We’re back!

May 15, 2008 at 11:50 pm (being a girl, bitchery, crushes, eyecandy, love, night) ()

I stumbled across my blog and felt an irrepressible urge to start posting again. I like this baby. Because, since, for me, this is the one place where a very conveniently small number of rules apply, I am not compelled to be myself. I can pretend to be The Queen if I please. I can also be something only a tiny number of us get to be- frightfully, truly, ourselves.

But oh! I forget! This is the internet.That which spurred a generation of truth- Be it in our profile pictures or About Me descriptions. So much, that when confronted with a lot of truth, the flies stuck to The Web had not quite had their fill.

Just to make our lives sound a little more realistic, we took to blogging about our fantastic sex lives, our unbelievably bitchy girlfriends and suchlike. Sigh. If I see one more Indian woman talking about her liberated carnal rendezvous in that tone visibly meant to say “Come on chumps, this is the 21st century”, I will go off to live in a hermitage. They would have liked to relate: “Sex is so oh-kay” with online equivalents of raised eyebrows and high-handed disapproval of the others. If their love-lives are so okay being public and neo-millenia, I wonder why the defensiveness reeks so much of the 18th century.

Having antagonized half the female blogging population, I will now proceed to talk about Sex myself. Not actually. But sooorrttta tangentially, I will admit. In my defense, this post is about luuurrve not lust. That’s bullshit, If I will be allowed to confess. Cos’ what difference does it make when you are hitting on good-looking members of the opposite sex; all the while feeling slightly uneasy about the insincere interest some not-so-good-looking members of the opposite sex throw your way? love? lust? primal curiosity?

Just in case you noticed, I described their interest as insincere while terming my own designs perfectly licit. I see no objection, in case you do. I can only forgive my own shortcomings. I am not Mother Teresa, nor Saint Francis of Assisi, I assure you.

I ran into one such good-looking (come on! Intelligent, too!) kid today while loafing around in school. The apparent interest in this person has always been made to seem indiscreetly minute. I think I recklessly smiled too much while trying to sound as impassively friendly as possible this evening. Well, he smiled too much too. What the heck. That may have been the last time I saw him anyway.
Another kid, while extracting a few undue favors from me, resulting in The I running all around town in the savage sun, tried to make it look like HE was doing me a favor by being so good- humoredly flirtatious. Beat it buster!

One more kid tried to sound extremely pally with The I while The I was trying to get some work done. A different imp played around with my name evoking nothing but matronly correction from my side. I was rather tactless. All in a day’s work.

To not make this an entirely trashy post(literally!) I should get down and dissect a few issues of academic interest. Do women totally loathe being hit on so much? The answer quite flatly is a No. That is if, the questioners agree to “totally” being made the operative word in that query.

Most women find the attention rather amusing and flattering. Of course, we would also like to be acknowledged as people that can think and act on our own principles sometimes. It wouldn’t hurt to look genuinely and-or appreciatively impressed when we come up with some good work instead of sporting looks of incredulity or astonishment. If all that concerns ‘looks’ is asking for too much, we insist the men of the world,at the very least least, look at our faces when they talk to us.

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Updates

February 9, 2008 at 11:50 pm (being a girl, night, sadness)

Not being able to write is a pain in the ass. Especially when you are bursting to say something, or rant, and the whole idea of writing drives you nuts, it’s all a despicable state of affairs to have. I do NOT understand my mood swings. Yea, they’ve been around for a long, long time, but that hasn’t really helped my understanding of my quirky states-of-mind.

So life has been moving on(I just checked the date on my comp’s calendar) I had NO idea, whatsoever about what today’s date was. :O Guilt, guilt, guilt strikes me about all that I have messed up with school. Aaargh, I don’t like the idea of doing badly, this term as well. That aside, school is summat peaceful. It’s alright. Let’s hope it STAYS that way.

People are bugging. Nothing is as it seems. Now if one is inclined towards Le Logique (Even fraudulent French sounds romantic, Oui?) then, it is quite something to be fascinated by layers of reasoning. But but but, I do not like people with too many layers to their intentions, their speech and their actions-Evidently that is. WTF is the magique in it all when you are obviously smiling, when I didn’t even crack bleddy a joke? I’m disillusioned as ever. It feels like it has been AGES since people have been honest with me. It’s been a while since a genuine smile No! wait! A genuine anything has come my way. To make it all a little less cryptic to my own memory, when I read this later, this part of the rant-fest is suffixed with a Men Suck aphorism.

A very common sequence in most works of humour include some insecure person sticking onto a particular part of their past, not wanting to let go. Just like there is the middle aged woman, whose times of pinkish youth, gravity-defying feminity, are long gone, she turns up in a beach dress with garrulous make-up, never realising the fool she is taken for. Continuing in that line of thought, I feel like the kid that refuses point-blank to grow up. Yes, there have been times when it felt like life had dragged me out of my childhood and heaved me onto the cold, open street. I remember thinking, in bad times, that I wanted to stop being coldly logical about perspectives, and turn more human. I remember very well, resenting that stand almost as soon as I’d made it.

