Author: nouveaupetite

A Bookish Writer.

Rant 05: Petrichor 

I walked through a rain today, dear reader. 

Why do people feel the need to validate your every action anyway? Aren’t we already phasing out the era of community and “evolving” into becoming individualistic society anyway? What are you really scared about? The cold? The splash? Or the true freedom in letting yourself go? [The side glances of people for walking in the rain is unbearable, somehow.]

While living in this world, almost everyone is in debt to the eyes of the beholder. Your beauty is measured by the perceived reflections of the one looking at you. You responsibility/ hard work is recognized by those around you. Your values are determined by the things that you do and you accomplish. After all, everything is governed by external validation you acquire from the rest.

That’s why even if you adore the smell of a fresh rain in June, it is unlikely for you to walk through the rain. Chasing the validation of others for every inch of a stride is exhausting in reality. But then, where else would you find a joy of skipping a drizzle from one step to another?!

In any case, your worth [your true worth] shan’t be find underneath the will of your observant. Whatever you’re worth for, you find it within the walks of the rain. Within the walks of life in freedom. And life is a journey for more than that. Let go. Breath. And enjoy the petrichor while you’re at it.

Rants of the Absurdist

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Notes from the Floor.

It’s yet another quiet day, she thought for herself. She barely made a sound for the past three days. She’s scribing endless notes to relieve of herself the chaos of her head. Her notebook starts with this…

‘If choices are what makes us human, alive, and well, what about the choices we weren’t in charge of? Like being born or the family you’re born into, the childhood we were force to endure, the many things we are not in charge of. The whole lot of things we wouldn’t know to get the hold of. How on earth are we going to explain those?!’

She pondered into the abyss of the light. ‘When did the days become so long?!’ She thought for herself. She has been hoarding the floor for more than few days now. She went on with her scribblings…

‘Breakdowns are not diseases. No one knows how to explain a breakdown. It’s rather easy to tell people you have a headache. Contemplating your life decisions while sitting on the floor can’t be called a sickness by any standard. How much you need to ground yourself to what’s real or not, what matters most or not at all, that cannot be defined as something any normal person would like to do. ‘

It’s easier for most to conclude it as a choice. But is it always?!

‘Today is a bad day. Because I kept seeing the flashbacks of all the traumas, bad days, and moments I had when I was just 11 years old. And the flashbacks of my hospital days where a schizophrenic patient freaked the shit out of me while sleeping. And the most painful sessions I had when I was there. I feel weak exactly like those days. I felt the death in me thriving, growing, overcoming me like no tomorrow exists. While sitting on the floor, I am contemplating, reteaching myself that there’s a different tomorrow. I am a different person now. None of the flashbacks are my reality. I have come a long way only to feel that weak again. And yes, on days like these, I hate the fact that I am way too lonely. I am a coward. And I don’t even know how to talk about it. My mom’s face changed while looking at it. And she was unconscious for the next 20 days or something. I remember calling the doctors around. They shoved me out of the room, then. And I had to walk home in the middle of the night because I didn’t know how to get home from the hospital with taxi. My mom made me promise not to tell anyone that she was sick. So I walked home crying the whole way. I thought she died this time. And there was no one I could call or tell. ‘

‘Of all the days, she doesn’t know why she is remembering this today. She kept seeing the flashbacks all day long. And she kept feeling like that little girl with no one around. The fear she felt that day is crippling her in a same way today. As if it was happening now. She feels crippled, overwhelmed, and cold. And it’s ridiculous because she should be over it by now. ‘

She didn’t want to write anymore. She just added an anecdote that says…

‘If you don’t know what to do, run! Run away from the pain. Hide from the light. Because the light exposes while the dark covers and hides the sores of yesterday. No one knows what a breakdown looks like, anyway. It varies from one another. And madness is merely a choice. It haunts and devours in the most possible wrong times. Life is a victim that can never run away from it. So, yes. Stop shaming people for choosing madness over health or whatever.’

