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.

Disillusionment.

You're either broken, doped out or a drunk. You're either dirt poor or a part of the 1%. We al want to be diagnosed, we all want a prescription. Feeling pain is the trend. Not feeling pain is the trend. Everything is a trend. Nothing is yours. Your thoughts are handed out like free candy, pleasing the palates of your so called friends. Your soul is laid out on a silver platter to fulfill the hunger of your critics. Nothing matters and everything does. We're stuck in our disillusionment and can't seem to touch reality. 

So, this was actually a dream I had. I appropriated it into the written word.

She walked into the dark room, her surroundings encased in the color of the void, black. As she reached the middle of the room her eyes fell on an object lying on the cold, stone ground. She walked closer and her eyes opened wide, a dull buzzing filled her ears and she stopped in her tracks. It took her mind a full minute to register what was in front of her eyes.

A body.

Her body?

She couldn't tell who it was, but she knew it was a woman. The face heavily disfigured. Her heart started beating faster and faster. The buzzing replaced in her ears with a stead 'thump, thump, thump.'

She took a step forward, intrigued and terrified.

Then very meager lighting she had to guide her disappeared. And the scream started.

I am a body. I feel trapped. Everything burns. I can see and I can feel but I cannot move. I can feel my blood spilling out of me, and yet I do not die. I wish I could understand what is happening. I wish I could ask for help.

Who is this girl, she looks like I did when I was more.

If only I could scream. I want to put my hand up and ask her to care for me. I want to use my voice and express the agony I am feeling.

At least I can see. At least I can hope. But how much longer will I have to suffer.

I would rather just end it all.

I would rather just die.

Aren't I already dead? 

Why have the lights gone out? And what is that noise? Is it coming from me or her?

The scream subsides and the lights flicker back on. 

Captured and Bound - 3

She awoke from her slumber and her ears picked up a distant rumbling. Her first thoughts are of thunder, but as she strained her ears she realized that it isn’t an approaching storm. If only she had some hint of where she is, but she has no idea about what is outside her holding cell, except for the light. The light which she realized isn’t the moon or the sun. It was some kind of bulb, and the timings were sporadic so she had nothing to go on. She felt stronger than the first time she regained her consciousness. She could feel her cuts turning into scabs and the throbbing of her bruises lessened. But she knew she would never be strong enough to break out, she hadn’t eaten in days and had no water to drink. She suspected that someone had been injecting her, while she slept, with fluids to keep her alive. She could feel a bandage on her left arm and her right thigh. Whatever they were giving her wasn’t enough to give her full strength, but it was enough to keep her vitals stable. They were keeping her for something and she could only guess what. Secrets weren’t uncommon in her line or work, but she had no clue which secret her captors wanted. If only someone would come and talk to her, make contact, strike some sort of a deal. The entire situation confused her; if they wanted to kill her they wouldn’t be injecting her to keep her alive. If they wanted information they would have tortured and harassed her. And yet, so much time had gone by and nothing.

Every time she woke up, she would feel the same emotions. First she felt slight confusion, then recollection and finally a concoction of despair and anger. She had started counting the number of times she would wake up, to try and make sense of how much time had passed since the first time she woke up in the room. She had a very precise internal body clock, but after a while keeping count became difficult. When the hopelessness set in she would escape to her garden and try to keep herself from yelling and screaming out. She didn’t want to show her slow mental degradation. She had to keep strong and prove to her subjugators that she could keep up with their game. But with each passing minute she could feel herself falling deeper and deeper into a black pit of gloom, with very little to hold on to. The only thing that could possibly help her out of this mess is a miracle. 

Passion

A burning sensation.

Something only you know how to feed. So that it grows and turns into something beautiful. Its overwhelms your life and allows you to live the only way you should, freely. There are no more ropes keeping you down, like shackles on a prisoner, nothing you can’t shake off, just a shrug of your shoulders and you are okay. When you let your passion consume you, you find a way to fill that deep, dark, intense void that has been eating you alive. It’s something you just can’t deny or ignore. Because if you don’t feed it, it’ll turn into that monster you dream of. That monster that becomes your life. It is the only thing that solely belongs to you, because your passion should be your life, your life should be your passion. Both are intertwined, for without passion what is the life you live, and without this life how can you act out on your passion. Eat, breathe, sleep, think of only your passion and your life is fulfilled. You have a reason to live. Let nothing else control you, be a slave to your passion, be a slave to yourself. 

