We live half in the daytime, and we, we live half at night. (8)

So. It has been a while. A longer while to go. The days are okay, kind of. For the most part. I've been busy. Finally getting into life sciences club work and volunteering. Midterms have been taking up my time too. It really starts to feel strange in the evening. Then there's the night, which is stranger. Quieter. And just not right. I changed your contact picture on my phone. I cropped myself out of this one photo and all. You look freaking adorable, you big baby. :D Gets me through the days. And above all, the nights.

Lost habits and dry wells.

We forget. We forget what we used to do and who we used to be. It happens. Change is inevitable. That does not necessarily mean that it is the end of the world. Yes, shocker hearing that from me.

But, well, I've learned; we've all learned that this is how it is and will be. People change, things change, we change.

And life goes on.

What sometimes deeply saddens me, though, is when I think about how change is so much based on what we have and don't have. How much we try depends on what we own and what we do not; that makes sense and that's really okay. But isn't it sad to just stop trying after success? Isn't that when you make greater efforts to forever treasure what you now have?

I mean, if you've sought after something for such a long time, fought for something very hard, tried all you could, then it must have been very valuable to you. Is it still? Yes? Well, then go shout it to the world. Do it before you find yourself singing songs of the worth of water into an empty well.

No balance whatsoever.

Walking out of my last exam and going bowling. Then returning home, having my cousin sleep over, packing and then leaving at dawn for a trip.
I needed a vacation. I really did.
And I got one.

An uninterrupted one. A completely, fully uninterrupted one. I should be happy about that.
No? No.

~ It's A Quarter After One, I'm All Alone, And I Need You Now. (8)

I'm fine. Fine. Right?

~ Call An Optimist, She's Turning Blue. (8)

The details are clear, vivid. Most of them, at least. The high was undeniable. The rush was insane. I haven't brought out the purple notebook in ages. Turns out I do not need that to remember the bits and pieces. The purple one was full of happy thoughts. Happy happenings. One week or so. The pages ran out at that point.


Then began the blue notebook. I had a naive, annoying name for it. It hadn't seemed so annoying then. So, yeah. The blue one. Beginning with the second week. The discomfort. The shoving of chairs - an action that had seemed gallant for a fleeting moment - then, with every passing thought, it all seemed more foreign, uncomfortable. But it was okay, right? A small price to pay?
No, it wasn't. The looks on the faces of those dear to me were new, taken aback, disheartened.

In my current flurry of thoughts, a particular memory keeps whirling around. The sad face of a friend I had known since I was five. A defeated face. I could tell. I wish I had at least apologized out loud for the trouble being caused because of me. But I didn't. Why? I'm not sure. A part of it was fear, the other may have been the lost habit of communicating with people the way I should have. I mouthed a timid "Sorry." And he smiled. No defeat in the smile. It was almost nonchalant. With a wave, he dismissed my apology, putting on a brave face. He assured me it was nothing and that it would be over in a matter of minutes. I smiled back, very slightly. I wish I had done more than that, but there was no way of knowing what terror might befall from a proper, full smile. And I was a pathetic girl. And a pathetic excuse of a friend. Which made sense, because I wasn't a friend. Not really.

 And there was that time under the retreating afternoon sun , when the call rang out for everyone to stand in prayer - me being shoved away and veiled and pulled back in, all the while the Arabic words beautiful in the background, waiting to be shown respect, but getting none. I wish I had done something. I had tried. I wish I had tried harder, even if it came to nails digging in with an intention to hurt. But I didn't do that. Of course I didn't.

A statue would be built in my memory, you said? Because someone as dishonorable as myself deserved a monument? Isn't that what you said, that statement accompanied by a few words beginning with S and W, poor synonyms of the word dishonorable? Yeah, that's what you said.

I think the blue notebook is with my mom now. Or maybe not anymore. I don't know. I don't ask.

~ You Just Refuse To Bend, So I Keep Bending Till I Break. (8)

You need to like who you are. That doesn't mean liking everything about yourself. But in the general sense, you need to like the person you are. We all love ourselves in one way or another. I know I love myself enough to run away from scary dogs on the streets or to stay away from the electric socket that always sparks up a little every time someone touches it. But that's not exactly the kind of self-love I'm talking about here.