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The Madness: Turmoil & Tremors

‘‘Order in Chaos!!’, they say. What does that even mean? The oxymoron!’ she sighed visibly.  The October cold shan’t hide any whisks of sighs these days. Or she’e full of a cold wisp that stifles the cold droplets a little better. It is true all she feels is coldness that cannot lift off both metaphorically and physically. At any time of the day, she finds herself shivering with innate coldness of existence. She was blaming it on the winter for couple of months. But now that it is summer, she cannot really hide beneath the cold season for whatsoever reason.

All of a sudden, she feels conscious of her surrounding.  She reminded herself her name, her profession, the date and the time. Her lucid moments happen once every 2 or 3 hours. For the other part of the day, she is wildly awake with no feeling. It, perhaps, sound like a feeling of bliss. But, believe it or not, numbness is not a feeling you desire to be blessed with. It gives an extra layer of trouble even for mere existence. Specially when mere existence is almost equivalent to dying perpetually.

She paused again to look around herself. She is sitting on the cold floor with no lights or stimuli that would add more to her headache. ‘Am I to assume this is going to get any better?’ She wrote another sentence down. Her sense of existence keeps moving far far away these days as she’s experiencing her madness in the maddening situations for anyone normal let alone a crazy sick person as herself. She was never the one to give in to the exterior shades of life. But these days, it’s rather difficult to subside her own turmoils before settling down the external tremors & tornados. She looked around again only to realize even dark is not truly or fully dark. Her room seems to find spectacles of light rays from somewhere. She’s rather untethered as it’s grounding her to some sort of reality.

Again, she flew within The October Catharsis. ‘If there was a word to define life itself, it would be chaos. And many attempt and fail to create order within it. Isn’t it more adventurous to travel through the chaos rather than maintain it?!’ She paused again. ‘The only fight I need is to battle through the numbness I am entirely succumb in.’ She said this out loud not with her ink. She recluse into her notebook before she attracts another being from the living room. Oh she despises the look of pity and resentment in moments like this. ‘‘It’s better to burn than to disappear.’ Said Albert Camus. Perhaps, he was right all along. It’s definitely better to burn through whatever life throws at you than being buried under the weight of numbness and left for despair that doesn’t life off no matter how you try. After all, what is life if not feeling the gush of emotions once in a while.’ She again wake herself into reality for that sounded immature.

‘It’s, now, the madness era. Officially. I should build my forte behind my words if I have any chance of surviving it, perhaps I have a better chance with my words than drowning all the people around me, ‘she wrote this as an outro. She signed the piece with pain, tear, and a shade of invisible blood as she wrote it like an ode for her mere existence. 

The Madness Shall go on…

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Paradox

Walking in the graveyard,
Looking for the undead,
Is the living dread,
If not for the walking dead.
In hate, agony, and death,
The living unlock the truth
Of love, wonder, and life.
Whatever brings the strife,
Is matched and brought to the light.

In life, we fail and win.
In death, we thrive and lose,
In a mere attempt, we survive
The whatever mystery we are bestowed
To unlock and reset.
Life, huh?!
It indeed is a paradox!

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Rant 04: Overshadow


If anyone were to talk about their struggles of the past, everyone would acclaim them the title of a hero. Since they are talking about the deeds of yesterday, everyone shall welcome them with the brace of winners if not a leader to be followed. If one were to talk about the misery of the now, the depth of the agony they are facing, everyone retreats to the edges. The NOW poses a challenge more than a past does. We are, yet, mortified of wounds than scars.

But then again, it is rather easy to talk about things in the past[even for yourself]. It is truly difficult to admit the reality of what is happening than what has happened. Standing in the now, there’s the wavering stance of whether this shall be over or not. Would we ever succumb the idea of life to remain as it is, or should we just give upon the idea of living itself?! The NOW stands for conundrum. It calls out for a decision. It summons all the strength we have in ourselves. Better yet, the NOW damns us to our own future.

If we were to cry about our past, though, the unanimous mantra of ‘The PAST is already in the PAST’ would follow. And we know it to be true. Even if it is dictating the NOW, no one has the stance to blame it. Or to challenge it.

The PAST, the NOW, it’s all us, anyway. It is the fabric that tightens around every bit of ourselves to make us who we are. Whatever that means.

In a mere self awareness, people try to bury their now in their past. Or their past in the now. Whichever one works!

