Listening Walls and Foreign Lands

I leaned back, rested my head against the brick wall and shut out the world. I had once read that if you go to really old places, that have been abandoned but were once habited, and if you lean close and really put your ears against the walls, you can hear the past. You can hear the nosies, the cackles of laughter and stream of joy that once made this house a home. That means, that the walls can literally absorb sound and store it within them. Now, I don’t know how true this is, but I truly find this so magical, beyond any reasonable understanding, I want to believe this.

I want to believe that when we were children and we were running away from siblings and fighting and crying and laughing  and snoring and living; I want to believe that these are not forever lost. Growing up happens so fast, that when I look back, I want it all stacked in neat CD’s, ready for me to play whenever I feel nostalgic. I want to believe that when I turned 13 and had my friends come over, that every single conversation from that day has been absorbed and stored.

I want to remember and simultaneously forget that god awful day when I was 15 and was told that I was pretty and for the teenager that I was, I believed it and was on call with my best friend for 4 hours that night; that the walls heard me saying everything that night. I want the walls to remember and remind me that exactly a year later, at 16, I cried endlessly because for some reason, I had stopped being the object of “pretty” for him and that broke me; for a while there.

I want the walls to remind me that at 17, when I received my first acceptance letter to University, I couldn’t wait to step out of the four walls of my house that were somehow closing in and making me feel like a prisoner in my own home. I couldn’t wait to be out of the chains that I had cuffed myself with and to see the world beyond with all of the lies and fables that were fed to me One Tree Hill and Gossip Girl.

And at 20, whenever I go back home, I want the walls to enclose me, embrace me and remind me that this is never going to be the same again. That I will never be back here again; never for ever. I will come here, stay for a few days, neatly make my bed and never return for good. I am a guest to my parents and a stranger in my hometown. I am no more here and I am neither there. For all my prayers of never returning back again, I really won’t.

Too foreign for home and too Foreign for homeland.

I want these walls to bare witness to me and my growing years. I want them to be a constant reminder of myself through the years, ages, eons. I never want to forget all the laughter that came from the depths of my chest and I never want to forget every idiot over whom I shed my tears and I want to always be reminded the good and the bad; safely stored in the walls.


Onwards and Forwards: Part 2

Growing up or Growing Old? Or just growing apart?

These are probably most descriptive of everything that we ever go through in the years that follow. We understand that growing up isn’t measured in age and birthdays, but is measured in circumstances, events and encounters. We learn to embrace the growing old is beautifully tragic- or beautiful and tragic. You understand why your parents never really tell you their age and you laugh when your age is asked. Its strange, stranger even to realize that ‘What goes around, comes around’.

You grow apart, from inanimate and very animate objects. You learn to leave some people behind despite the fact that they didn’t actually do anything wrong; almost like shedding skin. You carry some people onwards regardless of all the bullshit that they have put you through, like grey hair and dried flowers. You are now dripping with love and loss, hope and opaque screens and doors that never open and books that we never look back at, and colours that we never really reach out for anymore.

You realize that you have built gardens in others. You have planted careful seeds and watered your plants and you are waiting for the flowers to bloom but the goddamn weed just never stops. And sometimes, you leave your gardens there; within others. You leave your seeds waiting to bloom and your watered plants never to be watered again only to understand that gardens need to be grown within not without. To understand that flowers grow inside of your body and never in any one else; yes you can hand your flowers to someone once they have bloomed inside you but up until then, they are Yours.

Build your own gardens and take care of yourself before you start chasing the next big thing, Stop losing sight of the little and the minuscule because that is all there is. The big flashing lights and the neon signs and the dollar bills; they will all fade and so will you; from body to manure, from person to mud and all you will ever regret is not paying attention.

To love and To have Lost: Part 1

Ageing is weird. Its funny and strange and as the years go by, its gets funnier and stranger and rather unseemly as to how we react to the most normal and predictable process known to mankind in the most unusual and unwelcome change in all of us.