It's important to do things for yourself and all. And if you're someone who is always feeling small, then you need to work on it. But if you're someone who only feels small when staying with a certain person or a certain group of people, then maybe you need to start questioning your choice of companions.
I have a friend. At several points in life, I have felt pushed around by her. And then eventually, I stopped getting sad about it and just went with the flow. I stopped getting too worked up about whether I was letting her down, and I no longer put myself on guilt trips. And we do just fine now.

But, sadly, you can't do that with everyone. You can't zone out parts of everyone. It just doesn't work that way. And when it doesn't, I guess you need to start thinking about zoning out the entire person. Completely. Out of your life. Not easy.
I mentioned this before, but I need to emphasize on how tired I am of finding extreme things everywhere. Nothing comfortably in the middle. Perhaps I'm discovering new things about myself now. I'm the kind of person for whom the little things make immeasurable difference. I'm the kind of person who listens to and remembers every little detail (and not JUST because of my creepily precise memory) about what someone likes or dislikes or has been craving for lately. I'm the kind of person who gets reminded of that individual when I come across something that he/she mentioned liking or wanting. I'm just kind of person who won't feel fully at rest till I have been able to give the thing to him/her, provided that it's within my ability. The thing could be anything, starting from one single cupcake from a confectionery to a loved book.
About two months ago, my student informed me that my favorite book was now available in town. I already own a copy of this (God bless some people who go the extra mile to give others what they really want), but I know of a certain friend of mine who'd have loved to have a hard copy. So, even though I was barely in regular contact with this friend, I became determined to get it from the bookstore and drop it off at her place the next morning, even if she would be asleep at that hour. But then shit happened. I was very disappointed and my enthusiasm faltered. I'd STILL like to give her the book someday, though.

I have no idea where I was going with all that blabber. I guess I'm just trying to say that I've always been a bit like this, but I never really noticed it with significance before. It's not that I don't like this side of me; I do. But it becomes a problem when it comes to people I cannot partially zone out. This whole . . listening and remembering thing becomes kind of an important expectation. And it bugs me a lot. It's probably not even fair, but it does.

I realize that this post is all over the place, and does not go in one particular direction or even make a point, really. But I'm glad I'm using my blog to spill thoughts again - raw and unfiltered.

Stellar.

It has been a while since I've written. Not just here, but anything at all. But here I go. Not because my writing spirit is back. But because I want to remember this. That's what this post is. Just a way for me to remember the day. 29th March, 2015.

The day started at 9:10 am.
First time in an arcade gaming zone, a childish way to begin the day - motorbike racing through the forests of Africa while monkeys threw freaking bananas to distract me,  shooting together at zombies on pirate ships, failing to pick up one of those stuffed puppets with the impossible claw, dancing off awkwardly to some annoying Kylie Minogue song.
Then randomly walking into a store selling household utensils and furniture, walking to the very back of the store and unthinkingly lying down next to each other on a bed from one of those model bedroom settings. Yeah, bucketlist thing.
Getting the tiniest breakfast because you want to save your appetite for later, buying tickets for the movie you really wanted to watch but thought you couldn't because it was a late show and then having to buy it anyway because the earlier movie was oh-so-conveniently unavailable so it was pretty obvious what you now had to do to save the day.
Spending half an hour on the rickshaw just talking about how it all happened exactly two years ago and being amazed at how it led to today.
And then going to the buffet place you always wanted to go to together and spending over three hours and a half, eating good food and talking and being weird and watching the final match of the cricket world cup and being able to be there at the winning moment when he is overjoyed by the win of a team he loves.
Traveling back to watch the movie, but stopping to get the best chocolate doughnuts on the way even though you're completely full.
Watching the movie and wishing the day wouldn't end.
And then being thankful that there was still one car ride left before the day ended.
And being all YOLO. Haha!
Finally, getting home and being proud of your PowerPoint skills since your geeky 'presentation' was a total tearjerker, in a good way. :D
And feeling so happy. So very happy.
Yeah.

------------------------------------

730 days.

Yes, some days are hard; some days are harder.

But even during the times when it's hard, it makes sense. It took me a while to understand this. It's when you'd rather have something that you care enough about to be insanely affected by it very easily, instead of having something which is just..okay, all the time.
Wouldn't you rather have something that's got enough of you to madly frustrate you and also make you feel like you've just been handed a slice of heaven? Wouldn't you want something that makes you feel everything?

