“Lucky I’m in love with my best friend, Lucky to have been where I have been, Lucky to be coming home again.” – Jason Mraz ( <3>
I haven’t been lucky. I’m not in love with my best friend.
Today, a close friend of mine started dating this really nice guy. I’m really happy for her because well, it’s just nice to see her giggle like an ass every time she receives a text from him or she talks about him. It warms my heart. And I’m happy for her. On the other hand, when I got to know about it, at the back of my head, a cold voice said “why aren’t you with someone? Why doesn’t anyone like you?” and just as soon as I heard that voice, I knew that the numbing feeling that was coming over me wouldn’t go away for another 28 hours. I was hesitating to put this up, because it reveals a part of me that I don’t like. The part, that thinks that there might be something wrong with me. And nobody ever likes to think that.
So, today I want to talk about being in love, being in a relationship. This day had to come, sooner or later when I would’ve broken down and ranted about how truly pathetic I am and how I’m going to die alone with 88 cats. And how the last sound that I will hear wont be the silent whisper of a loved one, but the mew of one of those 88 cats that I forgot to feed. So its better if I bring this up, sooner than later because I assure you dear readers that I will get progressively whinier with every post, so bear with me.
I’ve never had a boyfriend. Never. Not in the 16 years of my life. I’ve never kissed a boy, never felt loved/ liked by someone who isn’t genetically programmed to love me.
If someone was to ask me what about what I was scared off the most? I’d say, “being lonely.” Right after screaming “CLOWNS!” really loudly and running away really really fast. It’s the loneliness that scares me. The feeling that you get when you see your best friend’s boyfriend hugging her from the back or when you sit in a dark corner in a party when all the couples are dancing. I can’t describe it. One of my friends did describe it. She said that it must feel like you were empty. She was right. You feel like there’s something missing. Hollow.
I believe in being in love and finding that someone that you can be with forever. Right now, all I’m feeling is lonely. Right now, all I want to do is experience all those bittersweet things that one experiences in a relationship. I want to feel someone’s arms close around me, shielding me from all the pain in the world (DRAMADRAMADRAMA). Or maybe just hold someone’s hand. I know this sounds lame and cheesy and I’m ashamed of this part of me that needs someone but right now, I feel a bit sad and I need to write about it. Anyway, it must be nice to have someone who really likes you
Loneliness is the scariest thing out there.
Someone once said, “Alone all alone, nobody but nobody can make it out there.”
I agree.
When I first discovered One Tree Hill, I spent all my time watching it. Which pretty much means that I’d be glued to the laptop for 10 hours at a day and cry in agony every time Megavideo said those twelve wretched words “Your 72 minutes are up. Please wait till 54 minutes to continue.” After a while I devised a pretty neat system to spend those 54 minutes of anguish. Which mostly just included watching a gazillion Youtube videos. O.o (I WANT TO KEEP THE INVENTOR OF YOUTUBE ON A PEDESTEL AND WORSHIP HIM 80s STYLE.)
A short while ago, I wrote this poem inspired by a quote from One Tree Hill. Its not much, but I was quiet proud of it, when I wrote it and I’ve been wanting to post it here since the very beginning.
You painted your soul
A part of your heart
I saw your work
I looked at your art
There were pictures of you
Alone in the dark
A cry for help, the need to make a mark
Though you might not know it
Your art is saving my world
Your art is what matters,
It’s keeping me here
I see your eyes; they’re filled with fear
Of not being remembered, of not being heard
But it’s making a place,
A place in my heart
Your art is what matters
It’s the only thing for me, I fear
It’s keeping me here
It is what's keeping me here
“If you don't believe in ghosts, you've never been to a family reunion.”
I saw this one episode of How I met Your Mother, where Barney explains to Marshall about a “Chain of screaming”. In the Chain of Screaming, one person screams at another and that person screams at another and another and the whole cycle goes on. Well, in my family’s chain of screaming, I’m as low as I can get. I’m probably the plankton.
Nobody’s family is perfect. Mine definitely isn’t. I don’t think that a perfect family exists. I guess you can have something close to perfect but perfection ends up remaining as an urban myth. Perfection doesn’t exist and even if you think it does, there is always something lurking in the background ready to jump you if you get too comfortable.
I have a family as dysfunctional as anyone else’s. We have our own skeletons in the closet and like any other slightly abnormal family, we try to hide it. This is probably why I’m feeling hesitant as I write this post. A part of me feels like I’m hanging my dirty laundry in the public and nobody needs to know my business. But then I think about this friend I have. Lets call her Em. She had this wonderful blog where she posted everything about herself, the good the bad, the ugly. And I remember her telling me how wonderful it felt to just write it all down. How it was “therapeutic”. She’s a part of the reason of why I started my own blog. I remember reading her writing and feeling inspired. And though at times I feel that I have a strange, strange relationship with her, I’m never going to deny the fact that somewhere down the line, she became a part of my life. And I’d be sorry if she’s not around.
