Hello Future, Nice To Meet You.

None of us are who we think we are. None of us are what we believe we're meant to be.
A friend of mine once said we are the sum total of everyone and everything that has happened to us. Every little incident, whether good or bad, every being that has crossed our path, no matter how painful or joyous their departure or arrival has been. Another friend of mine compliments this and says that destiny is written in stone. He believes that whatever is meant to happen to us, will happen no matter the course we set ourselves on. You can't escape destiny. It's like a nasty allergy. You avoid it for a better half of the year, but it will catch up with you the minute the first signs of Spring begin to show.

You could look up, look out into the vastness stretching up above you and realize it is all so much bigger than your existence alone. Our world is tangled up with many other worlds existing around us, all within the existence of a central world in the middle of a galaxy situated among countless other galaxies. There is a greater force at work here that often has us feeling flabbergasted and wondering why we exist. To fulfill a destiny? One that was predetermined? One that was decided for us? Maybe.

And what if we aren't happy with where we end up? What if what we believed we wanted wasn't truly what we wanted it, and it only took losing what we had, to realize that? What then? Don't we get a second chance? Don't we get a chance to do it all over again? And do it right this time?

Both of these friends make commendable arguments. But for me to believe either would be letting go of what I hold to be true. And sure, I could be wrong. But what matters is that it is MY truth.

You see, my truth isn't pre-determined. It isn't written in stone. Or maybe it is and I just don't know it. But here's the thing. I'd like to keep it that way. I'd like to not know what my fate has in store for me. I'd like to make my own choices, make my own mistakes, chase my own dreams, fulfill my own desires and land up where I land up. Not because it is predetermined or because someone told me, but because it is the path to my future that I paved.
I am one life, one body, existing among an infinity of other lives and bodies. Who I am, and who I decide to be can be determined by no one, but me.

I am, like most people my age, terrified of the future. Of what tomorrow will bring. But that cannot stop me from living.
From breathing. 
From feeling.
From hurting.

From existing.

Carpe Diem.

I've realized that waiting is a disease.
A form or sense of growing despair.
I've realized that waiting for someone or something to happen breathes nothing but hopelessness as you stay still- never moving, not for a second- and hold on.
I've realized that life is not going to stop and wait for you to make your decisions because it is too busy making its own.
I've realized that someone I love today could be someone I don't see eye to eye with tomorrow.
I've realized that wasting time- precious infinite moments, hours or even seconds- on trivial worries does nothing but feed the monsters that I have allowed to reside within me.
I've realized that if I don't tell someone how much they mean to me in that instant, I will never get the chance.
I've realized that if I don't tell them how sorry I am, they will never know forgiveness.
I've realized that I need to be able to feel in order to be able to live. 
Not just exist. But feel alive.

I believe in straightforward conversations.
In telling someone what their existence means to me. In telling them of the marks they've left on the pages of my story- burns, tears stains, finger prints- muddy, bruised and all.
For all I know, I could've done the same to them.
I believe in passion. In living everyday as if it were my last.
I believe in unwrapping a person's soul like the gift on Christmas morning that has been teasing and taunting me for months on end.
I don't believe in waiting. I don't believe in calculating moves. I don't believe in delicate beginning rushes.
I'm not impulsive because I'm reckless. I'm impulsive because I'm petrified of losing a moment forever, never knowing what could become of it.

For if there's one thing I've realized, it's that I'm terrified of inevitably blinking out of existence with things left undone and words left unsaid.    

I Want To Sleep With You.

I want to sleep with you. 

I want to lie next to you and look at the stars.

In the back of a truck. On a building rooftop. On a patio. On the top of a car. In a bed.

And if we're in a bed, the stars that glow in the dark would suffice. 

I want you to look me straight in the eye and tell me how you named one of those stars after me. 

And I want you to laugh and sneak me a kiss on the forehead when I tell you I don't believe a word of your cliched attempt at flattery.

I want to sleep with you. Not your body.
   Your heart. 

Not an act of pleasure. 

   But an act of warmth. 

I want to tell you how much I've missed you. And now that I'm here, I'm never leaving again. 

I want to tell you my heart's deepest fears. 

I want to cry and tell you how terrified I am of losing you, even though you aren't mine to claim.

I want you to whisper silent desires that have kept your soul awake at night. 

