Stop planning every goddamn second of you life!

“All those who claim to have set a goal and achieved it without any distractions in their path, always skip a good amount of chunks from their story. You have got to remember that”- Papa

One of the most enlightening car rides I’ve ever had was perhaps today when I was on my way to the airport with dad dropping me. He and I have had a strange relationship, to be honest. Maybe it’s the way stereotypical Indian families work, with moms being the emotional parent and dads being more of the “tough” ones. This set up is so wrong, I see that now. It’s also dysfunctional. The moment we are confined to a certain set of “gender” norms in accordance with our society, a part of that child is forcefully killed. Girls need to be a certain way, wear certain types of clothing, talk in a certain manner, posses a certain set of skills while boys have their own problems to deal with. It is perhaps because of this that I never really got a chance to open up to my own father. I wanted to, on several occasions, but I was always scared of letting him down.

Now why was that the case? Because I broke all the norms that tried to govern my lifestyle. I went “rogue” as a teenager. I had pre-marital sex, lots of it and loved it. I had multiple sexual partners, dated multiple boys and used more profanity in my day to day life than what a lot of people do over their life time. I wore and still wear revealing clothes, because goddamn Indian summers. I’ve even enjoyed alcohol and weed whenever I felt like it and I’m a 21 year old woman. To the upper middle class kids from my generation (People in their early and mid 20s), these things aren’t as shocking, but look around and ask yourselves, how many of these things can you talk to your parents about?

While I realize that after a point, parents do start letting go and aren’t as rigid anymore, but what we see growing up become our mental blocks. Papa admitted to not being able to pass on positivity to his kids because he was so caught up in trying to better himself. What he achieved at the age of 55 is what he wants me to get at 21. My dad’s pretty awesome and I’m fighting back tears as I think about it. He’s had a tough childhood, filled with so much hatred and negativity. He wasn’t a bad parent to me, but he did have temper issues and he did pass on anxiety to his son, his first child who absorbed it so I didn’t have to. Parents aren’t perfect, just like us. But they do try to work in our best interest. They try to make the best of what they perhaps had at the time and by the time they are actually ready to raise a kid reeking of positivity, the kid’s already in his/her 20s.

Something about dad shows me so much vulnerability. He told me that it’s completely okay to not be okay. I haven’t been okay for a bit now and that’s alright. Because like he said, you can’t foresee what will happen. Trading in creativity, spontaneity, and excitement for job security just isn’t the kind of life he’d want his kids to have. He did it, so his kids didn’t have to and that to me, is the biggest sacrifice a parent can make. So maybe it is time to stop worrying so much about grades and fighting this internal battle of self loathe. It’s time to just be happy, you know. Life’s so much more than a pay-check. I also understand the position of privilege I stand at, but there shouldn’t be guilt attached to it. Because that’s only going to bring you down.

The moment you believe you can do it, there’s a bloody good chance at real success. It is so very important to break through any kind of inhibitions that you have put on yourself since when you were a kid. That kid needs to be happier, and since that kid is still you (just in a bigger body), you can make her/him understand. It’s never too late. My dad’s a 55 year old child who just learnt to walk through life without feeling like he needs to know exactly where he’s stepping next. If he can do it, so can you. Never restrict your intellect to one stream or constrict your thinking. Mundane life just isn’t fun. And if you’re only getting one shot at life, why worry it away to death?

So promise yourself this: Never let anyone tell you that you aren’t enough, because you are. You are nobody’s, you are yours; You don’t owe anything to anyone, yes, not even that boy you’re so in love with or that girl who makes you feel so alive; Don’t wait for people to save you from yourself, it’s time you took some responsibility too; Don’t let past rule over you; Or people in your present bring you down; Don’t expect people to keep their word, majority won’t; Avoid everything negative, everything hypocritical; Have the courage to drop all that you know and start over; Keep going on; Stop setting one goal, there’s so much more to look forward to; Nobody makes it without failure, NOBODY; and most importantly, be proud, be arrogant and love yourself before you do anything else, you’re fucking precious!

 

Make love to me

Look deep into my eyes, cup my face.
Tell me why you hate yourself,
Tell me all of your fears.
Hold my hand, I’ll hold it back,
And trace your face with a kiss on your forehead.
I’ll hug you tight,
Tight enough to chase your demons away,
Far, far away.
Strip me of all my emotions,
And make love to me, one tear at a time.
Tell me your darkest desires, I’ll tell you mine,
Trust me darling,
We’ll find a plethora of paths intertwined.
Touch me, touch my body,
Every goddamn inch of it, until I can’t take it anymore,
Until you can’t take it anymore.
Make love to me,
Make it raw, and hard and ah! Blow my mind away.
Make love to me darling, make love to me.

xoxo

Melancholy of A Dried Rose Petal

As odd as the title may seem to you, I promise to make this a good read!

While scooping around for stuff in an old college bag, I found an odd item still surprisingly intact. It was one single ancient-looking rose petal, stripped off of all the romance that once kept it alive, akin to the story of us. If I hadn’t known better, this petal could’ve been passed on for perhaps a dried specimen from one of those herbariums I used to have. But alas, knowing better sometimes translates to knowing what causes you to feel that raw emotion of hurt. I’m a recovering romantic, there, I said it. I understand the absurdity of it but whatever little romance I had left in me got sucked right in so deep that I’d forgotten about its existence. I was involved with a really nice guy for almost a year and a half, since the very inception of my law school life but somewhere along the way, we forgot what had brought us together. Sweet talks became yelling matches, too loud, too irrational. There’s something about what a person says in anger that hurts more than it should. It’s quite interesting to note how Seneca, an ancient philosopher, once said that “people get angry because they are too hopeful”. This, perhaps, is true. He and I, we crossed all horizons of human rationality in an attempt to make “us” work which I believe is a problem a lot of people face. We get so used to being around an individual that the sheer thought of going on without them seems absurd. This also gives birth to the cycle of fight and resolve, fight and resolve.

He and I were like two sides of a coin that just happened to get stuck midway and by some miracle, also happened to turn around and face each other. Don’t get me wrong, he is an amazing guy, just not the right one. He is smart, rational but lacks the irrationality, the romanticism and poetry that love requires. The dried rose petal that now lies on my desk is a bittersweet token of our undefined love life together. I remember when he gave it to me and when I threw it away in anger, only to walk all the way back to fetch it.  I’ve had it for months now and until this day; the magnitude of impact something this silly could have on my emotions surprises me. The dried veins on this petal seem unfamiliar and the touch, no longer welcome. It just wants to be left alone, much like the story of us that I’d woven in my head.

I promised to make this a good read, and I hope I did. There isn’t a happy ending for there isn’t an ending yet; but I can tell you this much, if you are with someone merely because that’s the way it is, get out of it. It’ll hurt more than you signed up for, but it could also be the best gift you give yourself. As far as my mystery man is concerned, I’m still counting on being on amicable terms someday. But for now, I’m in a good place with myself. And for now, the pale brown petal thrives on this wishful thinking.