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. /\\//\ 

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.

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. 

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.

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.

What do you do?

What do you do on days you just want to jump out of your skin? Days when nothing goes right, but nothing goes particularly wrong either and you're just stuck in the middle.
The mediocrity is what gets to me.
This idea of "surviving."
I can't do it.
I can't even write about it.
It just makes me feel sick.

Scavenger hunt.

What value does the body have when the mind is so easily seduced?

A kind word, an interesting comment.

An intellectual discussion in a dimly lit room with sweaty bodies around you.

At times the mind is so disorientated that it is seduced with a simple smile.

And the body is ravished. 

Now the soul, 

When the soul is found. 

It isn't that difficult to find. 

Usually handed over on a silver platter. 

Laid out for consumption.

They take a piece.

Don't like the taste. 

And then leave. 

Leaving it incomplete. 

It grows back.

But so much time elapses. 

And it never grows back completely. 

It comes to a point where the body is handed over.

The mind is left limp.

The soul hidden away. 

There is no forever. 

No yours. 

Just a simple transaction. 

You win, they win. 

But do you really win?

Does winning comprise of endless, sleepless nights. 

A butchering of your soul which has been left incomplete?

The doubt morphs into a loathing. 

A loathing that turns into a passion. 

A passion that is ingrained in your very being. 

It runs through your veins.

They all want you to be rid of the toxins. 

But you grow addicted to them. 

So many forms of reform.

None of them seem to be effective. 

You walk around in a daze.

Pretending.

Hoping they won't notice.

Self punishment becomes a norm. 

You slowly move away from the other solution you have. 

But it lingers. 

It always will. 

You're not a very attractive human being.

Yet you find they are always attracted to you.

Just enough to be intrigued.

Never enough to say. 

Some say that people aren't meant to stay. 

That it is imperative you accept that people always leave.

That sharing is not losing a piece of yourself.

Bitterness needs to be eradicated. 

Snap out of it. 

After so many years how do you snap out of anything. 

Snap. 

And it's gone. 

If only all solutions were that simple. 

Seduce my mind and you can have my body, 

Find my soul and I'm yours forever. 

-Anonymous

I've lost my soul. Let's go on a scavenger hunt. 

New Project.

I started out this blog with the idea of writing pieces that revolved around "She."
I wrote a few, I think about 15, and slowly my ideas starting growing thin and my writing, bland.
This was about two years ago, January 2012.
After I stopped with "She." I started writing arbitrary pieces in both prose and poetry. I tried to write a short story, I tried my hand at poetry that could be performed as spoken word. And then I started writing about personal experiences.
I feel like one of the best pieces I wrote was about an anxiety attack I had.
I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and depression two years ago. And I have been feeling these things for almost 9.
But whenever I wrote about these feelings I always felt juvenile. Like I was whining about something and everyone just found me annoying. At times, I still feel that way.
However, I have decided that I am going to start writing about some of my own experiences.
I haven't decided if the pieces will be completely auto-biographical or semi-auto-biographical, but there will be elements from my life.
I want to use my emotions to strengthen my skills.
Creative writing has always been something I have been drawn to. If I want to pursue it and apply for courses for further studies, I believe I need to work a lot.
So, my new project.
I hope it goes well.
A lot of the writing will be emotional, but I will try to bring in some humour and light-hearted fun.

Tomorrow, it begins.
Peace. 

Anxiety Attack. December '13.

