You Return Home With A Battered Soul

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I know about this weight on your chest that takes your breath away, I know about this lump in your throat that bars all of the things unsaid. You think you’re not good enough and you try to fight your way through this belief; trying almost too hard to ignore the voices in your head.
You start your day off with the intention of visibly avoiding everyone you know out there and finding an isolated spot away from people, wanting to be left alone. You fight through your day, carrying along with yourself this immense load-baggage from memory and thought-that repeatedly inflicts you pain; and putting this mask on, you try your best in hiding whatever it is that’s been bothering you. And after a long and hard day on your way home, I know that you’re planning on going back to your room, lying on your bed, and thinking about what could’ve made your day better-or in other words, ‘normal’. This is the part of your day you deem enjoyable, because although you cannot control its outcome in reality, you sure can do so in your imagination. When people ask why you choose not to hang out in your free time, it’s because you like to sit and think-some people even call you weird or crazy for that and maybe you even are. And as the night falls, drowned in your own puddle of thoughts and emotions, you’ve finally decided to socialize with one of your friends on call. A while after doing so, you feel a little better, but the voices in your head keep on popping up after short intervals, reminding you of your insecurities. You consider trying escapism: perhaps a binge watch or a book-read, but now you’re too tired to try-so tired that you’re actually considering falling asleep. And in the end, you’ve finally come to me. I just saw you carry yourself-exhausted in every way-to the bathroom mirror, and you’re staring at me now with those eyes full of questions, searching for answers.

 

We’ve Come to See You

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The time is close to midnight as we drive through the open gates of the graveyard. The place is as dark as someone would imagine, the only light visible is the one gleaming through my car’s headlights. Deciding to keep it that way, the two of us head off to seek a grave, leaving behind the car with its engine running. As odd the timing would seem to be, it is appropriate for us, for the day is special.

We walk along this paved path, surrounded by hundreds of tombstones. Other than that of a thousand crickets, there is no sound. It feels as if we can almost hear our own hearts beating. We don’t feel vulnerable, we don’t see fear, for we’re already in the company of hundreds of asleep bodies. Without a single exchange of dialogue, we continue to walk with our phones lighting up the rest of the path as the light from the vehicle fades behind us.

A couple of turns and we’re finally here. Regardless of the several tombstones around, we face no trouble spotting the one we came in the middle of the night to visit. Now that we’ve stopped walking, we contribute to the silence as we sit next to the grave for a brief period of time; after all, our presence is the best we can offer for a birthday gift, or what we can offer at all.

A few more moments of deafening silence and we stand up. We’re already on our way back to the car. Without a single word as we’re halfway there, we cease for a moment. We turn around and stare at our surroundings. It is so quiet out here, quiet as despair. And in this moment do we realize that even death carries character. I guess that’s what it feels like-to be dead-perhaps one day we’ll find out ourselves, once we join them. But for now, the obligation has been fulfilled, the deed has been done and now it’s time to head home.

Nostalgia

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I sometimes feel homesick to a memory that had never even existed. A feeling synonymous to Déjà vu, but not exactly Déjà vu. I feel as if it had been hardwired into my system before even I was born.

It includes the sight of a huge old-fashioned, glass window in the spiraling path of a bulky, broad wooden staircase. The staircase slithers upwards but adjusts accordingly to the shape of the square tower that confines it. There I am standing about twenty yards away from the window, facing it with my left hand sliding up the inclined, lush handrail that’s probably made of polished shisham. I look up towards the decorated window that somewhat resembles the window of a church. It’s the middle of a hot day as the sun shines through the window, illuminating the staircase with colorful lights that emerge through the beautiful paintings on the glass made by glass paints.

This scenario that I’ve been virtually experiencing since I was six years old has been updating itself with more and more details, and upon each update, it seems as if it were there in my mind since the very beginning. But the mystery does not really lie within the description of that imaginary wooden staircase, but in how it resides inside my mind in the way it does.

And every time I think about the wooden staircase, a bittersweet feeling takes hold of me, like the one you get after waking up from a beautiful dream and missing it so badly that you wish you had never woken up. Judging from how far our actual lives are from being perfect, I consider that particular scenario to be an ‘ideal’ part of my life.

 

Photo taken from http://freestocks.org/photo/church-window/

What​’s it All About

You might be wondering what genre this particular blog is all about. I was confused about the same thing, puzzled while deciding what title it should actually have. You see, I didn’t know what to do for sure while setting it up, as all that was in my head at that time was setting it up at all costs.

As I look back, I have been in a massive creative block lately. Earlier, I had been waiting eagerly for vacations to come for me to start something of my own-something good, something meaningful-but now that they were here, nothing would come to mind. I was unable to process any ideas even though I’d yearn to do so. But it wasn’t a dead end, as I realized that it doesn’t entirely matter on how much strength or plausibility the idea seems to withhold-that if I ignore these barriers while attempting to just start off-all it takes is an initiative in order to get some work done.

With this new intention, I began constructing my own blog. I had no idea what it would be about till I came across the option of giving it a suitable title, which was customary for the blog to be actually set up, hence there was no way my procrastination could get in the way this time.

After putting in some thought, I decided to base this blog on intricate details of some of the thoughts and ideas that provoke or excite my soul as this is a topic I believe I can express myself well on. So I hope these excerpts from my mind make sense to you as much as they do to me. As I’ll be sure to explain myself further in the entries to come, I hope some of you are able to relate to them in the future and would like to share ‘thought-excerpts’ of your own.