Thoughts before a journey

Hey beautiful,

Today, I just want to talk about life, unlike my usual posts here. It’s pretty queer, the situation. My life is going pretty good, and some might even say that it’s amazing but I don’t feel amazing, lately. I think it’s the mixed emotion of feeling nostalgic and a little scared and excited and useless.

Let me give you some backstory here. I am 18 years old, and going to move to my college’s residential campus in 22 days. I have never lived away from home, without my parents for longer than a week so the mere situation freaks me out. I’m really looking forward to the entire independence of it all, but the nervousness right now is like the 2 minutes before a performance.

I have got to know of such amazing people that will be at college so it is really exciting but then again, will I make a good group of friends? Then again, is having a group of friends more important than having many, different friends like I have had till now? I don’t know.

The concept of me living on my own interests me because at home, I’m a messy person and those who suffer from this are really only my family;I don’t mind the mess as long as I clean it soon enough. Will this magically change once I’m in college and my frustrated grandmother doesn’t clean up my bed? I don’t know.
Yesterday, I went to buy some stuff for college and amidst the soap holder and cleaning brush, the shopkeeper asked me if I wanted a rolling pin to make dough, for rotiI felt like I was settling down in a new house or something. “No, OF COURSE not, I don’t need a rolling pin. I’m going to college, not settling down,” I told him, half-scared, half-amused.

Apart from the social factor of living somewhere away from home, the academics in my college excites me. Being the competitive person I am, I’m waiting to see the classroom atmosphere of my college. Yet, I have this lingering debate in my head-what if I’m not good enough for it, or even to compete with it? What if my mental faculties have a dead end somewhere? I rebuttal this with my belief that if really want to do well at something, I will never really give up. Hopefully, this belief stays in those moments of doubt.

I also feel a little useless at this point because I wish I did more with my time. Vacations are “meant” for chilling out but really, what am I doing with these moments of my life when I’m binge-watching Community and eating Chocos till 3 in the morning? I’m doing a few projects but I feel like I’m not doing enough. Maybe the solution is that I need to start journaling again. Yeah I need to do that.

So this is where I am at, standing at the edge of my bed, looking at my unopened empty suitcase, waiting to see if I’m ready to take on the excitement and leave the nervousness for a few days before I leave. Holding one emotion of hope for a good journey sounds like a good idea for me right now.

Yeah, I think I will open my cupboard and start filling the suitcase now.

Until next time,
Charuvi.

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My hairstylist.

🎶

I look at her beauty,

Not just simply her body:

I see the attitude on her lips,

A fullness in that pink;

The risk in her hair,

A dash of electric blue;

The bold on her eyes-

More than a look, really:

The daunting played by black coal.

I see through the facade now

 

I see her past-

Rotting away in a cage of misery,

Sickening in the mirage of beauty

 

How could she have allowed herself to live thus?

How could she have let situations kill her?

 

I see her beauty in that resolve

And for the hundredth time,

I appreciate it,

I beautify it,

I love it.
And I hope for more of it.

To chances in life

Here I am,
Red lipstick; fun earrings
And there he is,
A question mark.

Will it go as planned?
Is this what I had expected it to be?

Or am I to be deceived?

 

The conversations of yesterday determined my today,

But my today determines my tomorrow!

I really hope I’m not deceived,

Yet, difficulties find myself secretly hoping I am.

 

This tragedy and comedy of hope and betrayal is life long,

I perceive with a sigh,

But it’s beautiful.

 

It’s beautiful because

People are always deceptive but situations are intelligent

They give you different kinds of learning;

They teach you to love the wait,

Hope for the best,

And be glad situations outsmarted your quirky

little

imagination.

The oblivious.

I’m astounded by the oblivious.
How carefree and unapologetically pragmatic, they are-
The old uncle of the bus,
The squealing children,
The office-going folk,
The old women,
The young ones with earphones,
And the ticket collector of them all.

I enter, a stranger.

They stop and look and go on with their day.
The bus is a medium of travelling-
Just another vehicle with smelly armpits and lecherous stares;
Just another vehicle with dirt and a crowd.

