Feel.

It’s been a while since I wrote, and as I do, I realise exactly how much I missed it, and how much more I regret that I did not put enough effort to keep writing.

 

This one’s a reflection, as clear as I can try to make it, of what I feel at the moment.

I like my space. It clears up my head, helps me think and see more clearly, and keeps me sane.
And so, wanting to have this space for myself everywhere I go, everything I do, is but natural.
I make no attempt to empathize with people who don’t place this similar importance on space.

This is me.

 

I like my autonomy. I function better, work more efficiently, and am 100% productive if I so choose to be.
Wanting the autonomy everywhere I go cannot be wrong, for that is how I’d like to be. That is how I find I am most useful.
I don’t see enough reason to give up my autonomy as I go along, quite simply because it defines me- Adds to my identity.

This is me.

 

I like to stop and smile. With passion flowing through me, I see no reason not to let it show.
Life is full of the littlest precious things that make me smile a rare, watery-eyed smile. Things that most people rush past and don’t see…
Things that a fast-paced, competitive life doesn’t give you time to see.
I cannot bring myself to stay away from passionate emotions that draw me. Losing myself occasionally is inevitable, and I am unapologetic for it.

This is me.

 

I seek meaning. In everything.
In music. In quiet. In noise. In travelling. In dancing. In exercising. In screaming. In crying. In loving. In hating. In sleeping. In waking.
In living.
I cannot convince myself into anything that seems redundant or makes no meaning to me.

This is me.

 

I am smart. Very.
I know it because I feel it.
I know it because I’ve sensed and seen it.
I know it because, on the rare occasions I’ve shone out, they’ve been of absolute brilliance.
I cannot be expected to seem smart at all times. And if you’ve known me and not experienced it, it’s because you don’t inspire it. My motivation to apply myself depends solely on inspiration.
I believe everybody’s does.

This is me.

 

I am capable of greatness.
I know this because I can feel it in my bones.
I know this because I finally understand where all my undecidedness stems from.
See… To not know what you want to do, what you want to become… Because everything seems doable… That’s how I know I am capable of greatness.
But alas, knowing I may not be able to do a lot of those great things simply because I don’t aspire for them enough, is also something I have to live with.

This is me.

 

This is me, now.

 

And I wish you were more like me.

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A Letter to the Daughter I hope I Never Have.

Hello Sweetheart,

Welcome to the World.

I wish the circumstances under which I wrote this for you were better, or had me feeling more positive for you. But things beings as they are, this is what I have to say to you…

 

The world is a bad place.

I see good people every now and then, but I wish that instilled in me more confidence for you.

Sadly, it doesn’t.

And given that things are as they are, whether or not there are good people out there, I am expected to be a good parent- a good mother- and protect you.

 

See… This part baffles me, because I don’t know how.

I don’t know how to protect you.

Should I smother you with all my love and affection, and swear to keep you safe for the rest of my life, while consciously ignoring the awareness that I am taking your individuality and life away from you?

Or should I love you the way I wish my parents had?

 

Should I raise you to value and treasure your innocence, while also raise you to be more aware of defending yourself from any harm? This would mean letting go of you when the time is right…

 

Truth be told, sweetheart, I would raise you this way. Dangers, come as they may, should not mean I take away your rightful freedom to experience and discover life for yourself.

 

There is so much to see, sweetheart… So much to experience. So much to do…

And yes, your life will always be in danger.

 

Growing up female isn’t easy, sweetheart; I will not lie.

Every single day you spend might be a fight, an accomplishment even.

You’re going to have it harder to prove your worth… To be taken seriously… To have valid opinions…

There are of course, good people.

But we’re outnumbered, sweetheart.

I can promise you this- Growing up as a girl is always going to be a fight. Right from when you’re raised, to the day you breathe your last.

Life, is a fight, sweetheart. And men don’t have life any easy.

But to put things into perspective, your additional burden to bear, is that you will also have to fight prejudice from men and women around you.

You will always find yourself reminded of your femininity, your gender, and your feminine duties towards society.

You will rarely find yourself not being thoroughly assessed.

And men and women alike, will judge you and everything you are and stand for.

 

And if I wanted, I could protect you from all of this.

 

Or could I?

 

 

No. Your life will always be in danger…

 

But it isn’t just your life I want to worry about, sweetheart… It’s You. I want you to live. I want you to experience. I want you to do. I want you to be strong, stand on your own feet, and fight for yourself.

While I will always be there for you if you need me.

 

This is how I would like to care for you…

 

But sadly, it seems I may not be able to do so.

Society has me considering having you, so that I can keep you alive.

So that if I smothered you, kept all harm and danger away from you, and let not a scratch on your tender, delicate, pure skin, you will be okay.

But I’m not sure.

Will you be okay?

 

Will you be happy, sweetheart?

 

I know I wouldn’t be.

 

Being a woman shouldn’t have to be such a cross to bear, sweetheart, but sadly, it is.

And society has me considering raising you to be fully aware of your curse at all times…

By clinging on to you, a creation of mine, so tightly that it suffocated you.

