Sometimes there will be an urge to push it away
Push what you want so bad, away.
Not because now you don’t want it anymore
But because it’s overwhelming.
It’s overwhelming to know you can want something so much, again
An idea of ‘so much’ is scary.
You’ve lost your way and returned surprisingly sane once – from wanting something ‘so much’
So now gambling your sanity over the ‘so much’ feels like a waste.
Why change the people around you?
When you can change the people around you!
I am an addict, let me enlighten you on the same!
The beauty of my bedroom if I have to put it in one word it’s indispensable for me. As much as I do not appreciate it, it is one true addiction of mine. I have always had a hard time adjusting to new beds, setups, charging points, new lamps, room cooling temperature, side tables, etc and the realization hits me the hardest every time I get back home to my bedroom after a long break.
And that is more or less a month or so, but this time it was 6. Oh yeah, I am home after 6 long crazy months of being in a lock-down amidst this never-ending pandemic. Ah alas, my space, my one true love (or at least that’s what I said when I walked in).
I feel its all the more valuable to come back into your comfort bubble if you have been living in a complete culture shock. The excitement of learning something new wears out pretty quickly than you actually thought it would. The whole idea of ‘I like to go to new places and learn new things and meet new people’ is only nice when we it’s in holidays. In any other scenario of let say settling, it’s very frustrating and I speak for myself only.
It’s from going to something new every day to oh it’s the same as yesterday in a shorter span than batting an eyelid. One day you love the whole newness, the other day you wanna murder yourself, all part of the same game.
This is not your constant stimulus. You’ll instantly be hit with that and you will feel it the most once you are back home. Because this is your bubble, your space, you built this madness for yourself. Nobody was a part of your dark secrets here, the ones you lived for the first time. The first cigarette, the first sneak out, the first BYOB (bring your own boyfriend), the first book, the first medal, the first sleepover, the first fight, the first heartache, the oh so many more firsts. There are so many firsts in this bedroom, that before anyone could see you happy, sad, frustrated, or broken, this place lived it with you when it was happening.
I mean how could anything ever replace this in your head, in mine it most definitely cannot. I am addicted to this place, to my home, to my bedroom, so much so, that if I could I would never leave from here, I wouldn’t. I own every good and bad memory of this room and had it not been with me, I would not know where to go to look for peace. This is my self-made safe haven, here I am my safe haven!
Though I get home how late, how late!
So, I get home, ‘t will compensate.
Better will be the ecstasy
That they have done expecting me,
When, night descending, dumb and dark,
They hear my unexpected knock.
Transporting must the moment be,
Brewed from decades of agony!
-Emily Dickson
That there is my mind if you knew how to decode it
There’d be a, million broken pieces, unfinished dialogues
Stories, maybe also a few poetries, spiteful proses
And some idle verse of sombre pieces
From my unfinished past, ghosts in recess.
So, sit down, take a notepad, like this was your first dictation
Write down my ear-splitting screams, the atrocious seems
the subtle weeps and traumatized dreams
The run between your exhausting demands,
The few that felt like direful remands
I had some scribbled on your pillow, the words that bled
The ones that rang like a song in my head.
Are you writing, my love? Because I am not done yet
I am yet to talk about the dark shadows you haven’t met
They lurk inside, behind, above and below me
Screeching through the walls of my ear,
like loud roars, which if it were you, wouldn’t bear
Foolish as it may sound, it is real,
Like our long walks on the streets of the capital, something surreal
Calm down, as you repeat on every war cry of my head,
Ever felt it doesn’t reach the traumas of my bed?
I hear shrieks of my failed brave front,
Awaiting its freedom from this dark mental cunt
A failure I’ll call, both, you and me,
In recognizing and holding on to who I used to be.
Mom
I dropped quick and easy, like a ball of yarn three decades ago
Your shadow has lingered on me since
Your syllables, your voice, like an old audio cassette on loop
Like my favourite soundtrack.
You are the flying, shining, metal hard armour
Wrapped in a heavenly flesh, that once was my abode.
I’ve never once have had a blank static stretch
Your tape reels have been all along in my frames.
I’ll run blindly towards you, rolling down steep slopes
To tell you something, everything, to unwind.
To who you are what, regardless,
You will always be the lamps of my street dark old town
Have you ever felt a strange contraction in your mental muscles when you’re in a situation and you intend do to something and you end up doing something else completely because of some god forsaken reason?
In my case, it mostly will be only because of my eidetic memory that restricts most of my current actions depending upon what happened in the past (basically my idea of letting an incidence go is highly mothballed, I’m a major pain in the ass that way) I just do not let it go and its not like it doesn’t take a toll on me, it does but well what’s some sleepless nights over self-worth. It’s not intentional, this is just my make, i’m manufactured this way, guilty as charged. But practically speaking I cannot be held guilty for putting myself first, don’t we all… we do! ( And please don’t start with this whole – I put my family first etc.- in your head for god sake,- I’m not putting the obvious people in the same basket like others) I mean otherwise.
So, I have an eidetic memory with massive toppings of a PhD in how to never forget things. One I never forget and second it’s like a videotape that I can play in my head and watch it a million times if I want. Sometimes it’s an amazing feeling to recollect things and feel it all again but there are times it feels like an alien hand syndrome, you are the one choking yourself against your will. In moments of vulnerability, it will be at its spike to remind you of everything you want to forget desperately.
I have married (pretty loyally) the idea of revamping my mind over the years in a way that I intentionally forget what hurts or makes me vulnerable. My relationship with vulnerability hasn’t been that amazing, I hate the idea of believing that I could or will ever again feel it (again – because I have been there in my early adult life and it was scarring and of course a brilliant transformation point, but scarring). I was raised with way too much preaching of self-worth, and it runs through my veins now. I don’t feel a person is valued unless they value themselves, if I don’t hold my place high, you will not either. If I allow a certain emotion to seep in through a leaking spot, I left open, it will be put to misuse (and it has been, but I’ll give myself that I was just starting to grow up).
It has been almost a decade since then, and I have grown up to understand if I want something, I will want it on a simple term of acceptance. Acceptance of who I am, how I am and how there is no need for anyone to tell me how to live my life (unless asked). It’s significant to value the faith instilled in you by someone, the handing over of their weakest points, the very tough decision over permitting authority over some rarely sparked emotions, the irresponsible and maddening passion released without a blueprint of intimacy for once, the basic and the most obvious things – words!
The earlier it is understood that as much as language is beautiful, it is wrenching as well, the better. For a person of my mental ability who hardly ever gets impressed or agrees easily to anything, the agreement part means quite a lot. Agreement in language, in thoughts, in standing by words, in bringing the force of nature down when intimate, in being on loggerheads all the time but still knowing where to stop… there has to be an agreement that is respected and maintained.
And if not, I will always know my way to the door!
Be A Paradox 