Captured and Bound - 2

He shifts the body of the woman to his left side to get a better grip on the door handle, and as soon as he enters the barren, damp room he feels a pang of pity for her. Alas, this is his job and he has to do as he is told, though it’s easier when the body doesn’t have such a soft, pretty face. He places her on the chair placed in the middle of the room and first ties her waist in place. He leaves a little slack so that she has a tiny bit of space to move when she wakes up. Next he chains her wrists to the arms of the chair and while doing so he can’t resist the urge to take her hand and stroke it. At times he wished he didn’t have to do all of this, deep down he’s not a violent person, he was only doing this job for the money and as soon as he had enough saved up he would leave. At least that is what he kept telling himself, but the money just never seemed to add up. After he had tied her down in all the right places he placed her head on her shoulder and with one last longing look he limped out of the ‘dungeon’ as he liked to think of it, and locked the door.

                Dragging his own cozy little chair towards himself, he realized how tired he really was, and when he finally sat down he let out a sigh of relief. He knew she wasn’t going to be conscious anytime soon so he decided a nap would be nice. He made himself comfortable and almost immediately dozed off. It was only when he heard his radio start buzzing did he wake up, the blasted thing always annoyed him. He turned the volume down low so all he could hear was a soft hum. He wondered if she was up yet and got out of his chair to go look through the little peep hole next to the window meant for ventilation. He looked at his electronic wrist watch and noticed that he had slept through the night; the sun was probably just rising outside. Oh, outside, how he missed it so much, he had been stuck patrolling the ‘dungeon’ for three months now. He cursed himself and he realized he had already used his day off for this month and started pining for the April breeze.  He was brought back to the present when he heard a soft groan from the lady inside. He focused his eyes on her and noticed she was finally coming back to her senses. He felt exceptionally bad for her and decided to break one of the small tiny rules; he took his flashlight and shined it through the window. At least she would have some light, if nothing else, he thought to himself.

The man continued watching her for a while but when he’s stomach gave a noticeable jerk he decided it was time to eat. He double checked the lock on the door and taped the flashlight at the window’s ledge. He glanced at her one last time and found that it pained him to see her so miserable. He wondered what someone so beautiful could have done to anger the boss, enough to get her time in the ‘dungeon’. But that was none of his business; he just had to keep guard and make sure the prisoner didn’t escape. Not that any prisoner had ever escaped. The ‘Dungeon’ was nearly 200 feet below ground level with state of the art oxygen supply and a completely natural look; no one could ever tell it was built to look the way it looked.  It was almost as if someone just made a hole in the ground, but in reality it was wired with so many different alarm systems and there were tiny vents blowing in oxygen. They could even control the moisture levels in the air, not to mention the temperature. He was sure there was a lot more he didn’t know about behind the mechanics of the ‘dungeon’ but he couldn’t be bothered to find out, not that anyone would tell him. He wasn’t at the top of the ladder; he was actually one of the bottom rungs. That didn’t bother him at all, as long as he was paid on time and got all the perks they promised him.

As he made his way to the mess, his thoughts made an unexpected leap to his past. He hadn’t thought about his life before working for the boss in a very long time. He was a simple security guard at the mall. He was fresh out of high school, not a cent to his name and living out of his mother’s basement; funny how he eventually landed up in a huge, state of the art, basement.  He remembered his first pay check and running home to give it to his mother who saved it in the ‘new home’ jar. He had never known affluence; his mother was an immigrant from Hungary and was very young when her parents were shot dead right in front of her. All she ever wanted was to move her son away from the unruly neighborhood that took her parents and then went on to take her husband as well. As he approached the mess, he wiped away a tear from his eye, it wouldn’t do well to be seen crying in front of the guys.

He nodded his head and smiled politely as he passed by some of the men closer to the boss, or as he liked to call them ‘suited monkeys’. He got his tray of eats and sat alone, he didn’t feel like wasting time talking to the guys, he wanted to get back to the woman to make sure nothing went wrong, but most of all to see if she was okay. He gulfed down his food, avoiding any kind of eye contact. Within three minutes he was done with everything on the tray. He grabbed his bottle of juice, wiped his face with a napkin and nodded his goodbyes to the guys. It was uncommon for someone to dine and dash, no one got offended if you didn’t sit with them, no one started a fight if you didn’t speak to them. Professional life was so much better than high school, and his job at the mall. He couldn’t believe it has only been 5 years since he had nothing. And now, he has his own house, in a neighborhood his mother approves of, she lives with him and doesn’t have to work anymore. Of course she wishes he would be home more often, but he tells her that soon enough he will be home all the time.

He finally gets back to his post and peeks through to see that she is now fully alert, part of him cheers victoriously that she is awake and the other part is worried about the part that is cheering! He reprimands himself for spending so much time looking at her and scuttles over to settle down in his relaxing chair. He tunes his radio to his favourite station and thanks the boss that the ‘dungeon’ walls are sound proof. He listens to the calming music and realizes he’s left the flashlight on. He glances over and decides to leave it there till night fall, it’s the least he can do for the angel face trapped in the ‘dungeon’.