By watching your every move, screening your every friend, moderating your every attire, regulating your alone time, restricting your outside hours…

Society has me cornered in the guise of saving you… Keeping you alive.

 

But I can’t do that sweetheart.

 

I can’t smother you. I can’t love and care for you so much that it ate into your very individuality.

I can’t be that parent.

 

I won’t be that parent.

 

And so, I’m sorry sweetheart, but I hope I never have you.

 

You deserve better.

You deserve to live a full life that is yours, and yours alone.

And quite frankly, the world isn’t ready for that.

 

And so, I am truly sorry sweetheart, but I hope I never have you.

Empathy.

 

“Do you want to know what scares me the most?” -she asked softly; her voice hoarse and barely audible.

 

“Yes”, he responded, sympathizing. She refused to look at him.

She’d been crying.

 

 

“Tell me”

 

 

 

Taking a long moment, she then turns to look at him, her watery, puffy eyes searching his.

 

 

“One day, I will die, and nobody will ever know how I feel.

 

Death is not what scares me; but knowing, that nobody has understood what I have spent all my life longing to express…

 

 

I will die misunderstood.

 

And That scares me.”

It’s The Survival of The Fittest. Always.

You know… A lot has transpired and changed over the course of evolution, and yet, not a lot has changed. Darwin’s evolutionary theory of the survival of the fittest may have only been propounded in the case of natural selection or reproductive success back when it was ideated, but I don’t think Mr. Darwin would be strong against my associating it to mental states.

 

Let me get right to the point I’m making- The world isn’t designed for everyone.

This isn’t just about how a right-handed majority makes life a tad bit difficult for the left-handed. This is much more than that. This is about fitting into society… living life… being happy…

… Surviving.

 

It’s real easy for people like me to dislike all those around me who Get life. They seem to have more of it figured out than I probably ever will.

Key words in that above statement being Probably Ever Will.

 

It’s one thing to be a habitual pessimist. But it’s an entirely different matter to in fact not be one, but to instead be written off as one every single time you make an appeal for help… or just plead to be heard.

I don’t think I will ever figure life out at the rate it is going because it simply isn’t what I’m cut out for. It’s really that simple.

 

All that being said, I don’t dislike people. Being one in every five hundred or even a thousand people, obviously doesn’t make me more right and the multitude, more wrong. It just means I’m probably not going to survive if I keep swimming against their tide.

The cliches are incredibly frustrating because they’ve worn out the usage over situations that didn’t even conform. For example- You come across all those ever-optimistic (so optimistic that you just want to bury them in the sand) self-proclaimed philosophers out there who will tell you, and I quote, “Swimming against the tide is a good thing! It makes you unique!”…

Easier said than done. Always.

Being unique cannot be argued against. But is it really worth the constant down-phases, the self-doubt, the hopelessness, helplessness, and absolute sunken feeling?

Again, easier said than done. If you’re thinking “Yeah… Those emotional states don’t last long.. It’s a phase…”, you don’t have a f***ing clue what it actually is like be be down there; to be feeling all of that, and all at the same ****ing time.

 

There’s also people who try this to comfort you- They say “Oh! Well you know… The world has been shaped by those like you. You know… Eccentrics… Einstein, Steve Jobs…”

Agreed. But has that changed how the world nurtures “people like us”?

 

No.

 

If I had a Paisa for every single time someone told me to be more adjusting… conforming… I’d have about twenty Rupees. (1 INR = 100 Paisa)

 

Consider this- Don’t you think I’ve tried that? “Conforming”. “Fitting’in”. Being more like every single person out there? Don’t you think I’d happily want to trade good ol’ sorrowful, depression-prone, and often helpless me, for a version who felt less or none of all those things?

Isn’t it at all possible that maybe I am just built this way?

 

Changing who you are isn’t easy. It kills you. The person in you anyway.

 

I know I’m probably going to generate a lot of online hate for what I’m about to say- but I don’t care. I scroll through my Facebook page and look at what the tech and social media savvy people are up to, and I have no faith in the world at all. There’s self-proclaimed activists furiously fighting for gender equality, freedom of expression, speech, sexuality, sexual orientation, race…  And it seems to me like over half of them don’t have a clue what all of it actually means.

I mean, how are you out there fighting for these things and ignoring more pressing matters? Like the refugees, the deaths, the slaughtering, the vulnerability, the fact that nobody seems to know what’s going on in the world at the moment.

I believe in all of those things you fight for. And take my word for it when I say this, I actually know what I am talking about.

You conforming “normal” lot are so busy crowding online spaces fighting for people like me.

So why does it not comfort me?

Why does it not make me feel any less “left-out to die”?

 

 

 

 

All my ranting here is probably going to mean nothing. But it had to be done. THIS is how I’d like to fight the tide. Survive.

This might indeed still be Survival of the Fittest at play, which would simply mean that I have remote chances of survival at all (if any). But that’s okay. I think I have more fight in me than a lot of people who have it easier.

The Fear is Real.

The fear to love.

The fear to live.

The fear to trust.

The fear of giving in.

The fear of losing out.

The fear of being left out.

The fear of having too much.

The fear of having nothing at all.

The fear of relapse.