We spend the first half of our lives pining and hoping to understand the secrets of the mystical and magical world of adults where whispers and secrets are the only language known and the mysteries that take place behind closed doors and in hush-hushes is by far the only shot of adrenaline that we will ever need. We spend pining over a life that not only do we not know and aren’t ready for but also for a life that is so unpromising and so anti-climatic.

You lose the one’s you love, with no warning signs and no disclaimers. You lose them over small arguments and large door slamming, fleeing the countries and saying Goodbyes in every way but the uttering of those exact words.

You understand yourself better, in so many more ways that you could have ever imagined and don’t get me wrong, this IS NOT necessarily a good things. You understand that underneath all the layers that you keep so well polished and so well kept, you are dark and accepting that darkness is probably most of the second half.

You love more and less. You love less because you know what it is to have lost, and you love more because in the blink of an eye you have gone from 12-20 and you have understood that if if all of  life’s moments are going to be a blink’s worth, we might as well make it count. We might as well create a few “oops” moments in our lives.

The latter part of life well and truly begins at loss and might I add, it also mostly ends in loss. And let me remind you and emphasize it it as much as I really can with words projecting from a screen; you will grieve the loss of people who are alive. You will understand what it is to have been walked over and have been left to your devices to understand what happened. The blur of the moment is sometimes all it is; it is a blur; a foggy screen and a comma rather than a full stop. You will lose in so many more ways than one, a precious earring, a gifted pen, a  few memories stolen from right under your nose and a few reminders that just don’t seem important enough- all Lost from the ground that you stand on.

You are constantly drowning and resurfacing. Drowning in the sea of memories that you never seem to get out of; sinking and never wanting to come back up (note: wanting). And resurfacing, the world above sea. To be making new memories while being lost in another world is a challenge in itself, I would say.


  • Part 1

A little after Midway; Already

January 17, 2018.

I am here today and if it were upto me, I would have never dared to see myself here ever. I am here and I am trying harder than ever. You know I realized that you are only as weak as you allow yourself to be but the same applies to hollowness which is often confused with strength. I am trying to gather up all of the strength that there is left inside of me. I am trying to conjure up that energy and understand that there once used to be angels and demons fighting inside of me and now there are demons fighting off of other demons and trying to pick between the bad or the worse. I am trying to tame them, but I could use some help, I could use the help that I never ask for and I could use the help that I am always offered but refuse to accept. You see I have this notion, this notion that i ma the fixer and the problem as well. I am the judge and the jury and the victim and the departed, but like I said, I am trying.

I am trying to understand that not everything is in my power and not everything necessarily requires an answer and I am trying to understand that some loose ends are prettier the way they are. I am trying to understand that the me that I used to be is no where close to the me that I am and the Me that I will become will look back at me and laugh at my naive, and unrealistic expectations of the world and its people and well at myself as well.

So I am trying, I am trying to breathe without having to plan out by next 6 steps of the day and I am trying to shut down this ever talking head of mine and I am trying to sleep without having to toss and turn too much.


what then?

Heavy breathed and teary eyed, I flipped through the pages of my notebooks and my journals and the pictures saved in my phone and the little tit bits that I had collected over the year.

So much had gone, so much had passed by me. I looked out, I looked away. The mist and the fog outside felt like it was the inside of my head. I was confused, bedazzled and so so lost. I looked to you and you looked to me, You nodded and you smiled. You whispered, “This is it. this is the fresh start that you were looking for, isnt this what you were waiting for?”

a silent tear slipped through my face and I looked up and said, “not like this, not so fast. you’re in a moment, in a spot and things seem crazy and they seem like its the end of the world and most times. these days and moments are fleeting and they pass and replacing these feelings are other minuscule worries of our days and I thought that I wanted this gone but I don’t. I look at my self and I am so little, I am so tiny and I am in one in a freaking billion and thats not the greatest thing to know you know. i am at the end of the day, just a number and there will come a day that i cease to exist but the number won’t change because somewhere somehow, a new miracle is taking birth and I am leaving and I am afraid that there will come another day where I do not live and you will stop having my face in your eyes and you will look around and not feel my presence and you will not feel my shadow lurking or my scent in the air and just like this year, we will wrap up old pictures and call them photographs, we will clean out drawers and replace them and we will buy new books and we will write new stories and someday we will stop writing them. what then? and our books will get buried and our photographs will get burnt and all we will leave behind is a few moments that they probably won’t even remember. what then?