Rants of the Absurdist

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Rant 03: The Taste of the Real World

‘The tale must go on,’ she whispered. But the party returned their face to listen. Her whisper had a power to order, apparently. People barely listened to her when she talked. But they heard quite well when she whispered.

‘It’s rather a happy one. It is not like the ones you hate.’ She took a moment for herself.  ‘How does the world taste? The real one?’ She posed hoping someone would interfere. The room went quiet. ‘It’s bitter, I must say. If there was anyway a person can taste the world, it would be through reality. Teasing it. Tempting it. Or putting an end to it. In any way, it’s unbecoming. The taste I mean. It wrecks the build of your entity for it falters whatever resilience you build to maintain your end.’

‘I thought this was supposed to be a happy tale,’ she heard a whisper.

‘What makes a story a happy one? The beginning or the end?’ She looked in the direction of the whisper. No one peeped.

‘Tempting a reality is perhaps a valiant action,’ she went on. ‘to the point where reality takes over and haunt us back. Losing yourself, your temper, your patience over the hauling existence but not something that can be captivated is perhaps a conundrum one has to suffer from. In life, losing a thing or two, that truly means dear to you is a lesson. And of course a taste of the real world. The first time I lost something of my own, I felt…well words fail, don’t they?! If it was a taste I must describe, I would say it was bitter. And I thought it would kill me. I thought that was a taste of poison. But poison is not always dreary, is it? I didn’t suck out of the poison, nonetheless. Not late, nor early. I sunk into it to have the real taste of it.’

‘Why would one whine and threaten?
For a life that thoroughly thorn?
One must not cry nor pity
The loving existence of one’s folly.
One rather must endure the taste,
To forlorn the worst,
To accept the best.’

‘For the worst of a taste, we see the eye of reality. Perhaps, a god of all. For the bane of our existence, we might even find something sweet. The thing they call love.’ And she walked away for she cannot see the face of her subjects. The subjects of her story, that it.

Rants of the Absurdist

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Rant 02: The Bipolar Tales

‘It’s rather weary to find oneself in a constant state of self-loathing. Dreary, I must say. ‘ She can hear herself blitzing through the conversations. She cannot let the others ask her a question. Or take a notice of what she is saying. This must happen fast. Conversations must end quickly. The things she does to keep herself sane.

It’s yet the second week since she has been dealing with her depression episode. Up until then she has been one jolly manic for long. Maybe, for so long she forgot how her highs are doomed to get lower. Perhaps lower she had ever seen before. And yet, here she is amidst the random chaos where she’s supposed to act like a commoner. She scolded herself for being so harsh, but she cannot help herself except to think how the conversations are so simple more than she would like them to be.

It’s the matter of pain that keeps her awake. Her pain is the constant companion. Her guardian angel that keeps her alive time and time again. In the joyous manic days, pain fools her by hiding itself. But she knows it always assume the place of a overshadowing cloud at the edge. Yet, she is happy. She feels capable of changing the world. Herself. Everything. All of a sudden her wonders change her into becoming a wonder woman. She chuckled for herself. ‘What is so funny?’, said her company in mere curiosity of her unbecoming laughter. ‘It’s just the wonders of life…in my head.’ He grinned quietly out of propriety not kindness nor understanding.

Manic is the her secret power to prowess. All the gratitude she gets for her attempt of existence. She sure seems happy. Smiling all the time. Doing things rather quickly. It is her unattended self that keeps going. But then, there goes the doom of existence. The guilt of breathing the same air like the ton. The eerie of living. And the past few weeks, her two polaroids of moods have been so mixed up. If anyone had noticed, she has been glitching like a system that has failed.

She pinched herself to bring herself back to the now. The now looks damned.

‘What’s it about myself I hate so much? Isn’t it okay to be less of a human from time to time? Why is it so odd to be cared for? How can you be overwhelmed for being given an attention? How can you be tantalized even traumatized by a thought of someone being in your life? Isn’t this the unwritten rule of society?’

‘Does it really matter to be part of a society? Is it really a matter of life and death to do these things? One day I can be there. The next I can’t be sure. The next I am not even sure if I am willing to see the sun. Somedays, the brightness of my days, my life is okay. But the other my horizon cannot go beyond the rims of my blanket. How must one exist when there is a constant dread in oneself? ‘

She excused herself before she said all the nonsense in her head. She nudged herself to take a respite from the noise, the people and perhaps herself. Would she ever take a break from herself though?