I want you to tell me if you felt the same way too and that you missed me too, or if I was only mistaken. 

I want you to tell me how much you don't want me to leave. 

Never again.

I want us to joke and laugh like we've never been burned or bruised.  

I want us to goof around the way we did when 18 seemed like the world was ours. 

When we were, when I was falling hard.

I want us to talk about food and wine or whiskey and drunk confessions and conversations at 4 in the morning. 

I want you to tease me as if we were in kindergarten, so I can be dramatic and get mad at you as you try to tickle me to near death.

I want to sleep with you. 

My hand on your chest, my finger tips tracing the fabric of your shirt, I want to sleep with you. 

I want to feel your heart and the way it gets louder and faster with every inch that I move closer. 

I want you to play with my curls as I rest on your arm and we talk about the silliest and simplest of things, 

slowly succumbing to the sleep plaguing our eyes.

I want to sleep with you. 

We can just lay there.

Say nothing. 

Do nothing. 

Just lay there.

And let our hearts do the talking. 

Hoping in the comfortable familiar chaos of each other we'll find solace.

And we'll be whole again. 

Bubble Dreams & Reality.

At some point, living in a bubble becomes overwhelmingly suffocating. 

Reality then seems to be the best and only bet to breathe again.

Saving Grace.

Here's the thing about self-love.
It is absolutely crucial to our soul. It is the only thing that matters. It lets us live. Self-love is what saves us from the monsters we turn into when our inner demons take over who we are-or at least who we think we are.

When you find yourself on a bathroom floor, numb from your favorite flavor of tear-stained whiskey, 3 am, with nothing but questions burning themselves into your brain...
...wondering who you are?
what the future holds for you?
where your life is going?
All these questions slowly eating away your will to survive; your will to live.
Nobody's going to be there for you. Nobody is going to hold you.

Nobody but you.

As you sit in the bathtub filled with ice cold water and scrub away at your skin, hoping to erase the feel of his hands, the stench of him all over your body, the marks of bliss he inked you with, remember this: No one can damage you the way you can damage you. No one can break you the way you can break you. So breathe.

Close your eyes and breathe. No one can save you, but you.

Self love is beautiful. It allows us to come to terms with the fact that however bruised, battered or scarred we are, we are worthy. We are capable of love and happiness. We are capable of giving it as much as we are of receiving it.
We are capable of being our own northern stars. Of shinning with the brightness of a million suns dancing together. We may not see the road ahead now, but as long as we believe we are capable, we have the potential to be whoever our hearts desire us to be.
We are worthy of one day finding a love so strong and so passionate, that it consumes us. We are capable- flaws and broken parts and all- of finding a happiness so sacred it hushes our demons, and calms our frightening fears.
We are capable of living, no matter how terrifying that might be. 

But not before we allow the love that resides within us to take over.
After all, how can you expect another soul to love yours, when you yourself despise it?

That's the thing about Self-love. Its all that matters. It allows us to live.
It is our saving grace. 

 

Life Is A Funny Thing.

I went to the 9/11 memorial plaza today.
And I wept.
I wept for all the people I didn't know.
I wept for Todd Russell Hill, who'd left the house on that fateful morning not knowing that he would never see home again.
I wept, despite the fact that I was 5 when it happened and I had no idea why mama was staring at the TV screen crying, watching in disbelief as the plane collided with the second tower leading it to crumble on live television, while dada made frantic calls to our family here.
I wept because none of the victim's family members deserved the wretched horror and grief that comes with losing a loved one.
Or a hole as big and wide as the north and south pool with all the names of the lives lost, constructed where the buildings fell.
I wept because none of these thousands of names engraved in stone, like the memory of that day in our souls forever, deserved what they got.
I wept because I didn't know what else to do. I wanted to do something. I needed to do something.
But apart from staring into the black hole in the middle of the pool wondering where  it lead, I could do nothing else.
So I let my tears join the water that flowed with the souls of all those thousand innocent lives.
I'm not American.
I didn't lose anyone to the falling of the Twin Towers.
But I wept.
Because human beings. People. Loved ones...they all died that day.
And they still haunt what is now a memorial site for tourists to take pictures and say that this was where all faith in humanity was broken.

Life is peculiar isn't it? Not knowing whether you'll see the crack of dawn, or the sun as it sets. It's marvelous, to live everyday like it's your last, because truly you won't live the same day again. You won't love the same way, or the same person again. You won't believe the same stories retold again.
YOU will never be the same person you were the previous day.