I hate hating the people I’ve loved all my life. I hate it when they behave insolently, when people display the maturity of juveniles when all I want is a wise person that can solve MY confusions. I don’t want to be 42 at 24. I don’t feel like most people my age. Until recently, that used to be a good thing.

I’m given to frequent outbursts these days. None that are relieving, as they are meant to be. Is it me or is it them?

These mood swings are so caustic, they don’t even let me read, or walk, or talk, or sleep. Hmmm music should help. Right! We shall try.

Goodnight

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Crying without tears

December 15, 2007 at 1:08 am (love, night, nostalgia, sadness) (, , )

Sitting here, like this, with a mind that screams silently and with a lump in my throat and eyes waiting to burst into song, wanting to reminisce about what has passed, about that which will never return; wanting to cry like a child, while a cynical, weathered old soul somewhere inside cackles at the irony of ruing over the past, I have nothing to write. Nothing, but the need, and the desire to express what I can barely word.

 

There is guilt, there is pain, and there is a bigger question staring at me and asking me if I have the right at all, to grieve over something that I did nothing to help. It is somebody I love, somebody I loved a lot. Did I understand this love too late? What stopped me from saying this when time was still merciful?

 

There was this someone that probably spent a life deprived of a childhood, love, happiness, while trying to spread it all around. The last few hugs are still fresh in my mind. It was the arms of someone who had, once, been a very strong person. Weak, soft and humbled, they were, after the fall. The last was the most painful. Cold, emotion-less, stiff. Whatever failed to convince you of the truth, this last hug was enough to convey the bleakness of finality. For someone that could never feel what all others seemed to feel, that was a rude jolt. It still makes me shiver.

 

Even a mention is enough to get me crying these days. Deep inside, I know that it is only because I am unhappy in life, that the unpleasant past has such a piercing effect. Acknowledging this makes me all the more disgusted with myself. I really want to stop feeling bad, about what has happened, and about Me.

 

Self-pity doesn’t even work anymore. Not in the usual sense. Would that really make things better? I know that today is better than this day, a year ago. At least, here lies the power to change. What is missing, if anything, is the spirit. Maybe a fight is waiting, in the wings. The Fight needs to happen. Now.

 

Everything turns magical once it is the past. That is alternately the most awe-inspiring and repulsive thing about the mechanism of reality.

 

Help Me God. And forgive me A for not being what you had needed. I pray for your happiness. Give me faith.

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Let there be light. Alas! It dispersed.

December 8, 2007 at 6:23 pm (bitchery, night, sadness) (, , )

Why? Really?

This! I mean all this (the author looks up dramatically and points at all that’s around her) is a necessity.

Till now, I had neither the inclination to, nor the belief in sitting down and writing about my life, it’s ills, how it kills, or about resorting to pills.

But now, trust me, it has become necessary. So please, forgive me for indulging in what I believed till now to be borderline sin: Ego-writing (Is that a term, yet?).

I had nothing but contempt for people that took out time to write about their cats,their silly love-lives, what they had for breakfast and their disoriented sexual orientations; till now that is. Now it’s alright. By the way, have I told you about my cat? I call him Burberry. He’s a cool cat(damn! That’s something I’ve never managed to be!).

I look outside the window. This city is f-r-e-e-z-i-n-g cold. So is everybody around me. There’s A that can’t be bothered even if I proceeded to kill myself, in her presence. Or B that would plan to stop me but she’d get busy half way through and proceed to execute her other, obviously more-important plans.

Man, I’m feeling better already. Did I tell you why this blog was created in the first place?No? Okay, so I will, now: Nothing fancy. This is an experiment in refuge. Refuge in bitchery, refuge in bitterness, refuge in vocal profanity of the written sort 😀 😀 . Above all, an experiment to find out if snubbed thoughts are what made me so miserable these hellish two years.

For once, I don’t want to be politically correct; not any more. Fuck the world. Oh boy! Being something-teen(or just off, if you want the truth), in an ideal world, that would be a bit of a catchphrase paralleling hey-how-are-you-doing in my holy life. But no! I can’t recollect even a single instance of me saying That, in a long, long ,long time. Now you know what the matter is, don’t you? Yes. I am your run-of-the-mill loser, marinating in anonymity hoping to feel better, this way, cussing and swearing around.

But No, this is not me. This is another person within me, someone I’ve constantly pushed around and silenced. A comatose, dying animal that can be revived only with some good ol’ TLC. Wake up! the angelic Bitch in me, and conquer the night that is, but yours! This is giving me a nice soaring kick already!

Why a reversed rainbow? It sounds deep, no? You don’t think so? I say so. That’s enough said. Consider that your first clue, gentle reader.

I have little else to stay. A blog deserves an introductory post and here it is. Hmm. It isn’t long enough. I need to say something deep and meaningful. Okay,

Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, errr….

wait.

I’ve flipped.

Alright: my shiny new blog, this one’s for you.

Stranger than your sympathy
And this is my apology
I killed myself from the inside out
And all my fears have pushed you out

(and I proceed onto the chilly night as the song plays on)

See you another night, friend.

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