I left my sister with four of her friends, two boys and three girls all together. 15 and 16 years old. They were on the right side of the stage in the front. The opening act hadn't even started yet.
I went with my friends to check out the bar and the food stalls. After five minutes I ran back to tell her I would be back in fifteen and to stay where she is.
My friends and I looked around, got some drinks and went back to where I left her. The opening act had started and people had started forming a huge crowd.
I looked around and couldn't find her.
Panic overwhelmed me.
I burst into tears. I was sobbing like I had never sobbed before in my life. The only thing I could relate it to is the part in The Iliad when Achilles sobs after finding out that Patroclus is dead. I couldn't control myself. My friends were worried. I finished my drink, threw my glass down and pushed my way through the crowd.
There were so many humans, pushing against each other. Jumping up and down. I couldn't see her anywhere.
I came back out of the crowd. I went looking. I was in a daze, tears kept pouring down my contorted face. People stared and looked at me funny.
I took out my phone and tried calling her multiple times. There was no service. I called her friend's number, no luck. I kept sending texts hoping one would go through. All this while walking around crying and screaming out.
I ran into a friend, literally ran into him and he had to hold me up. I was crying so much, in a state of panic and anxiety. All I wanted was to find her. They all said it would be okay and that she would be fine but I didn't care, I couldn't deal with them so I asked them to leave me alone.
I went into the crowd four more times, I shoved, I screamed, I elbowed everyone out of my way. Could not find them. The tears would not stop. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see properly.
I had one aim, to make sure my sister was okay.
So many thoughts running through my mind, I thought of all the things that could have happened to her. I knew she was safe but I needed her in front of my eyes. I would have killed myself if anything had happened to her. She is my life. I started hitting myself for being so stupid, for not taking better care of her.
I walked around, looking for her face among the crowd. Catching eyes of strangers who could see the pain on my face.
There were moments I felt I would fall, but I couldn't, I had to keep looking.
Finally a text went through, but she wasn't picking up my calls. I told her to meet me by the bathrooms and waited there.
My friends came back to me. I felt guilty that I was ruining their night. I tried to calm down but I couldn't.
I was worried for her so much.
And yes, she was my responsibility as was one of her friends, but that wasn't what was bothering me. I needed to make sure she was okay, that she wasn't harmed in any way. I needed to be there to protect her and I wasn't. I let her down. I was miserable. It was horrible. Nothing else mattered.
We waited and waited. I was slowly giving up. I couldn't keep myself standing.
My legs gave way and I sat on the ground with hundreds of people around me. I prayed.
I am not a religious person. I am agnostic and feel that unless you can prove to me that there is a God I can't believe. But last night I prayed. I prayed that she was okay. I prayed that she would come back to me. I prayed that everything would be okay.
I sat on the ground and prayed. Faith is all I had in the end. I gave up. I had no hope. I knew going back in the crowd would have been futile. I know the phones weren't working. There was nothing else to do but wait. So I prayed. After last night I feel confused, for so long I believed there was no God. And then God helped me in my time of need. In the darkest moment of my entire life it was my faith that helped me.
A few minutes later my friend got through to my sister on the phone. I was able to hear her voice and I knew she was okay.
A new wave of tears. Relief. But I still needed her to be with me. In front of my eyes.
She finally found us there. At first I yelled at her. I was more angry at myself. But then I just held her and cried. I cried and I cried and I cried. I cried so much that I fell back on the ground and cried some more.
The rest of the night I didn't let her out of my sight. Wherever she went I followed her. I held her hand every time we moved. I shielded her from the crowds and shoved away any one who got to close.
My sister is my life.
Losing her for even that amount of time was the scariest thing I have ever been through.
I love her so much that it scares me. If I ever lost her, I would not have a life, I wouldn't be able to live.
Some may say it was unreasonable and an over the top reaction, that she was with her friends and would have been safe.
My sister is everything to me. She is literally the only reason I am alive.
She is the one I think of every time I think that life isn't worth it. Every time I think about ending it all, she is the one who stops me and tells me to keep going.
Imagine losing the only thing that keeps you alive. And what you would do to find it and get it back.
I am so shaken by this entire experience. I am crying while writing this. I assume that people would normally look back and laugh at such a situation.
But I, I will always remember the pain and fear and desperation I felt. The tremors of this earthquake will never stop. Everyone says, it's all right now, you found her and she was not harmed. Everyone says to just be careful next time and to stop thinking about it.
I cannot. Everything may be all right now, but at that point it wasn't, it feels like that point has been burned into my brain. I keep thinking about all the things that could have gone wrong, the darkest timeline.
Last night, that one and half hour, was the darkest time of my whole existence. I have felt terrible before, I have been in a dark place where there is no hope. But last night was worse than all that. It was like someone had ripped my soul out of my body and was burning me alive.
I don't think I will ever be able to shake that memory out of my mind, or be able to turn it into something that isn't so horrible.
I prayed for my sister to be born, I wanted her to be brought into this world. I need her to always be okay, I need her to always be safe. She is everything to me.
I love her so much. 

Shame. Vulnerability. Guilt. Empathy. Compassion. Connections. Life.

So a few hours ago, I came across these ted-talks by a woman named Brene Brown. I have the habit of watching emotional videos, crying a lot and then not being able to fall asleep.