It is marvelous, yes. But oh so haunting.

Smile. Laugh. Love. Do it all while you still can. 
Make every day count.

It might very well be your last. 

This Is Why I Love You.

It is a simple thing, really. Loving you.
It is easy. Or so I think.
I say this, because I now associate loving you as a part of who I am.
As a part of what makes me, me.
Like breathing.
Nothing can go wrong, as long as my existence thrives on the very existence of who you are to me.
The knowledge of that calms me. Gives me peace.
The knowledge of that, of your existence intertwined with mine, breaks me down. Pulls me back, every time I'm close to letting you go.
This is why I love you.

Love, regardless of what others see, isn't easy for me anymore.
Love is a leech that I have tried time and time again to peel off my skin.
But it doesn't matter with you.
What love does to me doesn't matter when it comes to you, because it makes the harshness of the pain,
and the suffering seem mundane.

Even in the darkest part of my heart, you see light.
Even when I'm too lifeless to believe in miracles, it's your presence that proves me wrong.

This is why I love you. Not because I have to. Not because I want to.
But because I see no other way out.
Because the emotions you ignite with words as simple as a greeting, are enough to feed my hungry wretched soul.
They are enough to bring my being salvation.
This is why I love you.

You are my calm. You are my storm.
You are my burning star.
You are my steady flame.
You are the chaos that dwells within me.
You are the familiar voice that sings me to sleep.
You are the air my lungs yearn for, so as to not choke.
You are the reason my emotions have a death grip hold on my throat.
You are the fuel that starts the fire.
You are the fire.
You are the song that'll bring me home.
You are Home.

This. This is why I love you. 

Lost & Lonesome.

My being has begun to lack the ability to feel passion for all the inspiration around and that scares the living daylights out of me.

Sunsets & Silhouettes.

"So till the morning breaks, go and make your mistakes. Don't be surprised if your heart hurts."

He Would've Had It All.

He would've had it all. All that he'd never had but always desired. A beautiful girl that possessed his heart. A family to look forward to, to build, to care for, to love. He would've had it all. Every single thing, whether unimportant, or of the highest significance. Whether it was her warm smile or the feel of his heart as it swelled up with pride at the mere feeling of being beside her for the rest of forever. This was what he'd wanted all along. He would've had it all.

He deserved it, he knew. He would've had it all and he deserved every bit of it. After everything that he'd been through, he deserved to be happy. After losing not one, but two epic loves. Two losses combined with the grief of losing his humanity. He'd spent so long, thinking the problem lay within him, coursing through his veins. He was toxic and he couldn't be controlled. After all that darkness and cruelty that he'd encountered, he deserved a shot at this dream. He would've had it all.

She gave him a choice, and said to choose wisely. She urged him to think not with his heart, but with his head. And he did just that. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter because both his heart and head were positive that he belonged with her. However frightening the possibility of that sounded. He would've had it all. This love consumed him. He'd never been more sure of anything in his life. No matter what, he would always choose her. And he would never give up. He would've had it all.

He heard her say her vows, He would've had it all choking up every now and then.
He would've had it all. He saw her features abruptly shift from innocent bliss to a mask of horror and pain. He would’ve had it all.

He watched He would’ve had it all in utter disbelief as the red slowly spread from her abdomen where she carried inside her not one, but two fluttering human entities- his joy, a symbol of their love- staining her white wedding dress. He would've had it all.

He would've
He...
He catches her as she crumples and falls forward and he cradles her in his arms on the floor of the altar. People told him he would remember this day. That it would etch itself into his brain, never leaving. They said this would be the most beautiful day of his life. Of her life. Of their life.

Instead the universe, cruel as it is, gifted him with grief to last an eternity.

He would've had it all.

Don't Forget to Remember.

Do you remember that girl?
That girl who believed that one inevitable day she would shine?
Do you remember the dreams that she nurtured and nourished, one seed of faith at a time?
The ones she was told never to give up on?
Do you remember the conscious efforts she put in, in making sure that hope and despair never learned each other's name?
Do you remember the ones that brought back who she was without the slightest hint of judgement in their ways?
The people that incessantly reminded her of her aspirations?
Or the warmth that she radiated, despite being in the midst of her darkest days?
Do you remember that girl who believed one day she'd fly away?