Because I would. Something that can raise waves and tsunamis and volcanic eruptions; the absence of which makes every tick of the clock feel like blood pulsing behind a bruise, the presence of which feels like a million stars being born all at once.

~ And It's Your Song That Comforts Me. (8)

So, you've hit rock bottom, but things have started to feel a bit positive? Because you're remembering all the little things that make you insanely happy? That's good, right?

But it can get better. Like, you force yourself to stay awake to watch the last episode of Season-3 of Breaking Bad, only to end up not watching it because you minimized VLC media player and noticed a Skype message and you wondered who in your contact list would be writing to you at this hour and then you see it's Preacherman. Yes, Preacherman, After all these months. Preacherman.
Am I mad? Of course I'm mad. It's who I am. I get mad at him. I mumble and grumble and relentlessly complain. This is just how it is.
So, it's 3:14 am. And I'm sitting here typing paragraphs after paragraphs, updating him as he asks about everything and everyone we both know. THIS is inspiration. And motivation. I don't know how. But it is. And I'm still mad at him. Whateverr.

~ Been This Way Since Eighteen. (8)

So, this has been a pending post. I was supposed to put it up a week ago, on the 31st of December, but I just was not feeling up to it back then.
Anyways. Now, I don't believe that a new year means a new beginning for everything and I don't think it's a fresh start or the perfect time to make changes. You can change your life tomorrow, in mid-June, for all anyone cares. It has been years since I stopped relying on a new year to change my life. To me, all that is changing since 1st January is the scribbled dates I write at the top-right corner of pages, over-writing a five on top of that four, for the first two months or so. Despite my indifference towards this new beginning theory, a part of me can't help but feel glad that 2014 is over. Not that the first week of 2015 has been any better, but still.

2014. The last year at school. The year completely spent in the absence of the Preacherman. The year of A2. The year of immense stress and failed deadlines. The year of A-levels results. The year of giving up. The year of failing the only "resolution" I had made with absolute good intention. The year of silent resentment, repeated disappointments and half-hearted birthday plans. The year of apathy and indifference. The year of diverged paths. The year of crazy schedules and impossible planning. The year of negative change. The year of The 8th July. The year of trauma. The year of time-outs and breaks and sedatives. The year of faltering hope. The year of feeling alone. The year of losing friends. The year of escaping Earth Club. The year of frustration. The year of white and not-so-white lies. The year of doubts and distrusting. The year of weariness. The year of forgetting to maintain the tradition of making ridiculous resolutions. The year ending with months of no contact with the Preacherman. The year without inspiration. The year without motivation. The year of losing touch with people. The year of little self-control. The year of poor judgement and bad choices. The year of enduring selfishness. The year of little patience. The year of lipophrenia. The year of the worst 31st in the history of 31sts.

2015 does not feel like anything new. The days kind of just bled into each other, like one very long day. Here's to hoping that the rest of the year proves to be different. Yeah, hoping. Still. Because, 2014 was a bad year. BUT. There were good times, bursts of inexplicable happiness, Infinite moments and amazing surprises. Yes, they're comparatively rare, but everything is not lost.

Raised Bars and Pretty Autumns

You write me a long mail, and I write to you here before mailing back an actual reply. Funny how this is probably the more intimate reply when this is the one you will never even read.

You are missed.

I have said this a million times, a fraction of which I have even said directly to you - You were never just a teacher. Not even for a second. You have been the friend, the older brother, the parent-figure, the idol and the guide that one might always want. And I'm lucky I know you. I really am.

I have told you before that you've spoiled us. You've spoiled me. Raising my expectations incredibly high, so high that I could never find another teacher to teach me your subjects after you left the country. Well, as it turns out, you have spoiled me in many more ways and I'm only starting to realize it, one year and a two-third after you leaving.
You were one of ("one of" just to be extra-cautious) the funniest, craziest, most open-minded person I knew. You most definitely beat all the other grown-ups in each of that. And we all loved you for it. What I never fully realized before is how you managed to be all that WHILE also being one of the most mature, most sensible, and above all, most respectful.

I guess it's because of you that I have come to feel this way. I constantly keep thinking about how it was possible for you to be such a complete person, so effortlessly maintaining all these things that made you so incredible. I suppose that is why the bars are so greatly raised. And that is why I keep thinking how a person can be all of it at the same time. And that is why I often find myself being disappointed. Even with the almost-perfect ones.