Tonight was one such night.
After shutting down my laptop, I realized I hadn't been able to shut down my brain.

I lay in bed, thinking, what am I ashamed of, and the answers came rushing to my mind. I started to think about how vulnerable I am, and how I feel about it. Tears rushing down my face, snot dripping out of my nose and antibiotics coursing through my blood, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I received a phone call from the guy I have been seeing and all these thoughts, along with some of my ever present thoughts on life, death, suicide and depression seemed to be circling my puny little head and the conversation started heating up. Now this is a boy who loves cars and women, he cannot even think of the idea of being vulnerable. Here I am, the most vulnerable creature I know, standing stark naked waiting for someone to join me and dance with me. Through the years I have found companions who seem to be the right fit, but later prove to be illusions, either they have deluded me or I have deluded myself. Because of these recurring failures in the sphere of relationships, not only romantic but simple friendships as well, I decided that it is better for me to be alone. Adding to this idea was my extreme sense of shame. I am ashamed of many things I have done and that have been done to me. There are certain times I can stop it from showing but slowly I start exposing myself, I open the book and usually when I do they shut it back up. No one wants to read such an unhappy story. People want rainbows, butterflies, hope and unicorns. I offer them dark and dingy alleyways with homeless men sleeping in their own pee.

I don't know the point of this post. I don't know the point of many posts that I write. But here it is.

I write this, knowing that I have to wake up in bout 4.5 hours, get ready for college and write a freaking assignment in class which I am sure to not do well on.

Life.

I wrote a sonnet, titled "What's up?"

You came into my life like rain falling,
You drenched me to the bone and asked, "What's up?"
I walked to the light and heard you calling.
I looked straight at your eyes with doubt, "A cup."
With the sweet nectar you poured me a drink.
You get to your feet and, "Would you like a dance?"
We sat across the bar, I boldly wink.
I said, "Yes, not wanting to miss the chance.
After a few verses, I sat back down.
Your faces became the sun, your red eyes roared.
But then on your face was plastered a frown.
I lost my wits, and then outside it poured.
Your drizzle turned into a hurricane.
My heart, my body both drowning in pain. 

Mandatory reading.

Why is it that I am unable to express my feelings as clearly as other people seem to be able to? I find these posts all scattered around the internet and when I read them I always think "Wow, that is exactly what I feel like! Why can't I put words together to say the same thing?"
After which I fall into a swamp of unhappiness, self pity and disappointment.
When I do have these strokes of brilliance, or what I think are strokes of brilliance, they always seem pale in comparison. Like I am stealing sentences and using the synonyms option on word to change the words so it sounds different.

What did the person who formed the first sentence feel like?

I wish I could feel that way.

Some words.

So we are going to study the poetry of John Donne this semester. And I was just thinking the other day, because sometimes my brain takes long holidays and I stop thinking. And these words seemed to form some sentences. I don't know.

Drink the nectar.
Sweet, sour, tangy, spicy.
Allow each drop to slip down your throat.
Give your tongue the pleasure of enjoying each flavor.
Savor the richness.
Feel the tingly sensation on your lips.
An ambrosia that will never satisfy.
A liquid that will create a burning desire.
Drink the nectar.


It's been a long time. I should start writing again. 

Stories.

   We are all just stories. Stories that are happy, stories that are sad. Stories that are so dull you fall asleep, and stories that keep you at the edge of your seat. Stories that keep you up at night and stories that take you to your dreams.  Stories that make you love, and stories that make you hate. You learn from some stories and others are for pure comic relief. Some stories you can share, and others you keep to yourself. Some stories end before they begin, and some stories start and are fated to remain incomplete. With time your story grows, there are plot twists, you see your characters develop, some come and some go. You have the antagonist and protagonist of your story within yourself. You have the trusty side-kicks and the monsters underneath your bed. There are some stories you forget and some stories that are so vivid you never can get it out of your head, your imagination soars with the words that string the tale together. Other stories you recollect, bit by bit, each detail recovered with time. Then there are the stories you wish you could forget, those stories that haunt your every waking moment. The stories that scar you and that make you wish you had never been born. The potential a story has, a story that you know would be great but is cut short because some force out there just doesn't want you to have that happy ending. There are the stories from your past and the stories yet to be lived. Those are the ones you need to watch out for. You never know if you'll have a happily ever after, or something else. But right now you have a to be continued. You have the opportunity to change your story with the next installment. Look back at the old ones, but don't get caught up, look forward to the new ones but don't be too enchanted. Your story is happening right now. This is your story. Your story. 