A Letter

3 days down. 3 days of sitting here and typing and deleting and thinking and maybe too much thinking actually and just realizing that what I need for myself is not a date and not a general influence of everyone around me writing letters to themselves about their past year and what they hope to get out of the coming year but a just sense of a drive, that finally wills me to sit down and write for a while.

For starters, I am not looking for a second chance and I am not looking for a new beginning. I am not waiting for a clean slate to appear and I am not hoping for a new leaf.

I hope to begin this year as I begin all of my new years’ ; just like any other day. I want to begin without this man made notion of a new year and this absurd idea that everything has the capability to change because frankly that exists regardless of what day or month or year that we are in. We possess the power to flip the page and turn over a new leaf whenever we want to. Whenever the fire in our throats scratches and itches and burns and thats about all the push that we need. The Universe exists there in all of its beauty, looking down at all of our beauty and never really waits for a certain planet to finish its certain turn to push magic into our bodies; we hold this magic, we are always in possession of this magic that we so often overlook and leave- buried and untouched.

But I do hope, I really do that I can continue and even strengthen the relationships that I already possess. I hope that I look into the mirror everyday and see myself and I hope that thats enough; because lately it hasn’t been. I hope that I wake up and I find that I am doing everything that I love. I hope I find the love and compassion for something a little bit more.. I hope to find hope in the most hopeless of situations and I hope to find solace at the end of each day, to feel content with what Ive done, with what I am continually doing. I hope to realize that not all questions have answers and that not all problems come with ONLY ONE set of solutions. I hope I understand myself better and I hope to never let myself or my greatest supporters down. I hope to not worry too much or too little, Im in a constant battle with myself over that.

I hope I am more hopeful than I was this year and I am more at peace with myself.

And most of all, I hope to look back and understand why I did what I did and to just not have regrets. Or maybe have some regrets but ones where I knew I was making them before I even made them.

I hope to look back and see you all there, to see you reading this and realizing that you possess the power to do so much more without the weight of a year looming over you. So if its been a bad one these past 12 months, take your time, maybe even the whole of the next 12 months, and for you the who is in the quest of finding all of the answers to the universe, I hope you sleep with a smile on your face!

I am Mine.

She asked me why not now? She told me that this was it and this was the time and that if you had an opportunity right in front of you, you had to seize it. She was practically yelling in my face that good things only happened so many times in our lives and that this was probably the most good I had seen in a long, long while and while it was standing there, I should grab it, hold onto it.

But I looked across and I saw work. I saw that there was so much work to be done. And then I looked into the mirror, and I saw the potential of so  much, SO MUCH work that needed to go into making me the person that I wanted to be when I met Him. I wanted to have done so much and to have achieved so much. I saw more than just him. I looked at him and I saw that this wasn’t mine, not now. Now was my time to be me and grow and fall and go crashing from a cliff and to climb back up with mud and sweat all over my face and to tumble and fall and to have so much fun understanding and learning myself before I gave it all up to be someone’s “Ultimate”. This was my time to understand how life worked and to be tangled in messes, to feel unbelievably lost, to feel unmeasurably content and to find that the only happiness I need to get through in life is through myself.

So, I  looked at him. I looked at him and told myself, Maybe sometime, somewhere I will meet him and maybe timing will be our friend then. But now is his time to leave and go ahead and for once not be weighed by all that has held him back. I looked at him and saw what I thought he could be i the next 2 weeks, 4 months or 5 years. I saw that this could be somebody’s someone or he could be my everything but right now, I am my Someone, I am My Only One and he is his whatever he can fathom but I won’t do this to myself and to him. I will not be pressed or forced to be someone’s second best just because I was there and available.

All I want you to see is that this is when I let something good slip away knowing full well that this is mine and this is something that I will never forget.


I was your Home.

