Kyle

Loss. There is nothing like it. It’s accompanied by regret, anger and a whole lot of pain. It makes one’s head swirl and stomach churn. After a while, you’ll know how it feels, and you’ll know exactly how to deal with your own pain without shoving it in other people’s faces. You’ll deal with the stabs of pain that pierce through you, you’ll expect your body to tingle with the thought of it, and you’ll anticipate tears splashing down your face at any given point of time. But eventually you’ll realize that you expect too much of yourself. None of this will happen. You’ll look into a mirror and feel a kind of numbness you hoped to never feel. You’ll listen to that voice inside your head that says,” Big surprise. What did you expect?”

You won’t break down because you expect your mind to wander to the “what if’s” and the “why’s”. You’ll be prepared for your mind to convince you of your utter unworthiness. You won’t mind missing those daily conversations that lasted till the nightfall, and you’ll forget how his face looked like. It will become as simple as that; going through the motions.

Loss is the only feeling that makes you feel alive, but you’ll learn to deal with it when you’ve gone through it enough. What you won’t learn how to do, is accept the help you need from the people around you. This time around, I’ve decided to turn a new leaf. I’m not hiding anymore. I’m grabbing on to the people I need and they’ve never let me down. So, let’s call him Kyle. He is my personal happiness haven.

The older you get, the harder it becomes for you to include someone in your comfort zone. The relationships you forge earlier on are the ones you usually carry till the grave. I met him four years ago and he quickly became a part of my most inner circle. Imagine a man who has no particular responsibility towards you, but you never feel the need to back off. I called him four times a day when I had nothing to do, and each time he would answer, it would be the same happy “Hello” I got to hear. I never wondered if it was a bad time, there was no such thing. Picture someone listening to your ramblings about the fly who wouldn’t let you sleep and the girl you hate in college, without saying that you’re petty even once. I know, it’s hard to believe he exists. But he does.

It’s difficult to not take people for granted when they’ve never let you down, or made your stomach churn. I’ve done that, forgotten about him when another man enters the frame even if he’s literally all I need for happiness to encompass me. That’s how I define him now; happiness. I’ve never been afraid of him leaving my side, even if I threw the shallowest bitch fit in the history of bitch fits. He didn’t go out of his way, I just asked him to stay, and he always did.

The kind of friendship I share with him is hard to understand for anyone on the outside. It’s more complicated than the normal stuff you see. Men I’ve dated don’t understand it, it makes them turn into a bundle of insecurities. All this time, all these years, he’s picked up my pieces and he’s put me back together. He’s built me up to believing I’m invincible, that I’m a dream who’s larger than life itself. For someone who’s been accused of being heartless and shallow for the majority of his life, he sure is my best person with a heart of pure gold. I can talk about my deepest, darkest secrets with him and I don’t need to worry about an ounce of judgement coming my way. There is no one who has helped me deal with loss the way he has. And for him, I am grateful always, even if I forget to tell him that ever so often.

 

As I Grow

As I grow, I learn. My desires from a relationship have changed over the course of time. Now I no longer want someone who says they would be with me forever, and I no longer want someone who says they would never leave me. I am not looking for someone who is always neatly dressed up, or wears shiny shoes, or has an amazing sense of humour. I am not looking for someone who has the false sense of love, and thinks that love is finding that one perfect person, or someone who is trying to check items off their list while they search for “the one”.

I want someone who understands that “the one” is a fairy tale, and though fairy tales do happen in real life, they take much more work than the Cinderella finding her prince charming by walking into a party. Every fairy tale ends with “happily ever after”, I want someone who realizes that the “happily ever afters” are a lot of hard work. As I grow, I have learnt that the physical traits matter less and less and loyalty and undivided attention are the most important traits in a relationship. I don’t want someone who sugar coats everything, and never gets angry. I want someone who is raw, and real, and tells me how it really is. I am more interested in someone who realizes that sometimes life happens and sometimes things don’t work out. I want to be able to make a conversation with them, for four hours straight, and not feel bored, unwanted and feel like they are not listening. I want someone who wants to know how my day was, always. As I grow, I have learnt that privacy is important, and there is only so much time that we all have on this earth and only so many people that we can spend it with.

I want someone who wants to spend their time with me as much as I want to spend time with them, any less is just not good enough. I want someone who admits that they really like my company rather than playing games. But alas, modern dating means games have become the norm, and I don’t have time or patience to play along.

This isn’t mine. Credits to Shivee Chauhan

Baby Talk

Hate is a strong word; that’s what my mother drilled into my head growing up. I wasn’t really allowed to use the word, dislike was a convenient replacement. That changed during college though. I contorted into somewhat of an extremist. There is love and there is hate; there is no middle ground, and the top of my hate list is reserved for Baby Talk.

Don’t get me wrong, I understand the urge to mispronounce and mush words together when there’s a baby around. What I don’t get is the need for women to speak to their significant others in that particular manner. I was interning in New Delhi during my junior year of college and as fate would have it, my roommate was a Baby Talker. I never realized how much I could hate it until the summer was over.

