On Broken Souls and Olive Branches

On Broken Souls and Olive Branches

I’ve been told I don’t try hard enough

I’ve been told it’s my fault things go wrong

They said I was weird and unfixable, with a sad little laugh

They said I don’t know what it takes at all

I’ve been told the problem lies in me

I’ve been told I’m no good

And I whole heartedly agree, because honestly

A year went by and I achieved nothing

It’s hard to find someone who gets it

Someone who feels what you feel

They might try on your shoes but they won’t fit

As comfortably as they seem to fit you

No matter how many olive branches you extend

Someone needs to be receptive there too

Broken people and broken relationships don’t mend

Not one their own, they need a lot of help too

I’m an introvert when it comes to feelings

That won’t ever change

I wish I could stay in my bubble and find some meaning

Meanwhile I’d let my ramblings comfort me in my head

It’s a new year but nothing feels different to me

I feel detached like I’ve always been

Broken people don’t heal themselves, you see

What’s worse, I feel like I’d never find my clarity

Humbled.

Humbled.

Took the time out today

To look back on my life

To reach out to people and say

I’ve missed them all this time

Been a while

Since we ventured out

Since we exchanged smiles

With the people next door

Is this how I’m meant to go

And if yes,

Why wasn’t I told before?

I’d have made changes then

But I guess it’s now too late

To fix someone’s mistake-on-purpose

That messed up our fate

We can only debate

We can only watch, and wait

With sanitizers and bated breath

As the numbers elevate

With no hope on the horizon yet

On the upside though

You can see the earth heal herself

Despite having a long way to go

Some things are falling into place

The skies are bluer, yes

The grass, legitimately revived

The wind feels like a caress

All of this has got me thinking

What if we’re the parasite

The human race, as a whole?

And this virus, Earth’s antibody armed to fight

This extortion we’ve imposed on her?

It’s all about perspective, really

So maybe if we go, we go for good

There’s more to life than likes, silly

So live the lockdown like you should

Social distancing has humbled me

Made me so grateful for all I’ve got

Love, light and happiness is all I need

So I’m going to live life with gratitude.

Love and Other Flukes.

Love and Other Flukes.

I finish smiling at the phone and hang up. My cheeks hurt from having to fake it. I’ve been faking it since forever now. I turn off the phone and put it away.

I hate being weak. I hate it that every time this routine phone call happens, I feel dumb and I feel like a compromise. Why would he pick me anyway? He’s perfect. I’m far from it. And we’re also in this long-distance thing where we talk everyday on appointment-basis. Which means, he calls and talks to me for twenty minutes on the daily. And that I’m supposed to be thankful for it. And he says I’m supposed to be happy he doesn’t cheat on me, even though all the women at work throw themselves at him.

My hands itch to find a fresh new razor.

I kind of started cutting myself when I was with another man, before him. Stopped when I met this guy, but he turned out to be the exact same piece of trash in a different meat-suit, and the whole process started again. I don’t cut myself in obvious places. Only my thighs. We’ve never had sex with the lights on, and he’s never paid attention to my scars. And when we meet, once in a while, they’re almost healed anyway. Sometimes I feel like I’m an abomination that can’t be loved. That everything about me is wrong and dirty and unworthy of someone’s time. That men only ever want to be with me because I’m something that must be pitied upon. Hot tears blind my eyes and revulsion rises inside of me like bilious vomit for even daring to think of myself with so much self-pity – and at the same time, I ask myself why am I even here. If I had a gun, I would have blown my own brains out years ago. Nobody would have known. Not till the apartment started to reek and someone ended up calling the authorities to investigate.

I fantasize about death, a lot. An unhealthy awful lot.

I find a shiny new blade and start tracing the word LOSER on to my right thigh. I’m calm when I have open wounds. I’ve always been this calm when placing calculated obvious incisions at the morgue too. Cutting myself is a whole different rush. And it heals me and it calms me down. I look at the clock. Two hours have passed and I’ve been exactly a year older for two whole hours and I never noticed.

I pat LOSER dry but she continues to bleed.

The “Omnivore” Debate

The “Omnivore” Debate

Humans were primarily vegetarian, did you know that? This whole omnivore thing came into being because that’s what we concluded, as per our convenience.

A few pointers that actually stress on the point that Homo sapiens sapiens were actually meant to be vegetarian:

• Lack of pointy AF canines. We only have tiny little baby canines.

• The presence of the vermiform appendix which now exists for the sole purpose of causing you pain, but actually played a key role in ancient history when man most certainly ate the bark of trees and different forms of cellulose.

• The fact that you don’t see a dead chicken carcass and automatically go OMG I want to eat it.

I think the meat thing happened by accident. Man discovered fire, and some animal fell into it and it must have smelled good or whatever and steak was discovered. I’m kidding.

