So it is a good morning. I've seen that my good mornings are heavily dependent on how good I want to make them. I don't mean that things are always under our control but just that it always helps to try.

Do you know that I love winters and everything that comes with the season? Running in cold winter mornings till your body warms you up, gathering in a blanket and reading with a cup of tea in my hand. I used to enjoy smoking too but I guess that my body has rejected it completely now. I start wheezing and my head begins to throb. Good riddance. It never brought kind of joy that ice-cream brings, anyway. 

Purging myself of men also seems to be going pretty well. Don't know if I could equate it to smoking but I can be sure now that the kind of understandings I had been in were not healthy. They left me empty. So at least until I find someone who is willing to make an effort in the right direction, I should take a break. 

It has taken me a few hours of procrastination to get here and write. Don't know why I'm not actively looking for part-time work anymore, even though that was the plan for today. I'm sinking into this limbo. No work brings about strange thoughts to my mind though. I'm hoping they move in and out of my body of their own accord. I think it could be the same way that tree with scary branches holds Harry, Hermione and Ron in the first book? You let the tree do what it has to do while you stay put and soon enough you'll pass through it. I'm not vouching for inaction but maybe not panicking for no apparent reason will help. Plus I think getting rid of boys from life for a while is a good idea. I need a clean slate. 

I'm also thinking it will help to rant here often. Maybe a daily diary entry of sorts. I'm not even going to try and filter it or make it fancy because I'm certain that not too many people are here. And that has always been such a comforting thought. This also means I can go uncensored and unedited and that's just fucking brilliant!

I've started to go for a run in the morning, along with my crossfit classes, to this very green and very big park that is close to my place. I listen to a podcast on my way and run to Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Kanye West and Beyonce. Then I walk for a bit while listening to Ludovico Einuadi and Coldplay and the result is quite wonderful really. Since last year I am getting comfortable with solitude and I've come quite far. Things make much more sense and I write better. 

I have discovered three of my selves and am able to distinguish between them very clearly now.

1. DRUNK
Possibly the state I have come to fear the most, since it draws so much out of me. To put it better, I think drinking exhausts me emotionally. To live in this state of such sheer vulnerability, with absolute abandon of restrain speaks of its own short life.

2. COOL, ALMOST COLD
Now I don't know for sure where the cool began but it must have been one of the drunk gatherings when I must have said something with certain shamelessness that earned me this title. Truth is that cool is a tough card to play when it does not come to you naturally. As an adult who has read, seen and known enough of the world, I am expected to show that I am not amused by anything. When I am like this for days, I border on the cold, heartless and unfeeling, till someone points out the same and I burst into tears.

3. ZEN
This is my ideal self and I have begun to pine for it more often than not. I am steadily walking towards it, although some days it feels further away that I wished it were. This is also the only time when I embody the unabashedness of my drunk state, only that I am calm all that while. In this moment i also bring in the coolness of  my second state without being pretentious.
The prime attraction of this state is clear thought and my ability to word it. It is also the best feeling I have ever felt.

I don't know where this fear comes from but I don't want to be loved a little less because of my words. Why is there this constant need to be liked, appreciated and agreed with?
Yet, as soon as that happens it turns to dust. None of it matters anymore.

Some days I think my mood swings will be the end of me, I don't know what goes off and then comes back on again every few hours. I was telling Tiddi about the same which helps because I think we both suffer from the same condition. Perhaps she is more honest in admitting it than I am.
She says it is because we worry more when we have more time on our hands. But even then this is not true at all times. I remember some breakdowns vividly from last year when I was busy with work and still found cracks in time to delve into and weep. 

I will admit though, that in all this search for love, to some extent it isn't so much about being with someone as it is about trying to prove to myself that I can make someone stay, which is insincere. That is why, late at night in this pool of tears, there is also a fair amount of relief that floats to the top, which is sincere. And the balance is restored.

I did not anticipate that dating could get so emotionally wrecking. Or maybe it is that I am easily broken. I'm growing really really weary of all of this. After the abrupt break off with Reddy, I deleted my account for my own sake. This I did after drawing to the conclusion that I am inept to date the modern way. People move briskly from one person to the next without so much as a thought and this is all too fast for me. It is not like I'm asking for any promises of the future but some stability maybe? Most men do want to remain friends however. I can't see how that can work. Everyone wants to be on everyone else's loop. Like I should be allowed to text you on the nights I am lonely. Or at least have the option of doing so. Is it just me or is this really fucked up? We all want intimacy but cannot bring ourselves to commit to anything.

Suddenly dying alone seems like a better alternative. At least I'll have my peace.

Chapter 0

The problem is where do I start? Do I set off with narrating one of the highlights of my life to get you to think well of me or do I lay it out in the open right at the beginning? Do I reveal something personal in this very first exchange and fabricate a kind of intimacy with you? I'm not sure.

I've always taken my time to warm up to people. While most writers will worry if their readers will believe in their narrative, I doubt if I will believe you to be a faithful reader. Did you actively suspend your judgement to hear my story? Did your mind keep flitting away into the arms of an enthusiastic lover? Were you thinking about today's lunch? How do I know I have complete attention? See, that's why I keep hesitating in opening up.

