~ 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?

Shiny-Hairman-Pathetic-Nerdy-Weirdo-Doodle-Doo

Happiness is:
Having a friend who calls you up in the middle of the night suspecting something is wrong just because your text included the words "Am I disturbing you?", who stays on the phone for hours despite you having a crappy network coverage and him having to repeat his words multiple times, who makes you laugh while you say sad things, who keeps accusing you of crying when he hears you laugh over phone, who can be extremely sexist and blames female hormones for being the source of all trouble in the world, who pisses you off by saying that although you think you're mature enough you're just a girl at the end of the day, who says you should never cry because you're the strongest girl he knows, who says you read too many books and you suck because you have a vocabulary like Stephen Hawking's, who says you're actually mature after all, who leaves the conversation for a while because he really needs to pee, who repeatedly asks if you're sure it's not just a severe case of PMS, who says "Haaireh, your poetic words can stab, you know!?" when you're trying to make a point, who tells you things you already knew but needed to hear again, who has been there for you through everything.
Yeah.

Dead Starshine.

I have a friend. We haven't been friends forever, but he is one my closer friends at the moment. He's really dumb. He doesn't know what's good for him, he doesn't know how to deal with certain people (well, person) who treat(s) him like crap. And I get so mad at him for the way he is. No matter what you tell him, the guy just doesn't grow a vertebra where he needs it to grow. -_-
But I love him. And I feel sorry for him. And when I talk to him, it makes me wonder about how things work. I'm the one advising and all, but at times I just listen to what he says with no reply. Because I don't have anything to say.
I hear him complain about how it's unfair that people kind of just get over the magnitudes of feelings and how it sucks that he's the only one who never outgrows these things. I just listen to him. And wonder.
Never liked changes. Still don't.

:S

Oh, dear God. I used to maintain such formal and decent language on this blog.
Right after my last post, I realized that that's broken now. :S Either I'm more impatient or people are just bigger assholes these days. Ughh.

Piss-off.

Seriously. Stop doing stuff like that and being such a fuckin' piss-off.
Are these things people grow out of?
Or do these stay for life? Because, then, we have a problem.

Because stressed spelled backwards is desserts.. and Preacherman is Preacherman.

When it's really late in the night, and A2 Chemistry is close to making you cry, and you're thinking that you've got no chance at all... And you see that Preacherman has mailed you a photo of what he's having for dessert, you feel as if it's going to be okay. Yeah.

Nightmare

There was a thunderstorm that night. I was lying awake in bed, unaware, as the closed windows and drawn curtains gave nothing away. You laughed at me and informed me that nine people had died somewhere in the storm. I, on the other hand, selfishly had different thoughts on my mind. Or was it so selfish? I don't know. I remember everything you told me but not a word of what I said in reply. I only remember not being of much help. But, then again, what was there to say? Words from "The Kite Runner" kept flooding back to me. Something about the fear of being profoundly happy. Something else about fear, about life. Does it really matter? May God bless us all.

Ughh.

The bottom line is that they are all assholes in their own, very unique ways.