Rants of the Absurdist

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Rant 01: I would rather die!


‘I would rather die!’ , she said, squealing. She is muffling her smile while keeping herself together. Lately, everything has become tiring she is giving less and less care about her perception, life and whatever she used to uphold beyond herself. And when her long gone friend comes to her and asks if she can pretend to be normal for a minute, all she can say, all she can say was ‘I would rather die!’.

Good thing we live in the era of sarcasm.

Pain is no longer a dully noted reality for her. It is a companion of hers to be kept all the time. What is it to be alive? If she dare asks herself for a moment, she will just concede to the idea of living in a full of piercing pain. For every breath she sighs, there is a pain she feels. For every glance she receives, there is a dark shade she gives away. And for every pain she feels, there is a guilt of feeling it. Wouldn’t it be easy if her pain was just hers? Why does she need her pain to be accepted within the rest? Why is a physical pain justified, whereas a mental one is not?

If she were to say that she’s suffering from cancer, everyone would sympathize. If she got a broken leg, everyone is running up and down to make sure she’s getting what she needs. What is it about depression everyone hates? What about it? Is it not a sickness? Why does it have to be a visible scar that everyone must see? Why is it so complicated that it should be, anyway?

If she wrote this hiding it in a story or a poem, everybody would love it. It’s just harsh to hear the truth as it is, isn’t it? But then again, who cares?!

Rants of the Absurdist

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Anti-Harmony

If I were to say whatever comes to mind,
Unfiltered,unfettered, and uncensored,
Would I be relieved of the duty
Of existing in subtlety?
Or would I have become trapped,
In the senseless loop of being judged & rejected?
What is wrong with being weird?
Unbound by the wild rave of the world?
What is the return if you do your worst?
But again, who cares about that?
Why broil over it?
When you can nonconform
To the laws of the uniform?
Live when you can.
Attempt when it’s hard.
Whatever, however, it is,
Deliberately fail to conform.

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What Shall a Woman Do?

Looking at the title, if you presume this piece is a feminist rant, let me relieve you of the stress. It is not. It is just to show the writer is a woman. Now the air has cleared out, let’s explore what a woman shall do in this life just like any other confused bunch.

They say the distance from one head to heart is the farthest. It is probably why emotions and logic never take part in a same journey. How unthinkable?! How unforgivable, even? If life is all about the patterns to fall apart during pain and recover after the punches, it would be boring. Wouldn’t it?

Do you suppose a person becomes more of a human after suffering through a remarkable pain? Or is it just a mere coincidence that people who have been through a lot creates and become more in life? Even for those who have been through a lot, is it possible for them to see beyond the traps of their yesterday and live in the present? Is it really formidable for a woman to find a man in pain much more attractive than the rest? [If I may speak my mind freely]

Is it also a thing if people with less pain assume that they understand the pain of the worst? Let’s trace back a little and wonder if any individual human being is capable of understanding the fair share of another. Forgive me if I am sequestering you with a lot of wonders and what ifs? But is it really possible for a person to put the hypothetical shoes of the next person? Even better, is it possible [fathomable] to understand the pain of the other in a land of hypothesis? If such understanding is hard to grasp, how then should one live to see another day?

I am usually baffled by the rules of society. How can you be so unaware of a life that breaks, hurts, and entraps? How do you manage to see another day while surrounded by too much of misunderstanding, disrespect, and envy of what you could’ve been? What you should have become? The kind of being you were supposed to be? [whatever that means].

What shall a woman do for being taken less of her opinions? Her choices? Her life decisions and more so her distinct values in life? Is she ever going to find a friend? Will she ever be the one to rise from the ashes of the burning pain? Will she ever find a way from her head to her heart? If so, will life brace her to become more than of herself? Much better of what she will ever be? Or is she doomed to give away her hopes to the rues & dooms of life? 

Good thing life is not just full of pain. It is also filled with jest and denial. Until this woman finds a way to sustain the undeniable aches of pain, she would rather confide in the whelms of the jest. Perhaps, the better days will follow the whimsy of her jest to make her life a little easier. Or maybe not. Rant is over for now. 

