1.2015.

One month and two days into and this year has already proven that life is crazy. The first day itself was just a whirlwind of activity. Complete and utter madness spilling over till noon. 

My revelations and deliberations. Life. Love. The connections I have made. The reconnections I have made. 

The way your stomach drops when you find out that someone you love has a war inside of them. A war they may not win. But you help them. You fight with them. I've experienced that. 

I've witnessed promises made between a woman and a man. 

I've seen someone I love fall in love with someone who may not love them. 

I've seen youth take on a maturity that overwhelms my own. I've seen a man dedicated to his wife. I have realised the importance of the relationships I have and have had in my life. 

The importance of being positive and not allowing the dark clouds to infiltrate my mind. 

They say your soulmate doesn't always have to be a romantic partner. And I agree. My soulmate is my partner in crime. My best friend. 

They say you don't have only one soulmate. There is more than one whole orange out there. I've found three. Maybe a fourth. My anchor, my moon and my music. 

I've let go. Let go of my anger. My misery. What happened was terrible and it shouldn't have happened. But now it's time to move on. 

I want to say something about academics but I haven't been attending college much. Just been living life. I am excited for my masters. And the brilliant course I've found. 

I've experienced the absurdity of life. The most amazing connection in the most inconvenient manner. But the beauty of it. The fact that these connections can transcend the real and can take us to a different realm altogether. 

The inability to fall sleep and the anger generated in a single body. A rage that can tear people apart lest it be tamed. A day of pure white rage, shut down by a single sentence. 

Blessed by the strength and incredible beauty of one of the more awe-inspiring women I have ever had the pleasure to meet. The woman who carried me in her womb is so much more than I ever realised. 

I have seen a man’s devotion, a love that had never truly surfaced, until now. I have seen them show their affection and the diligence he has to make sure she is comfortable.

Connections have broken, fights have ensued. Harsh words and silent stares.

But I realized that in the end, you need to just live. Take matters into your own hand. Because you are the one who has been through it all, every single second, you have been there. There may be others who have supported you, but you are the only one who has been with yourself through it all. You are born with yourself and die with yourself. You are your own. 

Even if nothing happens the rest of the year the past 33 days have been enough for a lifetime. 

Overwhelming wave.

This has not been written in recollections. They are truly spontaneous. In a pure form they flow effortlessly. It's all in your brain. Or two tiny cookies that were bombshells for your little nugget of a brain. A wave of happiness washes you on to new shores. A wash of your sensory perception. Trickling down the small of your back, the nape of your neck. Beats bouncing around the empty hall that is your skull. So pretentious. So raw. Which is which. It's all good. Meet the Buddha. Attain the transcendence you will never see with your tongue. This is it. It is this. Sway. Bob. Tremble. An awesome wave. Wave. /\\//\ 

Play The Game.

Mind games are not merely games played on your mind through external forces, but they are games that your mind plays on itself.

One simple picture, that burns an image that lasts a mere 5 seconds can induce a stream of thought that will go on for a disproportionately longer period, say, of 5 days. How this one image can propound itself and turn into a series of images, a television mini series, perhaps a series that even goes on hiatus and returns 25 years later, is beyond me. Yet, this happens, and will continue to happen until you bring your brain onto your side, where cookies and hot chocolate are all the things you think about.

Now if a simple image can escalate into a monolithic figure eating all the other thoughts out of the recesses of your brain, imagine the effect of a short question, two words and one mark of punctuation.

BAM.

You have another 20 days added to your game. What do those words mean? Was that question directed to me? Was it directed to another girl? Why did he use that word and not a different one? Is there a covert message behind a covert question? And it goes on, and on.

Althusser speaks of the moment of recognition, when the individual recognizes that he has been interpolated into the ruling ideology, and despite that the individual remains situation in his position.  The situation is, according to Althusser, larger than the individual himself. In this cause, one may realize they are involved in games of the mind, whether imposed or from within, and the mind games are the larger situation. Regardless of the act of realization the individual cannot escape the fact that these games are taking place.

So the only thing left to do…play the damn game.

Play the game so well that you create games that trump the initial game and knock it out of the playing field. In fact, you have been playing bigger games without realizing it, you have initiated it and your foreplay, your unintentional warm up has pushed the ball into play. Once you realize the whistle has blown, the ball is in your court and you seize it. You do not wallow in despair, wishing you could push the games out of your mind, rather you play that game and you win. Win the game. Because winning the game is the only way you can realize the game and stop it from consuming your life.

Play the game.

The ATM, Red Shirt Guy & Romance.

There is something romantic about having a ten minute connection with someone you will never meet again. And I think that it is that romance that made me feel so happy inside, that Saturday evening. I was waiting in line at the only functioning ATM at the market. There were five people in front of me, the woman from the tattoo parlour, a guy, another guy, second guy is the focus of this string of words, and two girls carrying Forever 21 bags.