Of course, I myself want to become like you before I start pointing my finger at others who, in my eyes, are failing to be so. I just wish you were here to be a constant reminder of what one can be all at the same time.

Thank you for sending me pictures of the beautiful autumn that you are having the fortune of witnessing at the moment. It is my favorite season. And it always feels good to know how life is for you. I just hope it is offering you everything you deserve.

Love,

B(h)uri. :)

Eighteen.

I'm never going to forget that night. Awake at 3:00 am, talking to a little girl about everything, starting from the deteriorating quality of cornflakes to financial crises.. Finding things in common, like how we both really, really want jobs in ice-cream parlors where they give you two free buckets as welcoming presents. We talked about all that. Everything to keep my mind working and not focusing on..well..yeah. She didn't know what was up. But we talked. About ice-cream and cornflakes and paatishapta pithas.

I'll never forget that night. Or maybe I will. Maybe one day it won't even be at the back of my mind. It will just be ..gone. I won't remember it.

The next day was far more extreme. Little girl had bigger stuff to do than keep me busy with vibrant talks of ice-creams, cornflakes and paatishapta pithas, of course. But she called. She asked if she should drop by. I said no. I don't always like..sympathy (is that it?). I will never forget that day. Never.

But, then again, who knows?

A few days later we found a word. Lypophrenia. We self-diagnosed our pathetic selves. God bless you, kid. You're not pathetic. But we were, in that moment; we both really were. And a lot of people are. We figured that out too. But there was a choice. I made one.

And I went into..remission (note: improvised vocabulary).

I'll never forget the measures taken. But..who knows? Maybe I will struggle to place a finger on the memory one day. Maybe it'll be like an annoying itch out of  reach. Maybe then I'll stop trying to remember. And one day it'll be gone. Just like the results of the measures are gone right now. Relapse.

If there's one thing I've learned, one day you will not be seventeen anymore and things will just be .. gone.

~ I Need Inspiration, Not Just Another Negotiation.

Dearest Preacherman,

You are missed. You know that, right?

You told me that you had to get a second copy because you lent the first and didn't think it was appropriate to go back to ask for it. As dumb as it sounds, I kept thinking this over and over the other day.
Now, I know it wouldn't go that way in my case because at least I'M nowhere near as sensible or mature as you must have been. But I considered it anyway. Several times.

Anyways, our shared time and space mean a lot to me, sir. So yeah. For you, maybe?

If you were to ever read this, you'd have no idea what I'm saying, would you? That saddens me now.
Well, maybe you'd guess. As the most arrogant friend of mine once said, your wisdom teeth were probably the first things to develop in the fetus.

You are missed. Always.

Love,

B(h)uri.

~ 'Cause Now You're Trying To Pick A Fight With Everyone You Need.

Why do this every time?

You're fragile, explosive. Silently explosive. The worst kind. I'm often afraid of you. Maybe not as much as others are, though. Well, you will get help if you ask for it. If you want something, you need to say it. If you don't want something, then you need to say that too.

Why make yourself go through this? What are you trying to get out of this? Or, more importantly, what are you trying to get away from?

Tell me. Tell us. Tell someone. Anyone. Somebody who might be able to help set this straight. Because, if you tell me that nothing's wrong now, I'll laugh. And you know you'll be lying too.

This wasn't how this is supposed to work. We had plans. Big plans. Long-term plans. Right?

If things are going to be like this, then why have I been seeing you as one of the people always present when I'm picturing my most important days? What was the point, then, of setting a place for you by default?

This sucks.

I miss you.

~ I Want To Make A Ray Of Sunshine And Never Leave Home.

Do you ever go through a time when you keep thinking of a specific person repeatedly? Whatever you do, whatever you see around you, the train of thoughts ultimately leads you to the same person?
Like, when your mom is talking to your dad about his job, and you remember the time your mom texted you to tell you about your dad's promotion, and then you think of how happy you were when you received that text, and that in turn makes you think of the person who was standing next to you at that moment.
Or when your dad sees something on TV and makes a childish joke and you all laugh, does that in some way take you back to a place, perhaps to the memory of a different joke? And do you find yourself once again thinking of that specific person? And do you freak out because it's a bit scary? And do you wonder if it's just you? And do you wish you weren't away? And wish you were just talking right then? Or something like that...

Happy Holidays.

So, it's the summer of 2010. Minus the temperature, and the vitamin and calcium supplements. Uh, yay?