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.

Monday Mood Swings

Monday Mood Swings

Jitters. Cold feet. Sleepless nights. Silly little fights. With this poor mum of mine. The rituals. The customs. The Goddamn fish. The long ass lists. The crying over clothes, the unsolicited advice you didn’t ask for. Unfinished chores. The long hours. The cramping because it’s that time of the month, ugh. Over-caffeinated. Tired. Sneezy as heck.

Let me take a deep breath.

Instagram DM: Hey, I’m doing okay. Thanks for asking.

I guess the problem with being a sunny ball of sunshine is that nobody understands that you’re human too. That you’ve got your good days and your bad days. That you need some time off from being their Agony Auntie somedays.

Twitter DM: I’m okay, what’s new with you!?

Sometimes I wanna throw my phone away and breathe for a little while. Play some shit ass music that I actually like. My phone is nearly five months old and the battery capacity is at ninety eight percent, is that all right? It’s driving me mad and it’s driving me wild.

iMessage: No, haha. I’m not mad at you. I’m fine. Stop asking.

I just wanna grab a pillow and go to sleep. Maybe get myself a sensory deprivation tank or something. Or maybe go home to him and cuddle with him. The way his neck smells is just so comforting. Get a pizza and watch some Netflix and go to sleep.

Snapchat: Hey, sorry. It took me a while to reply to your text. What’s up? You broke up with your guy? That’s bad. Let’s talk about it.

I’m dying. I really need a break from this shit.

This, or That?

This, or That?

Are you a late riser, or do you wake up early?

Do you like it black, or do you add some milk to your coffee?

Are you a cat person, or a dog person, or neither?

Are you a follower or are you more of a leader?

Do you get in and out of relationships like it means nothing?

Were you a wild one when you were an early-twenty-something?

When you break up, do you constantly bash your ex?

Or are you forgiving and only focus on what’s coming next?

Do you hold on to the past like it were your first born?

What kind of music do you like – Blake Shelton, or maybe even Korn?

Are you sweet or are you freaking shady?

Are you a polite Tweeter or do you subtweet like crazy?

Is your Instagram all filled with selfies?

Or do you take time to post other shiz?

Are you type A or more of type B?

Introvert, extrovert, “ambivert” maybe?

Do you read for the sake of reading?

Or do you actually devour your paperback because it helps in healing?

Are you comfortable being yourself?

Or do you always put on a show for their sakes?

Are you this, or are you that?

What kind of a person are you, beneath that facade you wear like a hat?

When Should You Seek Help?

When Should You Seek Help?

So, one morning you’re gonna wake up and BAM, you’re thirty. And you have this huge panic attack and you don’t know who to call. You’re scared and you can’t breathe and you have zero clue about what you should be doing next. So what do you do? You see your Ambien bottle and down the whole thing. And the next thing you know, you’re in a hospital bed, sore from the emergency stomach wash.

You don’t want that, now, do you?

So what do you do to keep this from happening? You seek help. Before it’s too late and you’re in an unfixable mess.

What are the ‘red flags’?

Seasonal affective disorder is so sneaky you won’t even know when it’s blossomed into full blown chronic depression, that lasts all day, everyday, round the clock.

It goes to bed with you, lies awake with you, and when you are asleep, it haunts you, and it wakes up with you. It’s worse than your shadow because at least your shadow fades in the darkness, but this guy? He grows even stronger.

If you’ve lost focus, if you don’t like leaving your bed and if you don’t feel passionate about anything anymore, that’s when you know it’s starting. Many women just ignore these little things as PMS, and try to shove it all under the rug by calling it a mood swing issue, and their partners agree, but OH NO, it’s so much worse than that.

People talk about World Mental Health Day and yada yada a lot, without actually implementing what they talk about.

• ARE YOU EVEN HAPPY?

If you can answer this question without lying to yourself, and you’ve answered “yes”, congratulations, you’re lucky and you don’t need to do much – just keep going and doing what you do. And good luck to you. You don’t need to stay here and finish reading this post, you lucky ducky, because you’re sorted and everything.

However, if you’re still reading…

How would you answer these questions?

1. Are you happy with your job?

2. Are you content and happy with your relationship?

3. Do you ever hold things in a lot?

4. Do you feel fit and healthy and active and uplifted?

5. Do you take vacations?

If you’ve answered ‘no’ to most questions, boy, are you in trouble.

Let’s psychoanalyze, shall we?

1. The job thing? Pfffffft. You don’t need to be working a job where you’re being harassed by your manager constantly. Maybe you need the money, desperately, and you’ve got to keep at it, but here’s the thing – look for the silver lining. Stay away from that handsy manager. My man once told me that he’s cold to people at work and doesn’t indulge in conversation because people walk all over you if you open up. And he’s 💯 correct. Staying away from drama is key.

2. The whole relationship thing, yeah? Such a fight, such a headache and such a pain honestly, when it doesn’t work the way you want it to. Seek professional counseling, couples’ therapy sessions, with someone that won’t judge. And trust me when you communicate about what’s eating away at your head, things become this literal cakewalk. We’re unhappy because we care too much or care too less without realizing that happy mediums DO exist.

3. Again, when you hold things in a lot, you’re turning yourself into a pressure cooker. Don’t. You’re a person and you need to let it out. Half of your problems would actually go away if you cared to vent to someone once in a while. Hence, therapy.

