Sunday, 17 July 2016

I'm sometimes a master of spreading negativity. I have my own whimsical views born of something I don't understand, and I take these with the full intention of trying to make you believe them. Why? If you're happy because you believe in something that gives you the strength to make it through the day,  who am I to try and sap that light out of you?

Maybe it's I who needs to listen to you and not the other way around.

Sunday, 3 July 2016

Why do you feel good?

I'm talking about you, Procrastination, you literal horse with wings that distracts my attention every time I try to find the moon. My duck that watches me and intensifies my anatidaephobia.
Seriously, if you didn't feel good, I probably wouldn't always be chasing you and trying to find out what you feel like, would I?
Maybe someday I'll learn the truth about you. Someday…

Monday, 6 June 2016

My treatment for writer's block

Ever since I was a child and discovered my ability to write, I took advantage of every opportunity I could to put my inner world on paper. I had such a vivid imagination, that I found the worlds I could create within my own mind even more fascinating than the real world. I would create fantastical stories in my mind, and I would draw them when possible, but when I discovered that I could narrate an entire story right from my heart, it ignited a blazing inferno of desire within me.

For some reason, in my teen years, my writing sort of came to a halt. I'm not sure why, but I felt like everything I wrote down wasn't good enough, To put it simply that's about the whole truth. Anyone else who I allowed to see my writing (which they were very few) thought the craft I put out was amazing. I, however never saw it that way. I always felt like something was missing, and that some feeling within myself wasn't being let out properly.

A lot of people would call this writer's block. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. I suppose whatever I was feeling does fit the definition of writer's block, but I feel the term "writer's block" feels like wood in my mouth as the words come out. It seems so dry and superficial, like it doesn't articulate any actual valuable details as to why I couldn't write. It just states the obvious.

But thinking back on it now, it goes way beyond writing. There has been many times where I've held off from expressing myself because I didn't think it was very good. With drawing and painting for example, I didn't think my work was all that good, so as a result I rarely drew or painted.

And looking back on other aspects of my personality, I see that I've been very self-critical, for seemingly no good reason. It's such an irrational state of being. I could have put out the most amazing masterpiece, and I still wouldn't think it's any good. Why? Why did I feel that way? I'm hard on myself for seemingly no reason, and while it leads me to have high standards at some times, it can also be very damaging.

As I result, I'm working to undo that self-critical nature I have of myself. Rather than staying in the dark trying to make something that I think is worthy, my form of therapy is to put myself out there and just let everyone's eyes see it for their self. I guess you can say this post is the very start of that.

Tuesday, 19 April 2016

Special connections

There's a special kind of connection you have with a person when you have no idea who they are, have never met them before, and know nothing about them, but you see their photo on Whatsapp as they are listed as your contact.
Of course, the number belongs to that friend you barely talk to anymore, that love interest you went out with once and hoped the two of you would turn into something special but never did, or your sibling as the two of you laugh about how that person isn't you.
But still, this person has a unique connection with you that neither of you can explain, and probably never will be able to, but you can feel its significance nonetheless.

Tuesday, 15 December 2015

Just go away and let me sleep, stop crawling back into my mind

You said you wanted out of my life

But now you just torture me all night

Maybe this is retribution for all the pain I caused you

Because I was supposed to always stay beside you

Instead you're somebody I said goodbye to

Now I just contemplate sending words your way

But what the hell would I say?

You left me with nothing but my pride, and I'm not about to throw the only thing I have left away

So do you come back to haunt me in case I find some peace in my life?

You'll remind me that I left you behind

And I'll never know sleep until I make things right?

Or maybe you're just a projection of the darkest parts of my mind

That won't let me forget my loneliness

And makes me see your face every time I long to feel your fingers intertwine with mine

You won't let me sleep but I'd rather face nightmares than this cruel reality

Monday, 14 December 2015

People love the light.

They are told to follow the light.

They believe that the light is freedom. They believe that the light is bliss. They believe that the light is their salvation.