Whose voice is this?

There are times when I read my writing and I wonder if this is actually my voice? I read it and I don't hear myself but another person. I read it and I imagine myself saying the things I have written out loud and it all sounds so alien and strange. While I write everything sounds natural, and yet when I look back at it, even now, milliseconds after writing, it does not sound right.
Why?
Why.

Whose voice is it?

Those Thoughts.

You have all these thoughts swimming in your brain. You try to make sense of them but the instant you try and hold on they wriggle away and you are forced to chase them. These abstracts thoughts that make you pull your hair out, that make you smile when no one can see you, that bring tears to your eyes. Those thoughts that won't go away no matter how much you think about them. Those thoughts that you put to paper and don't look the same, they look superficial and faker than a plastic Barbie doll. Those thoughts that make you, those thoughts that break you. The thought you can't share and the thoughts you blurt out in the middle of the night when your sister is already half asleep. And you wonder, are you the only one with those thoughts? Are you the only one who has acted on those thoughts? You start to wonder if those thoughts are real and when they get translated into emotions you wonder if the emotions are real. You file the thoughts in separate areas of your brain and pick them up when you're alone, in the dark wishing the storm would pass. Those thoughts that haunt you even when you're outside and the sun shines on your skin like honey.
Those thoughts. Those thoughts. Those thoughts. 

Rumble grumble

With all that is going on I haven't gotten much time to sit and write. And this saddens me. I feel like I should allocate a certain amount of time each day to writing and see if I am able to come up with anything substantial.
So strange to not be free all the time like I was earlier this year. Such a contrast it is. From having the whole day to do nothing, to being up on my feet from 5:30 am till 6:30 pm.
I don't know how I feel about it yet.

Anyway, peace out.

Lions.

We got on board the bus waiting at the designated "Big Cats" pick up area. My sister and I ran up to the front of the bus, as eager as a bunch of kinder-gardeners gearing up for a field trip. I looked at the petting zoo and saw the ducks waddling about and the deer minding their own business, lazing in the shade. A few more people got on and the bus driver closed the latch on the door. He started the bus and I could hear a faint echo of a familiar Bollywood tune. Excitement coursing through my veins, I wished the bus would move faster, honestly a snail would have beaten us in a race.

As we approached the "Big Cats" enclosures my senses heightened, it took all my will not to just jump out of the window. I ran off and went to the man who would accompany us into the enclosure. He smiled at my family and waited for the European company who was visiting the Lions along with us. We entered the first gate and instantly I could sense the electricity buzzing on the fence in front of me. We grabbed large sticks which we were told to keep between ourselves and the lions at all times. I dropped my bag to the ground and legs trembling walked through the next gate.

My sister and I were first, we walked in a group to face the lion and then broke off and went behind him. With our sticks in one hand and knees on the ground we were told to touch him. Our friend was Ginger, a two year old lion who just started going through puberty. I hesitantly went to pet him like I would our dog at home. My first thoughts were "Oh my god, oh my god, I am petting a lion." And after that initial shock and amazement I looked at him carefully. He was just chilling, that is the only word appropriate. Chilling. And I looked at his face and he honestly looked so peaceful and serene. He didn't seem to mind that two random humans were petting his rather coarse coat of fur.

After everyone else had their interaction with Ginger we walked over to one of the white lions. White, not albino, Mulatsi is apparently very sensitive about that. We were last to approach the sleeping cat. And once again my legs turned to jelly and it took me a second to regain the same confidence I eventually had while next to Ginger. After sitting with Mulatsi for half a minute I realized he is just another one of God's peaceful creatures. It is man who has created this terrible image for such animals. Men have taken over their lands and when they lash out at us we call them monsters. Which I find quite unfair and hypocritical, we're the monsters  who lock these majestic beings in cages. We are the monsters who hunt them and kill their children.

In the end I was in awe, the lions I met were not vicious creatures to be met with fear. Instead peaceful creatures of the earth just minding their own business who should be approached with love and respect. Honestly, it was an experience I will never forget, not even when I am old and senile.