The thing is I don't set out to tell a story story, you know what I mean? I know all writers keep talking about a skeleton you need to have at the onset. Otherwise both the speaker and the audience end up gaping at each other like fools. But see, I tell the best stories when I free myself of the baggage of having a particular style. My best friends tell me I utter the most profound truths when I'm no longer in control of what comes out of my mouth. I lose myself so heavily in the act of communicating something right from the heart - something so raw, powerful, and with a necessary conclusiveness about it that my audience sits back with amazement and goes home thinking someone revealed something essential about their lives.

But I can't do that now, precisely because I revealed that technique (or lack thereof) to you. I showed you my most vulnerable self and so now you will most certainly use this against me, if I actively get down to business. That's why I will have my doubts about you and you'll not get to hear my story today. 

Walked past a cat run over by a car and realised
What's more sad than seeing something dead
Is seeing something dying
And while each day most of us live
Others die trying

A habit can be made out of anything, don't you think? Tara walks this part of the park in circles and soon these circles are a part of her. Since she sees the same things over and over she finds too many faults but makes too few stops to change things because she doesn't want to spoil her pace.  Plus breaks don't look good on anyone, she's told.  You need to walk with powerful strides that reek of intent.  Sometimes when she does that people stop and stare in awe. Most of these times she does it just for the reaction. In truth, she'd rather be like the child who runs around plucking flowers and chasing butterflies but then everyone would think she's bonkers. 
  
All this while Tara does keep thinking and thinking however. Thinking of how she got here. Thinking of what she might find if she breaks out of here. Once in a while a thought trips her and she falls down.  But then gets back up to complete her circle because everyone's looking. And she always feels like everyone's looking. 

On Writing

The longer in the day I wait to write, the dirtier my paper gets. Thoughts seem to pour from everywhere as soon as I'm up and threaten to spill out. I can be my most unbridled early in the morning, with fresh thoughts pouring out of me like a magical fountain. There are colors too, though you'll only be able to see them in the nighttime, when you're exhausted from your day.

I find coherence as I write. I allow myself to spit out the senseless first and try not to judge myself as I go. (All of us need to learn to not be too hard on ourselves) Later on, when I run my eyes over what I had previously written, the meek voice inside of me swells up, now suddenly awake upon running into a treasure or two. That's how I find my voice for the the day. 

The stuff that transpires between two people, keeping social beliefs and perceptions locked away safely in a box, is the only real kind of communication there is.

But no one teaches their child to trust more.

That's why you and I  have grown up with feelings riddled with doubts.

Which is also why you and I need to try harder to love without conditions.

Hello there, person from Mountain View, California! I have been speaking to the walls of this blog for the past year (I don't expect too many people to be interested in it anyway) but you're one of those kind few who always reads my writing soon after I publish it.

I just want to say hi, thank you and that this means a lot to me. :)

It's a mistake to think that it is not possible for them to touch another the way they touch you. The curves and crevices of your body might be yours and yours alone but sometimes they only need close their eyes to feel another the same way they felt you. 

But take heart, for there are those who, even knowing this, choose not to.

Somewhere, caught between
Changing trains
And pressed between
Sweaty, eager men
And watching the woman in front of me
Buffing her nails
In great meditation,
I close my eyes
And think of penning a poem
That would free me of you

I was a mooh fatt (loudmouth) when I was young. I would tell everyone everything. When long trains of perplexing words rumbled their way into my ears and screeched to a halt in my mouth, I gargled and spat them out quickly, clearing both my throat and my conscience. This, of course, infuriated my parents and I would often be punished for taking off mine and a few others' figurative underwear each time I became with someone. In my defense, I was only speaking the truth, albeit with some embellishments. But no one seemed to want it and I was often made to shut up.

Growing up, I have realised the little or no good it has done for me. Being apologetic about my sense of self-righteousness, giving another person the benefit of doubt and hoping this disguised goodness would pay me back in the future has been a thorough misjudgment on my part.

So I'd like to back to being a mooh fatt, thanksverymuch!

Finding Words

Jaan envies her daughter because she runs with her tiny feet towards the things she loves without inhibition. She screams at the top of her lungs if she wants something (and mostly gets it). And she’s also not afraid to call out on mean aunts.


Jaan wishes to be as brave as her daughter. At least on paper. But she is often crippled by the fear of being misinterpreted, for most adults misinterpret. She has been told she has a tendency to stray far from the point and manages to take no one with her. Often thrown in the deep end of her own jumbled words, she comes up for big gulps of air, flustered and tearful.

But for now, her daughter, curled in her lap, is sucking and biting on Jaan’s arm, jolting her into the present. So she can seek repose in the fact that at least love doesn’t necessarily need words

When I was a kid, I wanted to own a pet no one thought was cute. Ugly even. Or maybe one with three legs. I wanted to bring it home and love it, more so because I was sure no one else would.

It's a vile thought now. To think that I was doing it only to stroke my ego. So pathetic.

I think that sometimes it translates into my choice of men.

Mumbling #24

I think of the number of hours I pick to spend doing something and the same hours someone else takes to do the things they love and how they are different from each other but then not so much. Although the two of us are choosing to understand life in our own ways, our compelling purpose is the same.  We want to achieve what we think is the best way to live life. We're all learning so many different things but then we're also learning the same thing. And now and then when we're putting a finger on that same thing while swirling drinks in our glasses during conversations or when we're just sitting together, around a bonfire on a star-studded night, we're coming closer to understanding life.