Coming back, today I had a huge argument with my parents. I don’t know whose fault it was, but it just made me really sad. I have a complicated family where we don’t always “communicate” with each other and everyday, you can hear someone screaming in the background. It’s somehow become the soundtrack of our lives. I have a mom who feels unappreciated with a flair for drama, a dad who feels unacknowledged with a temper and an overly emotional sister. We’re your regular family. And me? I just feel like no one “understands me” But that’s probably “my teenage fable…or some psychology term” that will go away in sometime. But sometimes it gets to me. At times the urge to run is too strong, too demanding. So demanding that I feel numb, a bit broken inside. At times I can never seem to do any right. And it ALWAYS leaves me feeling conflicted about who I am, and how I should feel and what the fuck I should do. I don’t think I can talk about this to my friends anymore. It’s not their burden to bear.
I guess, it’s not that big of a deal and I can handle it. I just miss all the old things that we used to do when my “parents weren’t the enemy” (Ha ha, I get the drama from my mom.) I remember going to the museums every Saturday with my dad or watching James Bond movies with mom and dad every Sunday. We don’t do that anymore. We’ve lost all our little traditions. And I guess when you lose out on those, there becomes very little that you can hold on to.
Its so much easier, just writing down whatever comes in my head, than I had expected. Its so much easier to reveal all my deepest and the darkest of thoughts to complete strangers.
I have always liked strangers better than people I know personally. That’s probably why I never had problems making friends. It’s maintaining those friendships, which is hard.
There is a strange comfort in revealing your secrets to strangers. They don’t judge you, at least not openly. And once you’re done talking to them, they disappear into the world. You never see them again, never hear from them.
Anyway, about two days ago I attended the Closing Ceremony of the Commonwealth Games that was held in Delhi. It was SO much of fun. Though I wouldn’t say much about the actual ceremony. It was pretty decent. It got a bit boring in the middle during which I increased my score in “Brick breaker” (the shizzyest game in my blackberry curve). The whole experience was really great. There were marching bands, dancers, dancers who were dancing WITH swords (AWWE), LASERR LIGHTT SABERSS (Okay, a laser show. Duh.) And a pseudo concert where the different Indian performers performed a ton of Hindi songs.
They also sang, “we will rock you” and “tonight’s going to be a good night” which was sadly an EPIC FAIL.
When I think about it, the ceremony was a lot like an Indian wedding. Colorful and loud. But I loved every moment of it. When I close my eyes, I can picture myself sitting there again. Surrounded by a myriad of colours. The sky glittering with the remains of the firecrackers and music so loud that you can feel your bones vibrate and tingle inside you. I can almost feel all the people sitting around me, shouting and cheering, waving flags and streamers, standing up every time the Indian flag passed by. Just sitting there, gave me a strange feeling of ownership. Like I belonged, truly belonged to my country. And all those people who were sitting next to me in the stadium, who would normally be separated by different working classes and social norms, were all one. All together. Just supporting their country in one of its proudest moments. That day was a good day. In a country filled with misfits, who bumbled its way through the games preparation, nothing could’ve been more perfect.
“My kind of loyalty was loyalty to one's country, not to its institutions or its office-holders.” --Mark Twain
There is this need to write down the breathings of the heart, to inscribe them on paper, give them some form of immortality, put a part of yourself in it.
If someone were to ask me what I wanted, I'd tell them that all I could ever want was to write something that would inspire emotions in the person reading it. Not the gagging kinds, mind you. I want to write something, anything that could change the life of the person reading it. And I’d also want a pair of thigh high basic black boots but that’s a different case altogether.
This is the pilot post, where I’m supposed to tell you, who I am and why you should spend 15 minutes of your life (which you might not get back) reading what I have written.
Well, my name is Sam. I’d prefer to be a Myra or a Roxy but the name Sam however bland it is, is the closest to my name. You figured it out, I’m keeping it anonymous. I’m a 16 year old girl from New Delhi (Yeah, downright glamorous right? I hate you bitches roaming the wild streets of NYC/Paris or Tokyo)
Why should you read what I’ve written? Honestly, you don’t have a damn good reason to and I cant give you one either except maybe you can help me figure out who the hell I am because that’s why Ive opened this little corner in the World Wide Web, to figure out who I am. Do a little soul searching. A little some-some on the side. Also, Im currently trying to pull this budding writer image and this thing here, is right on top on my to-do checklist. Obviously its not right on the top, but its right below “Lose some weight and finish the math assignment.”
A girl has got to set her priorities right.