Trying to chase away the shadows by shedding light on them.

And all that results is darker shadows as they cling to their right to exist.

For me, I'm perfectly comfortable dwelling in the shadows.

It's the place where I feel most alive.

As long as there are shadows, I will feel free to find peace within myself.

Wednesday, 9 December 2015

Three stories that warm the heart

A lemur and a parrot were sitting beside each other in a tree.

There was this awkward silence between them.

The lemur decided to turn to the parrot and speak.

The parrot spoke back to the lemur.

However they didn't understand what they were saying to each other.

Because the lemur didn't speak parrot.

And the parrot didn't speak lemur.

But they were happy to at least be having a conversation.

The lemur showed the parrot an apple.

The parrot didn't know where the apple came from because the lemur had no pockets.

The lemur asked the parrot if she wanted to eat the apple.

The parrot didn't understand because she didn't speak lemur.

The lemur held out the apple so the parrot would take it.

The parrot took the apple in her beak.

The lemur was glad.

The parrot wanted to eat the apple but it was too big, and the parrot didn't have hands.

The parrot took a bite anyways.

Once the parrot took a bite, the apple fell to the ground.

The parrot looked at the lemur and said nothing.

The lemur smiled and gave the parrot a banana.

The parrot was further confused about the origins of the banana, but she took it anyways.

The parrot then threw the banana like a boomerang.

It would have hit the lemur, but the lemur teleported just in time.

The parrot knew the lemur lived on Titan.

So the parrot flew to Titan to find her friend, the lemur.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I just sat on the riverside and stared at the scene of the cannibal tribesmen as they were eating my friend, Jeremy.

One of the cannibals, with his stern, expressionless face painted beautifully in an almost gruesome way, walked up to me and offered me a piece of Jeremy's leg.

I was moved by this gesture, however I had to decline. I told him that I don't think it's very nice to eat friends.

But the cannibal didn't speak English. And I didn't speak cannibal, so this was very troublesome to explain.

Oh, wait! I thought. Maybe he speaks Urdu!

I tried speaking Urdu to the cannibal, but he didn't understand Urdu either.

I pondered this situation. I really didn't want to eat my friend, but I knew that as the cannibal's guest, it would be rude of me to refuse the food he offered.

So I took the delicately cooked and seasoned leg of Jeremy and took a bite, even though I usually don't eat friends. I then gave the leg back to the cannibal.

I cannibal smiled warmly, and walked over back to join his friends who were eating he rest of Jeremy.

The leg actually tasted very good. I wanted more, but I felt awkward about asking the cannibal for more.

I decided I would just go back into my house make myself something to eat.

My neighbour, who's name is also Jeremy, came outside of his house to talk to me.

"Hey, Jeremy," he asked me. "Is that Jeremy that they're eating over there."

"Yes," I said. "You're looking at him."

"Oh," he replied, looking slightly confused. "Well I borrowed a cup of sugar from him the other day, but I only ended up needing half of it, so I was gonna give the rest back to him. Do you think he would've minded if I kept the rest?"

"No, Jeremy, I don't think Jeremy would've minded at all."

"Swell then!" Jeremy replied gleefully. "Well then, have a great day!"

Jeremy then went back into his house.

I went inside my house with the intention of making some caesar salad.

I walked into my kitchen and was about to start when suddenly, a brontosaurus stuck its head into my window and was staring at me.

I couldn't speak brontosaurus, and the brontosaurus couldn't speak English.

I had a spare sandwich in my fridge which I usually only keep in case of emergencies. I decided to give it to the brontosaurus, because it would make me feel good about myself.

The brontosaurus took the sandwich and marched away.

And then, out of nowhere a flying tyrannosaurus rex swooped down grab the brontosaurus by the neck in its ferocious jaws. The brontosaurus then fell over as its life extinguished.

The tyrannosaurus took the sandwich and looked me in the eye. I looked back at the tyrannosaurus.

The tyrannosaurus gave me a nod, and then flew off into the sky.