Fairy tales put to rest

Has it ever happened to you, that you are in the thick of it all, the hustle, the chase, and you take a minute to breathe. When you do just that, you see glimpses of your past, in twisted memories, suiting your narrative? How is it that the narrative sometimes feels so distant? Something about that narrative doesn't connect with you as much anymore, yet the pang of guilt hits, because at some point that connection was what you chased. 

Isn't it strange that you're coded to survey, question, read, and recall yet if it were about matters of the past, you're asked to emote, vent, let go, move on. Who authored this process? Why does the reminiscing never get talked about? My theory is that, as we grow we realize that some fairy tales are more Grimm than we ever bothered to understand as kids. When you feel like you're living a fairy tale, you don't want to question the magic of it all. In the future, somewhere along the process of letting go, you lose the will to question, and reason. The difference in intent between the two really baffles me, but hey we're strange beings after all. 

All I know is, there are lessons to be understood from those fairy tale pasts that we all have definitely gone through. Some lessons form your opinions, without an intent to change. Some lessons leave you hopeful that time heals all. Some lessons just are mind-numbingly boring and cannot be philosophized, but they matter a lot to you. I believe that the reminiscing is a huge part of accepting that it may all begin with a "once upon a time" but there are more possibilities than just a happily ever after. Some tales continue long after it, some end at the ellipsis... 

The forest fire dies out

 Ah, procrastination's here knocking on my door again. The weirdest thing is that it brings a great rush that numbs me to the deadlines that I keep for myself. The deadlines that would enable me to produce quality over quantity. The deadlines that make me a planner. That makes me do whatever it is that I stand for. It waltzes in so effortlessly, breaking down every small bit of me I slogged to build. It drags on until I think I have to find "the fire" within me and set it to everything I see.

I guess lucky are those whose lives aren't yet plagued by this cause and effect. It is told time and again that you can keep a fire going to push you to your best. You light it in whichever way that works for you whether it be self-hate, doubt, harsh goals, or bitter truths. Maybe my list tilted toward the dark side there, but no post-its saying "you can do it" ever worked on me! That's what I wish to change moving forward. I believe that the strangest thing you can do to yourself is think that you need constant motivation to keep you from procrastinating. The concept of rest gets lost somewhere along the way though that is what we believe we do while we're procrastinating. This basically leads to a circle of not doing anything or helping your own mind be kinder to you. You might then set off a forest fire thinking it's the best way to motivate you to rise and shine through it all, but to me, it feels like that's far from the truth.

It's only on some reflection that I found that whenever I feel like I'm not out there "achieving" it, it is only causing me pain. It is only making me feel undeserving of ordinary things. It is only making me want to try and rebel against "laziness". It is only making me feel like the path that's left is through the labyrinth of burning out.  And when the burnout hits, more deadlines pile and the unwelcome feeling intensifies. So, I talk, I write, I sing, I move around to remember that whatever needs to be done, shall not be rushed more than my very existence. It shall not compromise on all subsequent things that can be done and those might be some of the hardest decisions I make. Those decisions might help me choose things that make me truly happy instead of settling for any less. Oh, I am willing to learn about calming this chaos and finding another way to keep at it because when the forest fire dies out, it sets off a slow and steady chain of disasters...

Through their eyes

Imagine a world wherein your character traits; the good and bad are personified.  These traits are separate individuals who you tend to attract and are willing to spend time with so as to decide whether they are something you want to keep in your life. You are left with the characteristic of judgment and decision. It's quite a mighty task to perform. It's what formulates strategies to deal with the bad ones and strength to not be overdosed with the good ones. It's what helps filter out daily interactions and limit any issues should they arise.

The point of personifying them is to make it relatable to the kind of people we interact with and the ones we are close to in life. When they are separate individuals, it's easy to categorize and assign some sort of value. You have an inner circle that can be a healthy mix of whatever qualifies as good and bad for you, your mental and physical health. You take from it what you want and what suits a situation. The harsh reality is we see the worst in ourselves when many things go wrong and begin to lose a sense of self. At such a time, when everything seems to be crashing and burning, everything you stand for seems to be in a conundrum, and everything you know about yourself seems to take a hit I have found that looking at myself through the eyes of someone I love or cherish gives me a new perspective and a pause from the spiral.

 It might sound like a tedious way of assigning value to yourself. I am not even suggesting it to be a way to increase self-worth or gain momentary happiness. It is but a gentle reminder for when a bundle of painful thoughts occurs because through their eyes, I know I am alive and seen. Through their eyes, I am something above my flaws and insecurities because they want to see the innocence or the best in me. Through their eyes, I am someone that comes to pick them up when they need me. Through their eyes, I am someone who will show up because I can. Through their eyes, I'm a provider for their materialistic cravings perhaps and that's fine because through their eyes I derive a lot of strength to keep at it, to move on to see challenges and face them head on. Through their eyes, I am mean when angry, cold when sad but maybe my heart's in the right place. Through their eyes, I am a rebel without a cause, but they don't know my pain. Through their eyes I am accountable for every motion I make and every breath I take. Through their eyes, I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, and all the names and tags I've earned along the way only to realize I am a human being and have always been.

Blue ; Shell ; Circle ; Dawn.

The early dawn that day

was never meant to be seen by me

because the simple taste of exhaustion

put me to a well-earned sleep

I woke up a bit later than usual that day

with an obvious peace

felt through to my bones;

the kind that comes right after

a month of the hustle-bustle of

our bittersweet lives.