Captured and Bound

      Her eyes flutter open and she slowly regains consciousness. She lifts her head and her eyes immediately follow the single ray of light that falls into the room, she looks towards the window and realizes she is underground. Her thoughts are sluggish and she feels sick, her first instinct is to get up and run, but as she tries to move she finds that she is bound to her seat. There are chains on her feet and her hands are tied to the arms of the chair, she pushes herself forward to find even her waist is locked down to the chair by a tight leather cloth. The stress she applies to get out of the chair is too much for her and she has to stop lest she becomes unconscious once again. She takes a long deep breath only to find that the air makes her lungs burn and she coughs up a combination of blood and bile. She feels like screaming, kicking and crying but she knows she must remain calm.

      She decides she has to take in her surrounds and try not to fight. She looks back at the window and watches the solitary ray of light quickly disappear. Suddenly the room is pitch black, a black that is blacker than black. It’s as if the air around her is opaque, not a single bit of the sunlight has been absorbed by the room. She closes her eyes and finds that the darkness she feels with them closed is more comfortable. She concentrates all her strength to her ears and listens hard. Somewhere in the room she hears a muted trickling of water, and even the scuttling of insects, which further confirms her thoughts of being underground. She focuses more on her ears but unfortunately that is all she can seem to make out. Once again her head becomes dizzy and she stops herself from overstraining. Now that her adrenaline has dimmed down she starts feeling pain in various places, her arms throb and she thinks her ankle may be twisted. Even though her back is pressed against the chair she feels a sharp sting across it. The pain makes it harder for her to think straight but she needs to keep her mind agile. Next she puts her nose to the test, the sharp stench of human feces enters her nose and she can only conclude that she has made a mess, considering the state she is in she doesn’t even feel disgusted with herself, in fact she is relieved that her body still works normally. Despite the smells of human waste she catches a whiff of mildew, and knows for certain there is water close by. Her tongue is dry and her mouth tastes vile due to the blood, if only there was a way she could get to the water. She knows by thinking of it her dehydration will only get worse. She thinks of a nice cool glass of cranberry juice to get her salivating, and as soon as she builds up the slightest amount of saliva she swallows, bringing a small amount of relief to her throat.

      The pain keeps building up and it reaches a point where she feels like she would rather die, but then she recalls her training. She brings up an image in her mind, a beautiful lush meadow. There is a stream running through the green grass and flowers scattered all around her. She just has to concentrate on this image and she will make it through. She knows there is no point in trying to escape, she has lost all her energy and must build it up before she can try anything. She forces her body to relax and concentrates on the serenity she has managed to conjure up in her head. She is lying on the grass as a butterfly comes and sits next to her. She walks to a tree and picks up a ripe apple lying at its base. As she pictures herself taking a huge chunk of the apple her mouth salivates once again, and she can almost taste the juicy red apple. She continues her mediation and slowly but surely the pain dulls down, she can feel herself rejuvenating. She keeps her eyes closed and slowly moves her fingers; she doesn’t want any sudden shocks of pain. Thanking her stars she finds all her fingers are intact and none have been broken or cut off, which she knows is common practice when it comes to torture. She imagines herself petting her little puppy back home which brings a slight smile to her cracked lips. That smile however has cost her, her lips start bleeding profusely and her mouth is once again filled with the taste of iron. She sticks out her tongue in hopes to capture any moisture that may be in the air, and she finds herself lucky when she retracts her tongue to find it isn’t dried up. Feeling hopeful, she slows down her breathing and tries to hold in as much oxygen in her lungs as she can. She must awaken all her brain cells if she wants to devise an escape plan.

      She stays in her little world for what may as well be an eternity; she thinks she has no concept of time. When it dawns on her, she has forgotten about the window, she glances over and notices the ray of light is back. But it couldn’t possibly be the sun, she would have seen moonlight if it was; unless of course it’s time for the new moon. She shakes her head, none of these thoughts matter right now. She sticks to the belief that a night has passed and decides she is going to keep count. One night, one long night has passed since she regained awareness. She stares at the window, trying to soak in all the light she can through her eyes. That little bit of light is all she has to hold on to right now, the only small wisp of hope that she will once again be able to bathe in the sunlight. 