Imagine this; you’re exhausted from a tough day of lugging mannequins around, you get home barely alive, and all you want is a hot meal, a thick blanket to cosy into, and most importantly, silence. Instead, you are subjected to the sound of a grown woman addressing a grown man in the most irksome toddler voice you could possibly imagine. If that wasn’t enough, you also get the divine opportunity to wake up to the same unpleasant noise. And you can tell said roommate to cut it out, but that won’t change a damn thing (mind the language). The shrill Bengali baby talk shall continue after a brief two-hour break.

I couldn’t help but think it was a bizarre daddy-daughter thing they had going on which only fuelled my hatred for the concept. The idea that a woman must seem child-like, helpless, and weak for a man to find her attractive really doesn’t appeal to my sensibilities. A damsel in distress is a common kind of woman men fall for, but actively dropping IQ points and making them feel needed all the time is taking it one too far. I could go on about the underlying significance of women who baby talk, but that’s not what I hate the most. It’s the sheer pitch and the shrill squeals that makes my blood boil with a burning passion.

There was also a gang of girls back in college; a gang I had aptly named Butterflies. They would put Elle from Legally Blonde to shame. Not only did they babble with their boyfriends in their tailored baby voice, they also took it upon themselves to talk to each other in the same way, day in and day out. Yes, day in and day out. I was in the same class, there was literally no escape. Needless to say, over the years my hatred for Baby Talk only intensified.

It’s the equivalent, no, it is worse than nails on a chalk board, a wet bathroom floor, yellow light, or slow internet; these all are a few of my least favourite things. One may not understand the hatred for all these, but nails on a blackboard is a universally hated sound. And I would take an hour of it, if I could avoid Baby Talk for the rest of my life. If anyone could get me a deal, I would take it, and be more than eternally grateful. So, anyone?

 

 

 

Just for a Moment

Just for a moment, I thought it was as real as the blood rushing through my veins. I felt you in my thoughts; I had forgotten that was possible. There was a storm inside me, a storm which could make the heavens pour and the oceans rise, a storm I could not calm no matter how hard I tried. I could feel myself drowning every step of the way but I prayed I would learn how to swim.

Men came and went, all of them adding fire to the fury. I denied you my soul out of habit more than fear, but the more you pushed, the thinner my constraint grew. I fell for you and I fell hard; in that single moment I saw you as my need, my happiness and my future. The storm calmed itself and I saw through the clear skies once again. I still can’t recall the last time I sat under an unclouded sky.

But the calmness of the waters was the quiet before the storm and this is no hurricane I have ever been through before. You looked into me, and for a moment you loved what you saw. Then the moment passed, and you changed your mind. You were red and I was blue; with you I turned purple, and you decided lilac wasn’t for you. The tempest coming will be nothing like the others, I wasn’t ready for this, so I’ll brace myself till it passes, for I can only be sure of its passing.

Meet Again

I believe we’ll meet again, when we’re older and wiser. We’ll meet again when I’m a little less reckless and you’re a little more compassionate. We’ll meet when we feel ourselves flowing through our bodies, when we understand the meaning of existence and when our minds aren’t as hectic as they are right now. We’ll meet, and you’ll be right for me as I will be for you. But right now, you are chaos to my thoughts and I am poison to your heart. Right now, is not the time for us. We’ll meet again, my beloved, but I won’t say soon, for it shall take more time than a little to fix what needs fixing and mend what has been broken.

The Fall

You shouldn’t love me because you’re lonely, or because you made a commitment and you don’t know how to get out of it. You shouldn’t love me for the person I was, because that person vanished eons ago. You shouldn’t love me because I’m one of the few that doesn’t piss you off, because I’m sure I will time and time again. I’m not perfect, I’m not close to it. I will end up getting on your nerves because I want to be exactly who I am, in all my vulnerable glory with you. I’ll try to be your rock, but I’ll mess that up once in a while.

I lie, I sleep too much and I really don’t like children under the age of 12, unless they’re related to me, in which case I’ve got no option. I’m not even sure I want kids because I’m selfish. Mothers can’t be selfish once they have a child.

I’m always looking for the rain to come and I know exactly what the air smells like before a storm. I cry more often than I care to admit because it feels good to get it all out once in a while. I wonder what you see in me because I can’t see anything worth loving. I think about us together and us apart, and whether the effort involved is worth it. Then I remember your face, and all my doubts go out the window.

I want to talk about the randomness of the universe, about the theory behind the space-time continuum, about the vastness of our galaxy and about the wicked deeds of men. I want to know which songs you listen to and what you think about when you have time to think. Sometimes I’ll be the escape, sometimes I’ll be the problem, but I won’t worry about times yet to come even though it’s what my mind inevitably wanders off to.