Before this thing gives me angina, I’m going to retire for the night. This was also probably the most half-a**ed post I’ve done in a long time. Between headaches and work and having to deal with grown up children that don’t belong to my body, I’ve really had a rough day. Anyway. Is it just me, or are chicken wings hella tempting and maybe I should go back to eating them?

Also, what do you think of the whole man was designed to be someone that ate a plant-based diet debate?

PMS.

PMS.

I’m supposed to be correcting my students’ papers. I can’t focus. There’s a horrible dull ache right under my tits and it’s driving me nuts. Why’s cyclical mastalgia a real thing? Why do I have to deal with it every month?

Premenstrual syndrome is a nightmare. I know Aunt Flow has almost reached V-town – I’m bloated, craving chocolate at three in the morning and my husband is still out. On a Friday night. That lousy, cheating scum.

I know he’s cheating on me.

I can’t even correct these papers anymore. I want to rip out my hair, all my hair, from the roots. I want to scream bloody banshee screams, and I want to throw boiling hot water over whoever cow he’s shagging at three am on a weekend night. I’m gonna cry.

I definitely know he’s cheating on me.

So he has a piercing in one ear, right? And I got him this little stud to wear and he’s switched it up. I remember him replacing it with one of those guy hoops that f*ckboys wear. Oh, he’s cheating on me. I’m sure some girl gave him this hoop thing. I hate it. I hate the little stones on it. I want to beat her into a unrecognizable pulpy mess. The nerve.

I hate this. I hate being home alone and working. I’m craving chocolate mousse.

I’m just gonna walk to the fridge before my ovaries and my brains split. And awesome, there’s only health crap in there. Who wants a freaking salad at this time of night? UGHHHHHHH.

Oh look, he’s FaceTiming.

Okay, so he’s at work and he’s going to be home in fifteen. Definitely not cheating. Just working. I looked carefully. He’s in office and there’s nobody around. I made him show me around. Poor thing. Must be so hard on him, you know? All of this. This marriage. To this crazy witch.

Actually Painful Stuff

Actually Painful Stuff

Have you read Simon vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda? Becky Albertalli just casually throws a line in there about how exhausting blogging actually is. That’s the number one thing on our list today: blogging, on the daily, is painful. Painfully hard.

Is there anything harder than that? Yes. Challenges. The 365 day challenge. The gallon-of-water-a-day challenge. The no sugar diet challenge. The list goes on. Now don’t get me wrong – we love lists on this side of the Internet. We do. In fact, my blog seems to be filled with listy posts that people actually managed to read without falling asleep. So yay, go me. My point here, before I digress, is lists are hard to do. Both to make and to stick to. Also, I cannot tell you the number of lists that I have taped to my fridge. It’s more like a noticeboard that’s kind of screaming for help with things left unchecked. Life is mental. Life is batcrap mental. Send help.

You know what else is difficult? Trying to live with Indian parents whose maid just quit on them. Again, don’t get me wrong. My parents are wonderful people. It’s the maid that’s kind of super attached to her new grandkid and didn’t want to be a maid anymore but kind of needed the money – so long story short, she got found out stealing moolah from our wallets and tried to make us look bad and well, um, she quit. Maid culture is rampant in India. Your mum won’t miss you when you’re not around but she’s going to miss the maid. She’s going to be all depressed because she’s the ONLY person who’s working a nine to five job in the circle of other brown mommies, and has to come home and make her own tea. I think this bothers her more than anything else, making her own tea. She detests her own cooking. Go figure. And she won’t like it if you make tea for her because the maid simply does it better. Like holy wow.

Now, as if THAT wasn’t enough, there’s my most painful experience ever – having to wash my makeup brushes every Sunday. It’s a process. You gotta find your brushes first. Make a nice concoction with dishwashing fluid and olive oil, making sure you don’t mess up the ratio. Next, you need to clean the pink Sigma glove you use to swirl your brushes on, so the dirt comes out. And you’ve to do all of that without annoying your mum and her ritualistic Sunday-cooking frenzy. And then you’ve to leave the bushes to dry and put them back in their proper containers so they don’t look messy.

It’s tough being a woman. It is.

*THIS POST HAS BEEN WRITTEN IN JEST. TAKE ALL OF THIS WITH TEN PINCHES OF SALT. IF YOU ARE HYPERTENSIVE, TAKE IT WITH HALF A PINCH OF SALT.

What Happiness Feels Like

What Happiness Feels Like

So you’ve seen it all. Heard it all. Your back, it’s now against the wall.

You’ve fallen so far down the rabbit hole, you can’t possibly fall any farther down.

Your heart was broken, you fixed it, someone broke it all over again.

One day you looked at your forehead in the mirror, and started smoothing out that frown.

That same day, you decided, you won’t let pain cut into your veins, you’d had enough.

That very moment, you decided, you were done with people and their words – oh such words.

