Tag: life

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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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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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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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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Posthumous Living

For a life that’s posthumously lived,
I don’t brood and ponder
Of what I must have
What I could’ve become
What I really am or whatnot.
For life has shipped off
To somewhere far, far away
I crave & flail throughout my day.

Perhaps that’s the thing about death.
It embraces you with perspectives,
A frame of reference you could’ve missed
You could’ve misconstrued.
Rekindling life with death deprives you
Of the misfits of the common man,
The opinions of the ton,
The lifetime shenanigans of ‘their’ plan
To your life and needs.

Within the realm of the living,
Death braces you with a concept beyond,
A life that beholds.

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Fate

If you smell a smoke passing me by,
It’s because my body is burning like a rye,
It’s the ashes that graze you,
It’s the weak, burnt down bones,
You hear clacking.
For all I know,
My body is revolting life,
Surviving the daily shenanigans,
The throws and rebukes,
While my heart is all swelled,
Dared, panicked, and drained.

If you hear a growling sound,
Or a creepy humming,
Or a yearn of exhaustion,
It’s, perhaps, my buzzing brain,
My absent mind,
And my thoughts, unbridled.

Don’t take notice of my acts,
Nor my voice,
It’s the sum of uncluttered bits and pieces.
Do I wonder to live?
Do I ponder about life?
Is life passing me by
While contemplating?
Or am I in a haze of living,
While I’m continually, inevitably dying?

Live not, while dying.
Die not, while living.
It’s not in the stars.
It’s rather in the attempts fate resides.


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The Shenanigans of Healing

Through patience and pain, we learn to surrender to life.

I would say many are surviving the days with all the power they could master. Most are in a mere existence mode. So much so, that many would relate and empathize with the sentence I have marked. Pain is the new normal, perhaps. Or maybe there is no normal anymore. The equivalent of hunting and gathering is, perhaps, surviving and existing. 

Nevertheless, it is not all foolish to wonder if there is a horizon beyond the insurmountable pain most experience. Pain powered by patience is a powerful tool to push anyone to the edge of healing. And that specific moment to open the wound marks the fight for healing whilst escalating the pain.

What if there is no healing? I, sometimes, wonder. If there was no such a state called healing, it might be easier to wallow in the pain forever and ever. But then, what if there is? It’s all ifs and wonders after all, isn’t it?

Despite all the ponders, I would like to think that healing could be a journey. In a mere romanticization of pain and suffering, one might succumb to the idea of living in constant pain. But that can be a bit of an extreme. Nor that I am saying all should believe in joy and elation. It is, yet, a mere fact that all need a balance in life. Perhaps, that balance is defined as healing.

These days, more often than not, I feel that constant pain in my bones. It is not a physical pain per se. It is a pain of crossing the boundary of living in constant pain to the paths of healing. My body feels the trauma shatter in every piece of myself. O the trouble of finding the neutral version of yourself while feeling the pain to cease your own death! 

In all truth, I believe healing is a constant journey. I do not think it is a state you achieve at some point. It is rather unresolved shenanigans of life itself.  Well, it is life after all!

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Haste & Hesitation


In hesitation, I merely choose.
I falter and fall apart.
I let my thoughts rule.
My mind, overtaken.
My body to be absent,
My soul to be strained.
All is bad in hesitation.
Doubt and dread flourish.

Yet,

In haste, I embelish the good with bad.
I forget that I exist.
I snare at brief moments of life.
O in haste, I conquest.
I take over it all.
If no time is there to think, overthink, and fret,
I triumph it all.
I beat my overthoughts.
I reign over my doubts and frets.

If I were to choose between haste and hesitation,
I would rather hesitate not to be in haste.
Or shall I just decide with no thought?
Would that relieve me of the doubt?

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Doubt and Desire

Within the rage of dignified fire
And the realms of subdued & broken existence,
I live. I love. I thrive. And I dive. I recluse.
To the other side of the cruise.

Under the rule of doubt,
I’m in fright.
A constant state of disquiet.
Unrulied force of disconcert.
In a bright of a light,
I knuckle under the rot
Of my very own existence.

In the middle of the night,
I, perhaps, would resit.
The power to life
Even a mere existence.
Yet, in the wake of the morning,
I believe. I dare to desire.
I stopped to tire
My unbeaten fervour.

Within doubt, I exist,
Under the rule of desire,
I tremble and flail.
Within the whole of it all,
I keep on.

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To Be a Human…


What are we, really?
When the light fades,
The sun fails to the darkness,
When the sound resides,
When the crowd recedes,
What do we suppose we are,
Really?

Whenever asked to define ourselves,
What we are made of,
Other than the atoms and molecules
We feel brewing inside of us,
Other than the perpetual need for sleep or food,
How are we supposed to define the being we carry?
The entity we are presuming to possess?
What do we think we really are?

In a perfect world,
(Whatever perfect means),
In the absence of blemishes and woes,
If not for the painful existence we must endure,
Or power through,
What would have become of us?

If we were to live in a world of no triggers,
Or a series of stimuli to disrupt us,
Would we have become more
Or less of our intended selves?

What is it to be a human?
To be the being you’re supposed to be?
To suffice a mold, you are supposed to fit?
To knot the unseen pieces into one?
To fit the broken scruples in unity?
Where are we when we exist?
What caricatures do we assume in the dark?
What edges do we have in a full bright light?
What do we see within our portraits?
What do we perceive of ourselves when alone?
The bitterness we savor,
The sweet agony we linger on,
The weakness we dread,
The strength we bury,
What are we, really?
What are we supposed to be?

What is it to live?
What is it to die?
Love, hate, cry, laugh?
What is it to burn?
What is it to soar?
What is it to fall?

If it weren’t for the facades we live by,
The presumed self we pride ourselves on,
Would we have become more or less of a human?

If it wasn’t for the temples,
We built for ourselves,
Where we revere our thoughts,
Where we govern the universe,
And worship ourselves,
What would have become of us?

If we don’t parade ourselves
With the cheer of existence,
The gloat of success (one or too many),
The mischief of living,
Would that be a path to becoming a human?

Yet,

If we are not humans,
What are we, then?
The automated machines we seek to become?
No emotion.
No imperfection.
No taint or flaw.
Perfect, polished, and proud.
What a shame to seek the unknown,
When we can explore the given?

Whatever we are made of,
Wherever we exist,
However, we pertain to life,
If we are to be humans,
There must be a way to become,
A path to trace,
A life to embody,
Or a being to hold on to.
An imperfect folly,
A wavering statue,
A battled soldier,
And a slave to the truth.

Because we are human.
If not all the time,
At least in some.

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In the Now.

Living in the now,
Letting it be.
Just be.
Not more.
Not less.

In the premise of the now,
The standards of today,
I don’t peek into tomorrow.
Gripping my reality.
Catching my own life,
Before it drifts away.
Holding to my breath,
Before it burns off.

For not all things mean more,
Not everything has depth,
An ulterior meaning than it holds.
For life is something that happens
Within the turn of events
The tornadoes of the changes,
Within the realms of simplicity,
Despite the raves of the complexities.
And yet, it persists.
Life endures the past, the now, and even more.

It’s sometimes better
To just be, other than not to.
It’s perhaps far better,
To exist, other than not to.

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