The fear of emptiness.

The fear of the dark.

The fear of the light.

The fear of the unknown.

The fear of knowing too much.

The fear of being crazy.

The fear of not having lived enough.

The fear of prejudice.

The fear of an absence of reason.

The fear OF reason.

The fear of people.

The fear of loneliness.

The fear of dying.

The fear of pain.

The fear of uncertainty.

The fear of belonging.

The fear of never belonging.

 

The fear of living.

The fear of life.

The fear of dying.

The fear of death.

The fear of emptiness.

 

The fear of loving,

and The fear of not.

 

 

The absence of fear.

 

 

The fear of nothing at all.

 

Of human relationships and bonding…

Remember when you met me for the first time?

 

You said something so trivial, so silly… And thinking about it now, it seems so meaningless, the conversation we had. Our first conversation.

 

My responses were silly too, blunt even.

 

I didn’t know you. You didn’t know me.

 

Yet we both were hoping for the start of something more meaningful…

 

You asked me what I did, where I lived, what made me smile… And I proceeded to ask you the same.

What did it matter right? What either of us did, where we lived, or what made us smile.. But we talked about it anyway.

We laughed at the silliest things. We tried to sound smarter than we were letting know. We were nervous, unsure, sceptical, a tad bit scared even.

But we still talked.

And the thing that hits me the most… about that conversation we had…

 

That was the best part of our relationship.

 

The two of us, strangers, exploring each other, looking for that something that would make us feel like we belonged to each other…

 

Do you remember that?

 

Do you remember how brief that first meeting was?

Funny isn’t it? We kept it brief, as if to show we didn’t really think about each other that much. As if to show the meeting was in fact… just another meeting.

But it wasn’t, was it?

 

I don’t believe there’s such a thing as “just another meeting”.

 

Do you remember going back home and thinking about me, as I did about you?

Wishing you had perhaps found a chance in our brief silly conversation, to take my number. Laying in bed later that night, didn’t you wish you could just talk to me some more?

Do you remember that?

 

Do I remind you now, of the time we finally did exchange numbers?

 

Of how excited we were, but didn’t want to show it to the other, and so we stalled.. Held back from sending messages.. from calling.

While all you wanted to do was start another conversation…

 

It makes me smile now.. the time we finally did send messages to each other… We talked about ourselves more… Explored each other more…

Do you remember that intimacy we shared?

Do you remember telling me about yourself, while I told you about me…?

 

The questions we asked… The way we tried to understand each other… all the while, looking for those quirks that we shared that would make us bond more intimately.

 

You remember don’t you…

 

I do. All the time.

And to me, this was the best part of our relationship.

 

This is the best part of any relationship.

 

When you don’t know, but are willing to learn about each other…

When you don’t expect a thing, and so every little thing I say warms your heart in the slightest…

When I can look forward to something new, which is you.

 

 

Do you remember this? Stranger…

 

 

Does it feel like we’ve met before?

Life is a compromise.

Have you ever wondered about the number of compromises you make every single day of your life? Be it the trivial little things like putting up with the baby in the neighbourhood who’s always crying, or more substantial things like knowing your local political goon gets away with a lot of stuff that “ordinary” citizens like you and I could never get away with, and keeping quiet about it.

Have you even actually paid attention every time you make a compromise? Or is it so routine that you don’t even notice whether or not you’re getting all you want out of life?

 

I wonder about compromises a lot. All the time in fact. It bothers me; and the phrase “Life is a compromise”, accepted by all as an axiom of life, troubles me the most. It doesn’t seem right. Should life really be a compromise?

 

calvinhobbs

 

Consider all the times you compromise. You compromise for family, for friends, for lovers, for colleagues, for bosses, for rulers, for teachers, for those with political power, for those with obscene monetary power, for those who can push you around, and sometimes for those so weak that empathy comes their way rather easily.

You compromise at home, in the neighbourhood, at work, over the internet, while you watch TV, in traffic, at the movies, in different social setups, in classrooms, in boardrooms, even while in the shower!

 

You compromise to avoid conflict and keep peace.

You compromise in order to stay out of trouble, because it would be less cumbersome to actually raise an issue and then deal with the follow-through of your actions.

You compromise because you are tired of trying to talk sense with people who simply don’t get it.

You compromise because you think, “let me me the better person here”.

You compromise because it’s the socially accepted thing to do. And God knows, you don’t want to be the rebel.

 

You compromise all the time because that’s what you’ve been taught to do.

 

WE compromise all the time, because that’s how we’ve all been brought up.

 

-That in order to live life, you must compromise.

-That for the sake of not just your safety, but for the safety of everybody you care about, your best approach to life is Compromise.

-And that if you don’t compromise, you’re being abnormal, difficult, selfish, eccentric, unnatural, and are out of line.

 

But then, what if you really don’t want to compromise?

What if you’re tired of doing it all the time, in every single situation you’re in?

 

Is it wrong to want this?

Does it make me abnormal, eccentric, selfish, and out of line to want this?

 

And more important, is it possible at all, that anyone wanting to just experience a blissful life of minimal compromise, will get their way?

 

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