That instant, a fire lit within you, and you with your wounded pride, you picked up the pieces.

Your individuality, it started to shine through, despite how, all this while it lay blurred.

Your frown, where was it, now? Your eyes crinkled up at the corners.

What people called “crow’s feet” and got Botoxed for, turned into your prized possession.

Your lips stretched into a smile, and you felt the iron cage around your heart break open.

Suddenly such a weight lifted and suddenly you never knew depression.

And for the first time in what feels like years, you’re breathing like you were meant to.

You feel unburdened, and it’s not because you’re rich, it’s not because there’s a new man.

You feel like a Phoenix, that’s risen from the ashes they left abandoned in the corner.

You’ve left behind all negative energy and you’re a new woman with a new plan.

You’re going to be unflinchingly yourself – shameless, bold, bad, manipulative – so be it.

They misunderstand you, you don’t care, you’re dealing with it like it’s not important at all.

You’re happy, and finally, nothing gets to you – this bubble around you, it protects you.

And this time you’re sure, that no matter what happens, this time you won’t fall.

Stuff I Failed To Comprehend THIS Year

Stuff I Failed To Comprehend THIS Year

It’s almost the end. Of the year, that is. And 2018 was all over the place. I remember all of us praying, like we typically do, for a beautiful new year just last year and then we got well, a load of crap.

The only good thing that came out of all that crap was probably the Me-moji. Case in point:

While this is very cute and seems to have very fine teeth and all, there’s a million things that made me very unhappy this year. Let’s start with the very obvious, shall we?

1. Atrocious Grammar and Catchphrases:

This was the year of the worst grammar out there. I fail to see how “I’m shook”, “It’s lit”, or “It me” makes any sense. Okay, I maybe a bit of grammar nazi, sure. But I’m also pretty sure that *most* English teachers on the planet are actually smacking themselves on their foreheads.

Also, what’s “She’s quaking” supposed to mean? What’s with the overuse of the word “sister”? Why is it okay to say “I’m sister shook?”

Well, young lady/man, I’m sister shook at your sister atrocity. In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, stop reading and Google James Charles YouTuber.

2. The Over-saturated Market:

There’s this pretty huge Instagram page called TrendMood1, and I think she should change her handle to The Enabler. I’ve never seen someone so influential. She could even sell a used tissue, she’s that convincing.

And she’s been phenomenal in helping saturate the already over-saturated beauty industry.

It used to be Kylie Cosmetics alone that would pump out new launches. But now, we have every other brand follow suit. We can’t keep up, and our wallets and finally our interests follow suit. This is coming from a makeup hoarder. I used to buy a lot. I used to buy a lot in 2017. Heck, even in June this year. But now? Every time there’s a new lipstick out, it’s like I’ve seen it before.

3. Bookstagram Drama:

It’s bad enough we have so much drama in the beauty industry, but now it’s spilled over into the world of Bookstagram too.

It all started with my good friend Faroukh talking about sponsorships and ads. Which actually started off a little bit of a war. And then it quickly escalated. And then it moved to Twitter. I don’t think it’s wrong to expect payment for content you’re putting your heart and soul and time and effort into. It’s only fair that when you’re creating content for someone, you expect to be paid. With actual money. No one should be working for free, right?

But oh boy. It did rub a few people the wrong way. And before we knew it, up went a post talking about how freedom was too important and how money doesn’t count. Oh dear. To think we had drama only in the beauty community. What’s next? Gym membership drama? Oh. Popcorn time.

4. Apple and The Crazy Prices:

So Apple is really testing people with the crazy prices. In India, the new iPhone XS Max is priced slightly higher than a tiny car called the Tata Nano.

While there’s no denying the fact that the new phones are beautiful, it does get my goat sometimes knowing that you’d have to buy extra attachments in order for your phone to be properly functional. The stock adapter isn’t gonna come equipped with fast charging. Which is so annoying.

When you pay so much for a phone, it has to be perfect, right? But it is a beauty. Takes amazing shots, you see. Wow, I’m contradicting myself.

And finally…

5. Wedding Fever:

Everyone is getting married.

Everyone. Celebrities. Common folk. Puppies. Like, what the heck?

I don’t understand how people suddenly develop these weird fevers and then go about doing all of it like crazy on crack.

I know at this rate, I’m going to be the last grandma standing.

Help.

That’s a Wrap On August

That’s a Wrap On August

What a slow month, you guys.

I’m not dead, no. Not even been as busy. I’ve been dry as a bone, meaning my creative juices have literally stopped flowing. It happens, when you’re stressed out and you’re hating on all things remotely connected to the Internet.

A quick rundown on everything that hit me like a speeding train this month:

“TEA SPILLAGE”.