Oh how they would long to have facilities of luxury-
For the children and the family, of course.
And then they would live their lives in the ‘big picture’.
But really how fortunate they are to live this life!
I get out of my car to take the bus
And they, the small specs of reality that make up the ‘big picture’,
Get out of the bus to buy a worthless car.

The semicolon;

Post dated: 3rd Feb, 2016

It is often that I see how others see me, and think about the past, going over how I would want my future. And in this frequency of thoughts, I once realised how much we’re all worth.

How much of an individual you are, and I am.
How we have capabilities and
potentialities and
sad-times and
failures.

How we all have hope through it all.

We are all certainly faced by pressure, and we live through it all.

We have regrets, excesses, sufferings and doubt

but at the end, we live through it beautifully

Every
Second.

We thrive in this energy of reality. Of now.
No, really! Not the second that you started reading this post. Not the second you started reading this sentence. Only now.

In the semicolon of life that is in whole not 80 years or even 2, it’s in the moment of life that keeps you doing what you’re doing and adding on to it. And in that, there’s no death, only life. Life with a rainbow of sunshine after rainy days-even if that rainbow shies out after an age old winter.

It’s beautiful. Celebrate your semicolon, every second. ❤

 

The storm I hated.

Date of post: 15th Jan

“You know what,”
I typed furiously.
“There is a drop of water that you may see
and I may see
And I will see it,
Yet you will not.”

Only, I didn’t type. It was a thought, blown by the storm of my conscience, to the front of my mind. It was the agitation of a revolt. Though similar to others I had had, this was new at the moment.

And at the moment I felt like fighting. Fighting in the wild sea with everything but the force behind it’s wilderness. I couldn’t find the force, you see. I loved the sea too intensely to see its reality. And it wrecked me. For my love was failing me every minute.

I always thought that I would want to be one of those the sea loved. Those pristine wholesome fish, living in clear water, removed from human lives. Yet somewhere along the lines I learnt to accept my position as the rusted, isolated ship. The ship that was nothing more than one entangled, broken mess on the side.

Oh and how I admired those pristine, wholesome fish. I saw how they charmed the sea. I wished I was them for a minute. But they did make me feel like I was worthless. They made me feel like I was not admired, all those times when the sea forgot I was there.

Still, hear, hear all of the world- I did feel like one of those that the sea loved-when the sea did recognise the bond between. Only recognise I say, not accept or embrace.

So then who am I to blame for the storm between us? The sea, the fish or I?

Maybe I am to blame the mirror that deceived me: my pristine, wholesome self, which was beautiful in it’s own way- just, in a galaxy where I saw a drop of water in all it’s importance, and the sea plainly saw a vast, undefinable blue stretch.

~~~

I had written this story as a metaphor for a relationship that saw no reciprocity from one end. The narrator expresses her angst for she loves someone who doesn’t love her back and wishes that her love could see the storm that she could see-the torture of his loving behaviour.

Mirrored Battles

“Look at you,

That unnatural tall figure

Broad shoulders, big breasts,

Bulging stomach and unshaven legs,

Trying on clothes that don’t fit

One after another after another.

What do you think?

Months of binging will result in prettiness?

You are not who you were.

But were you ever anything but an imperfect dish

No-you’re uncooked and rejected.

Look at you again,

Rash mouth and ideal thoughts

Scared to implement your “beliefs”?

But the fearlessness that I see,

Is that a mirage?

Are you a mirage?

You believe you are great,

But are you?

One betrayal and will you crumble?

Will you go crying into that hole?

Is that, being perfect?

No.

You’re an unfinished sculptor and a poem left hanging

Shoulders droop and bellies flop

When they go home and out of pretty clothes

So is it all for a show?

Is it all for this person you wish to be?

Do you own your personality or is it an act you played to be perfect?

You’re inconsistent.

Look at you opening that packet of biscuits after ten dresses didn’t fit.

How utterly incapable of resolve are you?

How disgraceful and how unshapely

You’re just doing everything wrong.

Would you be friends with you if you met you?

Or would you look at her and say

“This girl is putting on a show of epitomy.”

You’re incapable and deserve nothing,

Not even words

Not even this poem

Nothing.”

Said my mirror to me and I

Died a little bit inside in my battle,

Of perception and reality.