4. If you can’t sleep, or eat or feel unhealthy and lethargic in general, try meditation and yoga. There’s no harm in that, is there? I use this app called Headspace and it is excellent – “Andy” has a soothing voice and meditation becomes easy. At the end of my session, I’m left feeling a lot calmer and healthier. Also, try drinking a lot of water. Not only does it help to detox, it also makes you look and feel alive.

5, If you haven’t taken a vacation in ages because you’re married to your job, STOP. Take one as soon as you can. It’s crazy how much we ignore our own mental and physical health for the sake of relatively unimportant ish and drive ourselves nuts in the process. Stay in therapy as long as you need to. There’s no stigma around it anymore. It’s 2019, people.

Have you ever seen a therapist? Did it help?

Zephyr

Zephyr

It was one of those extremely hot summer days. Forty degrees, zero chances of rain, scorching hot, bad enough to make you dehydrate in a jiffy.

She’d been driving for two hours and the AC had broken down. That business meeting probably did not go well. That lunch didn’t do much except leave a bitter taste in her mouth. As if that wasn’t enough, she saw her ex and a group of his friends walk into the club and trash her openly amongst themselves. She’d left in a hurry. They’d broken up ages ago, and he resented her, every fiber of her being, and he made her want to die everyday. He’s brought out the bad in her and she hated herself when she was with him and she had no one to blame.

And now, a failed career and a slew of failed treatments later, she was fighting to survive and fight for others just like her. She adjusted the headscarf and her sunglasses and concentrated on her driving. Ten minutes later, her car ran out of juice, and she made it to the nearest gas station just in time.

Not a single leaf seemed to be quivering. It was that quiet and that still. She got a refill and got back on the road. She was growing tired and couldn’t really drive anymore, so she parked the car in the first empty patch of land she could find. It felt like a total desert. The trees looked dead and ghostly. She felt her head spin from the heat, so she took off the headscarf, and forced herself to sit on the bonnet. As she blotted her bald head with some Kleenex, her phone vibrated.

It was a new email from the investors she’d met with earlier. They said they were interested in her pitch and that women with no homes to go to and women who had carcinomas and felt like they had nothing to live for definitely needed someplace that felt like home. She’d been promised six months and she wanted to put in everything she had and give people hope. Which was precisely why she’d come back to her tiny town and made the decision of investing in shelter for needy women.

She smiled to herself as the zephyr blew in like a breath of new life.

PS: Whoa. I actually completed the A to Z challenge without embarrassing myself too much. Give me a five!!

Xenomania

Xenomania

Everyday, she would check her bank balance to see if the numbers were growing and if she’d made enough.

She would tell herself all the time that at twenty seven, she was too much of a free-spirited woman to be tied down to one spot, and everyday, her boss would remind her that she wasn’t. That she needed this cubicle and this job and the money. And she bore it all, with a tight-lipped smile.

She sighed as she looked at the list of Airbnb’s she’d favorited, and told herself she would one day, eventually, see the Pink City. And the rest of India. She’d been obsessed with the country, the customs, the lifestyles, the food, for as long as she could remember.

And one day it happened.

A million hour long flight, and a million layovers and a mile long line later, she finally took an Uber to get to her destination. She didn’t even make it halfway, she didn’t get to leave the capital.

The last thing she remembered was the knife, and she felt a lot of pain, and she remembered thinking how xenomania had eventually managed to kill her spirit after all.

The Versatile Blogger Tag

The Versatile Blogger Tag

…again.

I used to love doing these tags. And then we all got old, he he heh. Anyway, shoutout to Dhanya for nominating me – it means a lot to people like me when people like you find the time to read my stupid posts.

• The rules:

1. Thank the person who gave you the award.

2. Include a link to their blog.

3. Select 7 blogs/bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly.

4. Nominate those bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award.

5. Finally, tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself.

At this point, I’ve pretty much covered point one, oh, and two. Duh.

I nominate whoever is reading this, but specially these guys –

Malcolm Marsh

Joshua with no last name 😛

Sia

Ashish Vision

Dear old P

Ely

YingLan

Seven random things about me:

• I’m a physician and I hate my job on most days. Ahahah.

• I’m the grandmother of the group, which is a pain and a boon, at the same time.

• I’m deathly afraid of snakes.

• I drink my coffee with stevia and almond milk and wveyoneb makes fun of me.

• I’m a midget and I’m only five two. Bet y’all knew that.

• My favorite book of all time is Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn and I wish they’d make a Netflix series out of it. So GOOD.

• I’m a teetotaler.

I bored y’all to death at this point. Oops.

War

War

I’m young but I have seen far too much

The bloodshed and suicide bombings and guns

And the weeping mothers

Mourning the loss of their sons.

I don’t have a lot, just my personal hell to bear

Tending to the soldiers with missing limbs and fingers

I remember my man lost in the war

We had two hours before duty called and yet, his touch still lingers

People divided by religion, and politics

It makes me hate it here, it’s just so sad

I haven’t been home in months

I miss Cookie, I miss dear old mum and dad

Sometimes I wish I weren’t an army doctor

That I could quit and start over

But if we all turn away, who stays to face mass murder

I pray it ends as I hold on to his dog tag like it’s my lucky clover.

(PS: I tried very hard to not talk about Jihad and religion – both of which I feel very strongly about – and then my post turned into a headless chicken hunt. I’m so sorry but war poetry is freaking hard to do.)