The sky was a type of blue

that I have only read in books about

Its something I've always imagined

a happy sky to look like

of course it was nothing compared to the mighty blue

I could see in front of me

Where the river circled to meet the ocean

And touch, shyly while the wind blew by

ever so mildly 

carrying the salty hints

of a nice day

Little did we take in this view

that we switched our attention

to the myriad of tiny precious things

That filled the sand

Those shells being picked

are somewhat of a tradition

a bond, a memory

of a necklace-making activity!

Oh if I could I would pause the time 

in that moment when my shoes had

more shells than it could hold

because we got creative with the idea of a bag of shells!

I'd rewind to the moment I first tried

the cute crustacean 

for breakfast of all times!

I'd rewind it and play it all over again

but I'm glad its over

as it gives me something to look back to

a moment of sanity I can count on

For as long as my memory serves me well...

PS- we played a game where we throw in a few words and two of us had to come up with a poem using those four words in the same meaning... IN FIVE MINUTES. 

it was super fun, and the title you see here is those exact four words.

While I tweaked a few things to post it here, the majority of it was within the time frame :) 

here's to a fun walk in our beloved boundaries!

My immaturity

 I read somewhere that maturity is when you accept change without drama and fights. It said to stop asking why they lost contact with you and that you notice the change and accept it with a smile.

I believe that's utter rubbish. Walking away with a smile is often painful and unnecessarily saint-like. There have been instances where I have done it. Didn't ever make me feel mature just made me wonder where I went wrong. Over and over , stuck in a loop of thinking I'm not good enough.
I feel that as long as you still fight you are finding a normal and human way to channel the fact that you still care and want to maintain that relationship. Not entirely justifying fighting as it never always reaches a solution, but bottling it up and pretending it never happened tends to be worse .
Why do we normalise to deflect our negative emotions with a smile?
Why is that enthroned with a powerful term as maturity?
Why do we overuse the term mature when there is actually no true standard to measure it against?
Say ,who's the most mature person you've met in your life?
Are they happy all the time?
Do they process what they go through?
I believe maturity is when you choose not to stoop down to their level , no matter the amount of disrespect they show towards you, through their words and actions...
Whether its a child being asked to stop a compulsive behaviour and act "mature" or it's an adult relationship which isn't going your way, glorifying that expectation of being mature is unfair. It's belittling. It's painful. It's dismissive. It's anger inducing. It doesn't help to call someone immature. You're comparing them to a standard of pain that you've been through and expect them to behave that exact same way!
So the next time you are struggling to accept something about someone, maybe see your mortal nemesis in them, create a healthy competition or walk away , don't smile.

That ending didn't make sense did it?
NEITHER DOES MATURITY
sincerely
An immature kid
<3

blurry blurtings

BLURRY BLURTINGS

a random thought

amidst the mix of all things mundane

it passes by 

and I entertain it

never been one to resist its temptation

but I guess this one brings that feeling

you know? 

the one where something rises to your throat;

breathing, is it one in, you out?

at that second

nothing adds up

memories feel hazy

I am forced to fight the urge to scream

not because it makes me look weak or crazy

but because it wouldn't make the crippling anxiety vanish.

how can I be shut down

with temporary relief

when everything about the half a year gone by

is etched into my mind

like those sweet engraved gifts

you give to someone you cherish.

somehow the scene shifts

the corner of my lips fights gravity

because it is reminded

of the taste of precious moments

the ones that would make little

to no sense to an outsider

because they look at pain with pity

that's alright

because I know I never did

collect the energy

to paint that portrait

to let the world know the colors I felt.

will it always magically appear though?

will it find its way when I find myself stuck with pain on the loop?

will it show up with your punctuality?

will it make me laugh at the weirdest of lines?

will it stay with me, till my eyes slip into the trance of sleep?

or will it haunt me at times?

be another reminder of what isn't there

a vision of perfect flaws and being in the moment

absorbing all the love there is to have,

fading into a dream 

which I will soon forget the details of?

unless of course 

I keep to my word

immortalize the moments in my poetry

in my words for just me and no one in particular

yeah for now

it feels like my safe haven

my only refuge

the clacking away of the keys

calms my chaos

in ways, I have always believed

only music could.

Beetroots are such arsonists

The sweetest thing about a conversation lies in its randomness. Then there are ones that can't be explained to another human without background, the ones that bring a wide smile to your face, the ones that keep you up at night deep in thought, the ones that have luckily been typed out on text and etched in your heart verbatim. In all these instances, it boils down to just the shared connection and finding new ways to keep it intact.

The unexpectedly beautiful conversations come about when you have the least expectations. When you just take a shot at the other person and hope they catch whatever it is that you're throwing, you might just find something irreplaceable. That's the beauty of references in texting. There's an organised way in which the thoughts flow and the ideas meet to make the prettiest of memories! Of course the autocorrect plays the role of the villain and comes in the way of the words finding a way to your heart, but it'll stay in your mind anyways.

Imagine you are a bucket, waiting for information (water) to be complete. There are many ways for it to get filled. Now, if you're under a giant tap, you get this steady flow of water and that is routine, but once in a while, you'll find a hose that sprays some new perspective into you or a shower that can be moody with its lighter and harsher tones or a mug that teaches you to stay humble and content. There lies a thrill in finding these sources as a mode to fill up with precious water. It's an adventure on its own because you never know what the small little mug has to offer any more than you know what the tall and mighty shower does! 

 "Beetroots are such arsonists," said he, "they go around setting things on fire and blame it on pumpkins!" Here's to strange marketing campaigns and stranger autocorrects that take us places!