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Integrity is a Rarity!

In a world of distrust and too much of cruelty, it is rather hard to find a sensible human amongst the ton. The ton of narcissists, egotists, and simpletons to be more exact. If there were more unsettling ways of dismantling the realm of human existence, I am sure the sensible portion of the ton would have figured it out by now. 

How can one live with integrity when all are entangled within the web of lies, disloyalty, and sea of unflattering whimsy. If life is all about the non-sensical bits of living for the pursuit of money rather than wisdom, hate & power rather than respect and responsibility, it’s time for all of us to start wondering what we are doing and becoming. 

True, life engraved in pain and scrutiny embellish few or more people to live appropriately. But pain is the edge of a coin to either convert you into a bitter person or a gentle one. Whichever one pain molds you into is usually a choice of your own. The edges of the coin are really a symbol of a unique perspective pain helps you to behold. Or perhaps gives you a choice for you to make.

Yet, how can one choose the life of integrity whether one experiences pain or not? The question of the matter is merely how one become a sensible human. It is a quest of what one would like to become. A person of character, value, and principles. Life is not a puzzle of the fancy of these words we usually confide in to sound sage. These are rather the invisible columns that helps stand a society. 

The human society is quite under the churn of progress. It is always and forever will be through that churn. Even with the increased fondness we all are having for individualism, it might be possible for introverts become leaders of the world. But, who would want that anyway? Not even the introverts themselves, for that matter. 

One might wonder, ‘What makes a work done a well done?’ For most, productivity is measured by the amount of things you do. The things you can cross of your to do list for the day. But after a very long day, sometimes all you can be left with is a work done. Not a job well done. That’s why most agree the world is made for hustlers, not hard workers.

Be all as it may, life is not full of a good wonder all the time. It is probable that it might be the exact the opposite. Surely, integrity won’t hurt anyone, though. Becoming a person of honor despite what life throws at you is much more admirable. One is fully aware that life is not for these people. Success or fame won’t follow them. But life prevails within them. And one can only hope this is worth to live for at the end of the day. Integrity might be a rare jewel to be looked at and admired, yet not to be worn. A wish of a good luck will not hurt anyone, though.

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Pain, Always & Forever

In the field of battle/game,
All deem to be a king/queen.
In the field of life,
Where death duels life in all wretchedness,
Love obliges/bid everyone to be the king,
The unyielding king reigns the kingdom.
The never-ending ruler,
The endless king
Deems to be felt,
Earns to rule it all,
In the field of battle,
Neither love nor life,
Hate nor death,
Wisdom nor anger,
Call whichever god & goddess
Pain is the ruler of them all!
It demands to be felt.
It deems to be rectified.


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Instead

Don’t let in the world,
Don’t let it win.
Instead, invade it with your own.
Within the vast universe,
Infiltrate your own existence,
After all, aren’t you part of it?
Don’t let the world get the best of you,
Try to get the best of the world,
Let the cities crumble, instead.
The grounds fold.
Don’t become the rubble of your fiend,
Instead,
Die in the beyond. Live in the rebuild.
After all,
Everything is the same, but different.
All things have changed, but alike.


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The Witty Paradox

I laugh when my life throbs.
I smile when my days throw themselves.
Underneath the layer of my whimsy.
I draw back to pain and misery.
For all the unfiltered rage I got taken by,
I laugh with a full menace,
To keep the tiny lights bright.
Yet, I’m teaching my heart to be kinder.
For all the vile inside,
I’m forcing myself to be gentle.
To go easy on myself,
With all the harsh reality
I’m surrounded with,
I laugh and enjoy the witty
Paradox, that’s my life.

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Over

It’s over now.
All of it.
The mantra. The cheap talk. The rave.
It’s all over now.
The world is a different place.
Life is in a different realm now.
Between the daydreaming
And losing sleep,
My fickled mind is losing a grip.
Yet, I have grown to get used to it.
To the loss of it.
To the  idea of living it.
Or dreaming of trying to leave it all.
It’s all in between.
In the attempt of loving, living, & breathing,
In the conquest of dying before truly dying.

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