So I noticed Guy 2, also known as Red Shirt guy, and I glanced at him. I was tweeting, minding my own business. And one by one people left, and the Red Shirt guy was standing on the side. So as I got closed to the ATM, only Red Shirt guy stood between me and my cash but I didn’t know if he was waiting in life or not. So I asked him, “hey, are you waiting in line?” And he replied, with a strangely accented voice, something close to a pseudo-American accent, “Yeah, I have been waiting for quite a while actually. Developing my patience.” I giggled and murmured something incoherently. Busying myself with Twitter again, I was surprised when he introduced himself and started talking to me about my very ‘punny’ sweatshirt, Leave Lit To The Prose. I started explaining the technical definition of prose and was all smiles. He asked me what I do and flatly replied with a, “I study literature, third year.” I proceeded to ask him about his life and he colorfully explained his online marketing business with the best example he could have used with me, socks.

“I LOVE socks! People think I’m weird cause they’re like, why do you like socks so much and I’m like why do you not like socks so much?”

There it was, my explosion of feels for socks. And I think he was taken aback, unfortunately it was his turn and he did offer to let me go first, but I told him I would push him to the machine. He went, withdrew his money, hair flip and walked out, smiling and saying “Nice to meet you Sanya.” I replied with an enthusiastic, “Nice to meet you too!”

That was it.

I walked out of the ATM cubicle, my mother called, we squabbled about my new tattoo, and out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of the Red Shirt guy. For a spilt second I thought of going up to him and asking for his number, but another voice in my head said no. It said, “No, don’t do that, just let it be, give yourself the fodder for imagining how amazing and fantastic this stranger may be. Why do you want to ruin what you experienced in the past ten minutes?” So I didn’t, I joined my friends in Pizza Hut, hurriedly told them what happened and sat in a daze. Something about the conversation just struck a chord, in retrospect he wasn’t that impressive, in fact I saw him when I was leaving the market and he seemed a tad bit creepy. For some reason, that conversation, waiting for the ATM gave me something. It gave me a strange warm, fluffy sensation in my brain.

I will never see him, I won’t know his name, I won’t know what kind of socks he wears. And that is all okay.

The ATM guy, the Red Shirt guy, thank you so much for that wonderful conversation, whoever you are, wherever you are, I hope I never see you again because what I have will only be this amazing if I don’t.

Untitled.

The chasm

The empty

The vacuous

The void

The void

That grows incessantly

The space

That breaks bounds

The gut wrenching

Sensation that travels up

Up towards your throat

And slips off your tongue.

Tears welling

Hands perspiring

The unthinkable task

Two words

To forever

Negate the three.

It’s over.

Leftovers packed up

Tightly, preventing spillage

No leaks

Sealed off.

Waiting in a cool place

Waiting to be devoured

Decaying

Growing mould

White

Green

Black.

A hollowed stomach

Nothing that will satisfy

The hunger.

Scared.

She is scared. 

She is scared of losing

The only being who never made her feel inferior. 

The only being who looked past her exterior.

The only being who didn't make her feel less for being a wo-man. 

Who immediately saw what was inside and recognised

That her body was not on rent. 

The only being who came to stay despite

The erratic construction.

And unstable foundations. 

The only being who stopped her from using language against herself. 

A being who makes her feel like a hu-man. 

The only being who erased the dichotomies. 

Who eradicated the dualities. 

Who cared for her out of love and not control. 

She is scared. 

That her insipid errors

Misguided actions. 

Will push this beautiful being out the door. 

She is scared. 

That no building blocks. 

Will ever mend what she has demolished. 

She is scared. 

Escape.

One mean offence after another.

You destroy the sacred.

Left with naught.

You whither away, through the night.

Awaken with a cold, numb pain in your bones.

Move with a heaviness in your soul.

Breathe in the grimy air that was once pure.

Your veins pump a poison.

A mind swollen with remorse.

Emptiness pervades your body.

Sinking into a void.

You cannot escape yourself.

Release.

To let go of it all.

To be free of the chains that encumber your movement.

To be rid of the shackles that tie your thoughts together, forcing them to remain tethered to your being. 

What some find in numbing the senses and distracting their minds from their torturous selves.

While others find in ripping open their flesh and watching the purgation of sin. 

The lack of which pushes you to find solace in others. 

Which further pushes you into the giant pit of despair you wish to crawl out of. 

Release. 

Not to be mocked or undermined. 

Not to be disregarded. 

It is not, as many believe, a practice confined to the weak.

The strongest find themselves clutching at it, masking their true intentions from themselves.

Release. 

A complete surrender.

Temporary, but perfect, liberation. 

Release.

Break.