You do?
Good.
You don't?
Maybe you should.
Now hold onto those memories.
Hold onto them and believe in them with everything you have.
This.
This, is where you want to exist.
Right here.


Forever.

Frozen.

I sit at the window of my New York apartment. Sunlight quickly fades as it is replaced by the signs of night bringing in the first flecks of snow. Storm clouds gather on the horizon and you can see them make their way towards the city. The smell of dampness in the atmosphere is almost unmistakable. That is if, like me, you are a fan of the rain and the snow. The earthly scent that wafts through the air as the first drops begin to fall, is almost intoxicating. I know there will be a storm tonight. One that this city has never seen before. But the question that eats at me is- will there be more than one? One that my heart has never experienced before?

When I came clean with mum, dad and Julian about what I was to do, what I'd been thinking about doing for a while now, they seemed less surprised than I anticipated. Maybe they accepted this of me, sooner or later. I never quite could be held down. But this was more than that. More than just wanting to be free. It was Christmas Day. I'd been home for the holidays and I had decided that if I didn't tell them now, I never would. Family and friends were going to be arriving soon so I figured better now than later, what with Uncle Charlie belching out drunken 'Thank you's' and 'Sorry's' for punching Uncle Steven during Senior Year, and sleeping with his girlfriend. Also, this was something I had to do face to face. I couldn't just brush it off with a phone call to each of them. It wasn't that simple. They deserved to know in person and from me. I owed them that much. Jules was the most supportive. My brother has always had my back with our parents. Even if it was something he didn't agree with personally. It often occurred to me that despite being a boy, he was the more level headed of the two of us, but the decision that I'd made now, only evidenced it further.

My parents in spite of lacking surprise were not so generous in their words and opinions. "You're ruining your life, Jane!" Dad accused as he waved a dead chicken that he'd just cut up and brought from the farm, in my face. I took that as his 'not so subtle' way of being symbolic. "Don't throw away what you have over a "feeling," baby girl. These whims come and go." Mom said, as she looked at me almost pitifully. But how could I explain to them that this wasn't just a 'feeling.' It wasn't like I'd woken up one day and like a chameleon changing color, decided to change my whole life.  This 'feeling' had been emptying my soul and killing me slowly, mercilessly. Telling me that I'd gotten so used to the ordinary that I was terrified to come out of it. This 'feeling' is what had me waking up in a cold sweat every night. This 'feeling' is what brought me down to my knees and compelled me to sought God for help. This wasn't just a 'feeling.'

The key in the hole and the sound of the doorknob as it turns is what snaps me out of my reverie. The storm has begun, the snow hitting heavy on the window pane. Manhattan is a blur now, having been enveloped in a curtain of rain and mist. A bolt of lightening flashes as I look up to see him make his way towards me, his hair a tangled mess of snowflakes, raindrops and perfection, clothes soaked to the tee, and that big glowing smile on his face. The smile that had got me entangled in all of this in the first place. The smile that calmed my fears effortlessly. The smile that I would now snatch away from him forever.

He takes his shirt off as he draws closer and everything around me stops. I want to picture this moment. This final moment, before the storm hits in full swing. This moment where everything is okay. No pain. No grief. I want to remember it forever, keeping it safely locked away in the back of my mind. What happened? I ask myself. Where did it all go wrong? And the thunder lets out a slow growl, as if to answer my thoughts. "These storms are so unpredictable" he says, as he takes my hand and plants a kiss on my forehead. "It was such a perfectly fine and ordinary day in the morning."  

Perfectly fine and ordinary. 

I breathe him in as I take one last look. One last attempt at cementing everything about him in my memory. Every angle of him, the feel of his arms, his hands, the way he laughed, those random tickle wars, the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated too hard, the way he looked in the morning- in all his tousled haired glory, the texture of it, the way he took his coffee, the way his lips tasted, the tiny scar just below his Adam's apple, in the hollow of his collarbone, and his eyes. His brown burning bright eyes. They notice me stare, and he falters looking directly into my own auburn ones. He always knew how to read me like an open book.

You don't love him anymore, Jane. Let go. 

"We need to talk" I say, as I see- and feel to my bone- that glowing smile fade away. "I'm leaving you. I want a divorce."  
The storm cries out, as we sit there.
Frozen. 
Just like we've been all these years.