You made your home inside of me. You started slowly, placing brick by brick and fixing those bricks with cement and water. You came close, sometimes too close and sometimes; not close enough. You were there, enchanting and then you were gone. Your eyes would meet mine and for the rest of the night, I would search for my favourite pair. Then there were doors. There were tiny creaking doors and large doors with no handles and no locks. And suddenly you were everywhere. Your eyes were the only pair and your shoulder was the only one I wanted rubbing against mine. Your breath was synced with mine and your days were now ours. Your home had windows, windows that would open with no locks and windows that would stay open through the night. You’d walk in and grab by the hand and take me out for hours. We’d be by the sea one second and staring at the stars next. There was no limit to and there were no questions asked. Your home was chaotic and calm with a hint of lavender perfume in the air and a voice in my ears which always made my skin crawl and the hair on the back of my neck rise and that’s when I Knew that you should never build Homes in people because when you start slamming doors and shattering windows and painting the walls from red to blue and from blue to a pale grey, it Crumbles.

It crumbles beneath the sheer pain of abandonment and loss. It stands there on its bricks and mud trying to hold the life it contained within it, only to find that you can build Houses but sustain them with Life and only then can they become Homes.

I was Home and when you left, the doors broke off of their hinges and the ceiling crashed against the wall. There were shards of glasses everywhere. There were mirrors and frames and photographs and records and posters of your favourite 70’s rock band and that the last remnant of your most worn hoodie and your mother’s jewellery box which always had my ring. They were there but not anymore. They shattered under the agony of hearts falling apart and fates falling together and only then did I chant, “Never build homes in people, because they will burn and break and you will leave the four walls barely standing”.

You left a flight at risk without a fear of falling.

Hold it Close.

You stopped. You hadn’t stopped for a while, but you stopped today. You stopped on your way and didn’t take the turn home. You took your heavy load of books and bags and went straight ahead. You walked where you hardly did and you realized that you really weren’t paying attention, Life was getting too hectic and it was in the habit of doing so but life was also in the habit of placing the most beautiful, the most mundane right in front of you and leave it upto you to do more than just look.

Take the wrong turns. Stop for more than just a minute, stare for a while longer. See more than you look. Take less pictures and make more memories. Let life stump you beyond words and beyond comprehension. Let there be a little of orchestrated chaos in your life. Remember that you cannot always control how this weird, wonderful life will play out but know that this is your life and at the end of the day even though you cannot control what happens, you can change how you look at this and you can turn a frown upside down and you can always stop for a little while and live in the ordinary. Life is too short and too long on days like today and I just want you to know this is ours to take and ours to grab and it may not always be great but turn it around.

Throw away what you don’t like and alienate those who make you feel less than. Take some goddamn charge and take whats meant to be yours, what was always meant for you and hold it close.

I wonder.

Look at us. Look at the distance between us. This distance; I can stretch my arms and cannot reach you and that is the definition of distance; to not be able your bones against mine, to feel the shiver down your spine go down mine too.

Look at us. How did we get this far? How did we get here at all? I am standing here and you are standing there and in between us there is this huge wall of hurt and remorse and pain and resentment.

You used to like me at some point didn’t you? You used to like nudging shoulders and having me close and having our breaths in sync, the rhythmic rise and fall of our chests; the slight smiles always on our faces. You used to like me before.. right? There was something and I didn’t make it all up. But look at us now.

I want to hold you close and feel your ache as my own and to feel the words coming out of your mouth fall right into mine and to understand your pain as my own but you are too fucking far. You don’t want me to share your parts anymore. You don’t want me to breathe your air and to share your moments to and stumble and fall my way into your arms.

You refuse to take me as your own and you refuse to acknowledge Us. You refuse you to take a step forward and you refuse to let me hold on. You make it hard on purpose and you make it impossible to leave. You reel me in and push me away and you slap the door only to leave it unlocked. You look straight into my eyes only to break away the contact and you brush past my hands only to remind me what it was.

You seep into my skin only to settle down but never going deeper than skin. You used to make up my bones and every fibre of me.

Now you sit in my skin and keep me wondering.