full names are used and it’ll be the same deal and everytime you finish the key, start counting again from the next alphabet. This is the way the love compatibility was calculated in my school and many others to help a brother or sister in need of common sense.

Or don’t

Either you do or you don’t; it’s a yes or a no. Life in my defence has always been either white or black and nothing else ever existed in my world view. The grey  area never existed up until then and the first time we met, I nearly drowned in an ocean of self-pity.

Or is this all my entitled, privileged and spoilt child attitude. It’s a question that I can’t answer honestly because personal bias effects the answer or opinions involved with these questions or conflicting thoughts. It’s a struggle that’s universal apparently because as a child I thought the worrying made me different and special but it clearly doesn’t do very much at all, because everyone else does it too.

Or is it just my constant need for attention or self that is so desperate for human approval and this makes my needs and urges seem normal for that brief period of time. Like Lucy in the sky and a rat in collection of a hobo’s sale of needless things. Idiot things to be or just not be worry about being horny all the time.

The ranting on a expensive bed after a rich dinner I’d add is the epitome of laziness rooted in the Freudian slippage stags.

Vegetal: It smells Green

“It smelled like green and I thought Vinay will like this description” he told me as we sipped lemon tea at Chai chowk. He was in Madekari district last week and when he reached Abby waterfall, there was a strong vegetal aroma that he could only describe as green.

“What does green smell like to you?” He asked me. Green smells like freshly cut grass (I know how clichéd that sounds) but it wasn’t the first thing in my head but after I contextualised it made more sense and the grass was it. But the mental image was far more different.

I did see and smell fresh cut grass but it’s early in the morning, the dew on the grass is still cold and stepping around there is petrichor in the air but only subtly. This still feels inadequately described and that’s when the argument that was made in the book “The illicit happiness of other people” by Manu Joseph hits me. Language is a limited device, it can never completely help describe many things and that might just be a means to hinder human evolution. This feels like a conspiracy theory but honestly there are many things that sound or seem simple till I start describing it to another person and feel the incomplete.

This inability to describe is something I fumble into when I’m describing or talking about nature, smell, visuals, shadows, light or sometimes just how it feels to touch an object and how that feels against the skin.

Primp

To talk about primp is a really challenge because it requires introspection and reflection on my self indulgence, partial narcissism, and pride; these are things that makes me an Asshole of the highest order. I know it and have been more than happy with myself for being the amazingly awful person I am to everybody without bias.

I love the days when I care about primping up for College because I otherwise do spend a little time on primping for anywhere else. I enjoy the attention; regular practice has made me better at primping which brings me some really nice things to hear about me regularly. I hope my practice helps me get better and maybe someday it’d be a habit enough to not doubt myself or my work.

Primping is easily the first word to associate me with because of the vanity I spout with my indulgence with my hair. My hair has way too many stories, there are probably some ancient posts on my blog about my hair. I love the attention it draws and also how much of a great ice breaker it can be.
I’ve contemplating a haircut for a while now, even people who said I have nice hair wanted me to get it chopped off. But I don’t know what I want, if I want it to be gone or if I want it to be longer. The effort and time gone into to caring for the hair and protecting it from hands of the administration makes it harder to let it go. 

Middle name: Second thought

I have second thoughts about everything, every step I take, every move I plan and sometimes even about eating. I don’t know what it means to not doubt my actions and just proceed with a thought. I’m not impromptu, never did anything spontaneous, and living everyday already feels too spontaneous to do anything else. Some classic second thought moments are below.

Breakfast: It’s pulav, smells great but don’t feel like getting out of bed. But I’m hungry, I’d have to brush my teeth too. I could just go back to sleep and get up for lunch but I may not fall asleep because I’m getting hungrier.

Meeting a friend: I’ll have to get out of the house and before that I’ll have to shower, wash my hair, dress up and talk to people. I enjoy getting out and meeting only people who are a delight to hangout with or I find interesting.
The Ride (to anywhere): I could still cancel, blame family and if it’s important say someone died and get out. But I tell myself, every few minutes to pull through the crap and I’d not hate it. Then as I get closer, the urge either gets stronger or gets weaker. Weaker it gets easier it seems to get through the ordeal, and on days it’s strong, I run back home from the venue and apologies for not showing up.

Ordering : I can never pick an order, I usually look up the menu a day before and decide what I’d want to order. It’s easy bit sometimes I fever EV CV hf

Twenty-Two

The night I turned 22 very few people remembered and fewer called or texted. This was something I had to deal with on my own. I had lost friends and the few who were remaining, I didn’t do a great job holding on to them. Then again some are still around, and maybe I finally learnt my lesson.

happy-birthday-22-4
Source: halfdirection.com

I couldn’t write anything about turning 22; about turning 21 I wrote a bit and was too happy to write beyond two hundred and fifty words. But 22 just seemed sober and felt like every other day and that was a little disappointing, I’d have loved a surprise party since I was nine but it never happened. Now it’s a little disappointing because I don’t think that it’d happen.

The day did have a touch, sparkle or whatever of nice, warm, fuzzy, and a few other stuff that I like. A friend took me out for lunch and we had a blast, she even made a pretty picture of me where I looked like a Zombie. We got back to college and I found out I was in the long list of a writing contest that I never expected would happen, so something had improved from last year, even though everything else seemed to have gone down the drain.

There was a performance of sorts with a boy playing a violin, another boy on a drum, a girl dancing to the music and another girl narrating. It was a very pretty experimental performance under the hundred and fifty year old banyan tree in the evening and the light source were little lamps around the tree. This was followed up by an acoustic performance with the singer under a spotlight, and I was flying. Sitting in the front row only made it seem like it was a private show for me.

It wasn’t the best birthday but wasn’t a bad one also, and I have list of awful ones so glad it didn’t make it into that list. I walked to corner house that night bought a caramel cake and ice cream and walked back home eating, all of this while I listened to Taylor Swift sing twenty-two.

A little after month from my birthday I wrote about turning twenty-two and it was the whiniest rant I’ve ever written and that’s saying something if you’ve read my blog. It’s three months since I turned twenty two, I made another attempt and this feels so much more sober than the last and doesn’t make me sound like a teenager who’s high or drunk. A great leap personally and hope that I don’t take anymore ‘U’ turns in life because I seem to be going in circles and that takes you nowhere apparently, I just found out.

The worst part is I hoped I’d be handling all my shit better by now and have something concrete in my life and the only concrete thing in my life seems to be my blog concrete sunshine.