When you realize the exact moment everything fell apart, but you don't know why, not for sure.
So you spend hours wondering and analyzing, hoping that somehow you will figure it out and know.
You replay the last few days and try to deconstruct the various interactions you had. The uneasiness and awkwardness, the forced conversation. You can pinpoint the last day that things had some semblance of normalcy. You have the texts messages that prove that things were still okay.
And then there was a break.
A loud crack and everything just broke.
You didn't notice it then.
But now you do.
It was your choice, you are the one who took the first punch.
The fault lines were already showing.
The break was clean and easy.
No harm, no foul.
Everyone goes on living.
You want to make it clear that there is no resentment.
That you just couldn't be a part of it anymore.
That you still care.
You will always care.
Caring doesn't go away.
But it's too late now.
You don't know how they will respond.
You don't want confrontation or rejection.
So go back to wondering.
Analyzing.
This is how it is going to be.
This is what is best for you.
To be alone.
To stay away.
They are better off without you anyway.
It is done.
Set in stone.
Finished.
Over.
The End.
It was a beautiful chapter in a not so beautiful book.
Turn the page.
Figure out your next step.
You are the enemy in their story, don't be one in yours.
Accept yourself.
It is all going to be okay.

Monsters.

All of this may sound cliched. Because everyone writes and talks about their mental illnesses, it isn't a big secret for the world when another young human comes forward to say "Something is wrong with me." They just send them to the doctors, the ones who don't say anything take to substance or self harm. It's something we see so often. Something that has become normal. Some romanticize it, while others mock it, but it is known, it may still be a taboo to some degree, but it is known.
Each of us have our own monsters.
I want to talk about mine.

Mine consumes me. Sometimes I can make it go away, for a few weeks at a time. But it always comes back, at the worst times. And it isn't pretty. It scares me. I'm always afraid it'll show up and then I won't know what to do.

I feel like pulling my hair out, I want to scratch my skin off, I just don't want to be near myself when the monster comes to town.

I cry. I sob. I yell.

I hurt people. I hurt a lot of people. I make bad decisions. I know I am making bad decisions and yet I don't stop myself, and then I feel guilt. So much guilt. A sea of guilt that I just want to drown myself in. Drown myself. I can't even drown myself because I've been a swimmer since I was five years old. I wanted to drown myself since I was eleven.

I've gone for therapy, I've taken pills, I've gone to a healer.
I've made friends. I've had a lot of sex.
I've gotten shitfaced. I've gotten stoned.

Momentary distractions, some not even distracting but instead instigating the monster to come take me.
I don't know if it will ever go away. If I will ever be able to fight it.
All I know is that it takes away a part of me every time it comes to play. And I don't know if I will get to the pieces in time. Sometimes the monster stays for months. Sometimes for a few minutes.
I just want it to leave me alone. But then sometimes I wonder who I would be without it, would I be who I am now?

The problem is, I don't know what is wrong with me. Why the monster exists? Why it wants me so bad? Why do I have to be the victim of it's mind games? And does it not realize that there is collateral damage?

If I could I would kill it. I wonder if killing myself would make it go away. I am not allowed to kill myself. They won't let me. It would put the monster to sleep, but then I wouldn't be left here either.
But isn't it for the greater good? No more damage. No more pain.

I'm just exhausted.
So exhausted.
Tired.
Fighting a losing battle.

I'll never be alone.

I will always have the monster. 

Night.

Its in the middle of the night,
When you lay next to the one you love.
Hear them breathe.
Watch them move in their sleep.
Feel their peaceful soul next to yours.
In the middle of the night,
When you release your fears.
You tell the demons to leave just for a few hours.
In the middle of the night,
The cool breeze on your face,
Pull the blanket a little closer.
Turn the music down a little lower.
Close your eyes and let go.
Its in the middle of the night,
When time stands still.
When you sigh and all the toxins are exhumed.
In the middle of the night,
One last kiss.
One last "I love you."
Its in the middle of the night.
Night.

The Beautiful, Collected souls.

In a world where being broken is the norm.
Indifference is the name of the game.
We fend for ourselves.
We fight our own battles.
We love each other, for our own satisfaction.
In a world where you leave them laying in a pool of their own mess.
Man eats man.
Cynicism is the law.
Trapped in a labyrinth you can't get out of.
All you want is to escape.
To lose yourself.
To find a way, to find a meaning.
In a world like this.
To meet Beautiful, Collected souls.
To meet Beautiful, Collected souls is like cool shower on a hot, sticky day.
It is like taking your socks off before going to bed.
Who are these Beautiful, Collected souls?
The people who hold your hair back while you purge yourself of poison.
The people who give you their laps and feed you lemons.
The people who drive out of their way to get you home.
The people who make you toast and tuck you in so you aren't cold.
The people who don't turn their back on you because you are unattractive.
The people who take life when it's raw and don't blur out the ugliness.
The people who make an impression that hits hard and tears you up.
The people who make you believe in humanity.
Who restore your faith.
The people you can feel vulnerable around.
When you are in a world full of darkness, the light is always blinding.
How do you handle it?
How do you deal with the illumination?
Each soul you meet has a story.
And each story has a purpose.
When souls intercept, they can either create a word, a page, a chapter or a book.
Create a series.
The Beautiful, Collected Souls.