I want you to know that there’s a chance that this won’t work, that eventually one of us will wind up hating the other. I’ll try to keep your head above water, but sometimes I’ll need help, too. I can’t be your savior, and I don’t expect you to be mine. Just watch me unfold and I’ll watch you unfold, too. We’ll get drunk and tell each other everything. The buzz of alcohol often does that, helps you look past the outside and reveals who the person really is. It’s cheating, using a catalyst, but in the morning I know I won’t be embarrassed.

So I’m saying it. I’m falling in love with you, head first. It could last forever, or it could kill us both. We could slow dance off the top of the highest tower, or maybe, by next year, we won’t even remember each other’s faces. I no longer care, the sky is gray with or without you, so I’m not going to look up anymore, I’m going to look ahead.

Inspired by:
—Before You Fall in Love with Me, Caitlyn S.

For Women Who Are Difficult to Love

You are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do, love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.

– For women who are difficult to love, Warsan Shire

Not Love

You are the shiznit. Yes, I said it. You are all that you are looking for, whether you like it or not. Your life is neither a movie, nor a fairytale. If you believe it is, you’re either incredibly romantic or incredibly stupid, none being a very great thing to be. I read a quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald which said, “And in the end we were all just humans, drunk on the idea that love, only love, can heal our brokenness.” But is that necessarily true? A failed attempt at love is generally what breaks us in the first place, and a couple of them changes us irreversibly. But who decided all we need is love? I certainly didn’t come up with that hypothesis. Rather, it was thrust upon me by all the hype around the concept of love. What if that’s not the point of life at all? What if the point in life is to simply make connections, romantic or unromantic?

The conformist relationship between a monogamous couple has never been my deal. I get restless after a period of time, . Through all the ups and downs there is just one theory I realized to be true. You are never as broken as you think you are and there is nothing you cannot overcome. Sure, you’re bound to have some bruises and some old scars that never fade, but honestly, who doesn’t? We are all super heroes in our own way. And all heroes have some scars. So breathe, think, and give yourself a break because all you really need, is you.

Stop

I’m ready to accept that not everything bad that happens, happens to me. In fact, I think most emotions twenty-something females go through are universal. Most of us have had the charming-no good-cheating boyfriend; there would always be the funny guy who has severe commitment issues, and last but definitely not the least, the best friend it didn’t work out with because of something as mundane as logistics.

The cheating boyfriend took away your self-confidence and made you question yourself more than any of the rest, but you got out of it alive. You’re actually quite proud of how you survived that one. The funny guy made you question everything all over again, but you still held your own. The best friend however, is more difficult and delicate a situation. You break up amicably but with a heavy heart and you try your best to be as normal as possible. For the most part, you end up succeeding. You remain friends and probably grow even closer than you were before you were together. At some point, you will rethink the decision of ending things because everything are brilliantly comfortable, he understands you without you having to explain yourself to him, you have a ball of a time even when it’s just the two of you and every days seems better when he’s in it. It’s been years since the breakup and the logistics start to sort themselves out. Life seems to be gliding by; the best thing in it is probably him and you think, “I can take my time with this, he isn’t going anywhere.”

And then, BAM! He starts dating someone else and all of a sudden you end up lost. He’s treating her like a queen, the queen you hoped to be someday, he’s taking her places you’ve been but he’s making more of an effort. He’s calling you to say he’ll see you in the evening but the follow-up call never comes because he’s with her and forgot for a second that someone like you existed. He’s tagging her in “Every Girl With a Cute Face Will Understand” type of posts on Facebook. The jealousy is raging and now, more than ever, you feel like you don’t matter, like you were just another number, a girl he hung out with because he had nothing better to do.

One piece of advice; STOP. Shit happens all over the place all day, every day. He moved on before you, but you will too. You can talk to him, but stop for a second and think: is this really what you want? Or is this because you aren’t number one anymore? Don’t be reckless and immature because you wouldn’t want to be with him and then just end up hurting him. So stop. Stop for a moment and think about why you’re feeling the way you’re feeling. Stop blaming yourself for circumstantial sadness. Stop questioning every decision you ever made.

Yes, you’re losing your friend a little bit but isn’t that his choice, not yours? You used to hang out together because you liked hanging out together. It wasn’t some sort of job or duty. When the honeymoon period is over, you’ll be his friend again. You have to figure out if that’s all you want because if it’s more, he needs to know as soon as possible. But stop losing your head and start thinking straight from the mind, not the heart.

You are a brilliant person; you’re smart, funny, self-aware and gorgeous. It isn’t your fault and it never was. Talk to him, because you will eventually have to, no matter which way your mind decides to bend. And most of all, stop behaving like you’re a part of a chick flick, because honey, you ain’t in one. This is life, and this is your life. You want something to happen? Stop moping and go and take control. Go and tell him he’s being a dick and you don’t like being ignored. Or go and tell him he’s the love of your life and you want to be with him. But go and tell him something. Take a leap of faith, or have a little faith in the relationship you have with him. Either way, you will know where you stand and what you have to do. Moping around hoping he’ll understand you is a complete waste of time. He doesn’t even know that anything’s wrong. Give him a break and help him out. It’s the only way you’ll ever get what you want and truly deserve.