A special journey

         It surprises me how a complete stranger can turn into someone you would trust your life with. Her heart starts racing as she throws her leg over the motorcycle and she holds on to his almost non-existent waist. He turns back and tells her to hold on tight. She moves in closer and takes a deep breath as he kicks them into motion. The wind blows in their face and they are off. As they make their way she starts thinking of the very first time she met him, she was so shy and slightly afraid. She didn’t know what to expect and had no idea that almost four years into the future she would be sitting with him on a motorcycle with the summer sun beating down on them. He periodically glances back at her to make sure she is okay, and every time he does so her heart feels warmer and she starts to smile. Despite her fears she feels safe around him and knowing that he cares makes her feel even safer. When their journey comes to an end her face falls to a frown and she wishes he didn’t have to leave, alas they must bid farewell till next time. He takes her in a warm embrace and she can smell his scent on his skin, she lingers there for a moment until she realizes she has to let go. She wants to hold onto him forever, he is the one who has been there for her through all that has gone wrong. He has helped pick up the pieces and made her smile through her tears.  Every time she has to say goodbye her stomach feels uneasy, she never wants him out of her sight lest something happens to him. He slowly rides away and she slumps back into her dull monotonous life, waiting for the next time he’ll bring some light into her life. 

Consumed

Events have transpired. Words have been said. Looks have been given. Hearts have been broken.

It seems that with every passing moment, you cannot keep track of what is happening. Like the world is conspiring against you and you can’t seem to stop what the heavens wish to do to you. The only thing you can do is accept your fate and stand to a side silently awaiting your destiny. When you make a decision it seems like you are only making the wrong one. But do we make all the wrong choices so that one day we can make the right and appreciate it more. If only it worked that way, but I don’t think it does. One by one you push everyone away; you are like a parasite, feeding on others. Don’t you realize that one day they will not have anything left for you to feed off of? Slowly they all die off, leaving you alone, to gradually consume yourself. But you are limited to what they are, so there isn’t much left is there?

You look for an answer, but you can’t seem to find one, you ask for help, but no one seems to know what to do. The only thing left to do is to give up. And do you do.

You need to find support, something to hold on to. But there is nothing left, you’ve consumed it all. They don’t want you anymore.

It’s over.

You’re over.

Freedom

Freedom is being able to be who you are. It is when you can feel each atom in your body vibrating, and you can feel the oxygen hitting your brain. It’s being able to scream on the top of your lungs and not caring who hears you. It is a bird that soars through the heavens without a care in the world. Like the tumultuous ocean that wreaks havoc while maintaining it's duty as a safe haven. Freedom is having the right to control your life and live it the way you want. Freedom is not worrying about materialistic gain but spiritual gain. In our world freedom is scarce; most are slaves to their daily lives, while others are slaves to their fellow human beings. Some have freedom handed to them on a silver platter and refuse to take it. Others fight for their freedom, they fight till their death. But once you have freedom it pours over you like rain drops on your skin. You absorb it and you can feel it in every cell of your body. Freedom is not only a physical release from your shackles but a mental release from your limitations and inhibitions. You need to want it with all your being for it to be real. 

A Promise

Her head is buzzing and her body is tingling. She feels a pleasant warm sensation in the pit of her stomach, and she knows she’s hit her good state. She places her cup on the table and pulls one of her friends off the sofa to the designated dance floor. This intimate little party is exactly what she needed, some of her closest friends around her, good music and yummy snacks. She sways to the music and turns around to find a group of boys entering the room. She scrutinizes each one ad finally her eyes land on one particular boy. She stares at him, unaware that everyone can see she her eyes linger on him. She finds him attractive, but doesn’t feel like acting on it. Tonight she concentrates on the music, at least that’s what she tells herself then.

Still moving to the music, she walks into another room and takes out her goodies. She finds something missing and tried to make do without it. One by one a few people walk in to see what she’s up to, strangers she hasn’t met before. She greets each one with a polite smile and asks them to join her.  Then he walks in with exactly what she is looking for. Without thinking the first words she says to him are “I don’t even know you, but I think I love you.” They laugh it off, and think nothing of it. They all leave the room and the night progresses.

She stays with her friends and he stays with his. She moves her body on the dance floor and he sits comfortably on one of the sofas. Finally she takes a break and sits down a few seats from him, completely unaware of his presence, just enjoying herself. Suddenly a song starts playing, something her ears didn’t expect to hear tonight. Being in the state she was in with no inhibitions to stop her, she gets up and runs to the source, only to find it was him. Instantly a smile lights up her face and she tells him “I love this song!” And this is how their friendship begins.

One song after another they share their souls with each other, blissfully oblivious of the others around them. Laughing and talking, she doesn’t want him to leave and makes him promise that he won’t. The hours creep by them and slowly people say their goodbyes get in their cars and drive home to their irritated parents, but he stays, he sticks to his promise.  With each minute she feels more deeply for him, their connection grows stronger. It all seems like a fairy tale beginning to a new year and she is surprised she has such a strong grasp on the situation, any other day and she would have felt it was just a dream. But it all feels so real to her. Finally with dawn threatening to break they realize they must end their night, and with their first hug they depart. She breathes in the scent of his skin and wishes she could escape into the new year with him, but knows that she is being naïve even thinking so. As she watches him walk into his car, she knows that it may be the end of the night but it is merely the beginning of something incredible.