Oh my Lordy. If you’re into makeup and stuff like that, and if you haven’t been living under a rock, you KNOW where I’m going with this. Brands and people my friend calls “Influenza” (influencers) are spilling way too much tea. I don’t know where this phrase came from.

Everyone’s been spilling it, sipping it, burning their tongues in the process. My English friends are super mad, you know, because their precious tea is being used to stir up drama. I feel like tea spillages are going to go extinct very quickly and go down the exact same route as fleek and slay have, and that’s only because the market is so over-saturated, people are getting tired already.

I, for one, want my coffee. I’m done with this stupid tea. I want to find this person who started the phrase and smack them crapless. Why must you squeeze every damn lemon till it turns freaking bitter as eff? Thank you, but stop. Like, now.

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS/ THROUPLING/ OPEN RELATIONSHIPS.

Jesus. I thought FWB was the end of it. And now we have “throupling”, and I didn’t even know such a word existed. So I did some research and realized a movie (surprise, surprise) had popularized the trend. That’s like three people in a relationship. Isn’t that twisted beyond measure? My brains from the twenties can’t comprehend this weird millennial logic. It can’t. Can yours? Then do explain how and why any of this is normal? The movie was released in 2014, but since stuff reaches popularity (notoriety) here late, we now have this dumb act on the rise in India. Kill me.

(The only good thing that’s been happening is the fact that celebrities are actually getting married. Or engaged. Maybe, people will take some inspiration. High time.)

KERALA FLOODS.

The amount of political dirty laundry aired, post the Kerala flood situation, was crazy. I had no idea politicians lied more than Amy Dunne in Gone Girl ever did. Jesus H. Macy.

The upside, though, was the fact that people – regular people – actually made lots of donations and helped in any way they could. Faith in humanity restored.

“SLOWLY.”

Someone recommended I use Slowly to make pen pals.

I know what you’re thinking. Who the heck has the time? Why this dumb app now? How many apps do we need?

You don’t need a million apps and you don’t need to invest a lot of time. Slowly lets you type letters, with stamps and everything, and here’s the thing – it takes hours for letters to deliver, depending on your location. You get matched with strangers and you have complete anonymity.

I’ve been enjoying writing to people on Slowly. Really happy with the old-school feeling it gives.

Do you have any hits and misses for the month?

…and then, there’s distance.

…and then, there’s distance.

There’s a reason I loathe watching romantic comedy movies. It makes me want to grab a whole box of tissues, cry enough buckets to drown a whole town and then some. But I also love, love, love Drew Barrymore. And her cute little smile and all of the movies that she’s done.

Specially Going the Distance.

If you haven’t seen this movie, pause and go watch it. It’s about a thirty-something intern called Erin who falls in love, over the summer, with a guy named Garrett, who manages a band and hates his job. Just briefly, they fall in love over the summer without even planning to. Since she must go back to San Francisco in a span of six weeks of meeting him, they agree on a casual fling. But love doesn’t really work that way, and they end up crazy about each other.

Soon, they’re exclusive and decide to do the long-distance thing. Erin gets offered a job at a newspaper in San Fran, and is not sure of what to do, because she’s been in the same situation before and she followed the guy around. Garrett tries to find a job in San Fran so he can move there and be with her, but there are NO jobs. Over the next few months, distance makes it really hard and they call it quits.

And then some miracle helps them meet halfway and everyone is happy.

The thing is, distance sucks. I can tell you that because I’ve been in the exact same situation, and things get super crazy. You start to doubt yourself. It’s easy to have a romance and everything when you’re in the same city as your partner because you guys KNOW that you can just pop over and see them. With long-distance, there’s no knowing. At all. And boy, that’s so exhausting. Nothing makes you question your self-worth, your existence, and yourself in general, like a long-distance relationship does.

Am I not worth it? Is he cheating? He’s online till 4 AM and he wasn’t talking to me. He doesn’t send flowers, is he not into me anymore? He doesn’t call, has he gotten tired of me? Should I drop my plans of flying to see him on his birthday? That list, that bloody stupid list, is endless.

You know what’s worse? Having an introvert partner on top of that. Long-distance and under-sharing do NOT go hand in hand. Your partner shuts you out and makes you feel like turd and doesn’t even realize because that’s what comes normally and totally naturally to them. You try sending hints and hints fall flat. And when they do get the hint, they try to overcompensate and it doesn’t really feel as good. Nothing feels as good, not until things happen organically. Plans are made, and cancelled. Tickets are made, and cancelled. And eventually, you start pulling away. Emotionally and physically. You don’t visit as often because you’re scared you’ll be troubling them. Doubts and depressing thoughts chase each other around in your head in circles till one fine day you wake up with an aneurysm and go, “FUCK THAT SHIT.”

Eventually, once distance wins, you don’t have the energy left anymore to start over. But you do. You look for love again. Be with the old flame, or you start swiping. All the time going, fuck you, technology. Fuck you, 2018.