Trying to Cope

Funny thing is I feel I have been through this before. Deja vu. Fancy word.

I had become a different person out of high school and into the world. Cynical, shy, often caustic, often faithless. And lonely, both as a reason and cause.

Then, with what I call, the elasticity of youth, I was coming back. I made plans. Still tentative, still paranoid. But I put one foot in front of the other, hoping the ice doesn't crack. And to my surprise, it seemed to be holding strong.

I told myself, half laughing, half relieved, "Too good to be true." Turns out, it was. I don't want to go into the details. Stuff collapsed. Like a pack of cards. Like a bunch of dreams. At this moment, almost all of it. Almost.

Am I fine? No.

Am I coping? Yes.

Is it going to break me? Probably.

Am I going to laugh at it maybe 10 years later? Probably.


It's one of those things that is going to be a companion for many years to come. One wishes that instead it would be over quickly. Like a thunderclap, so that I can rejoice in being alive after it's over.

Or maybe, I'm just tired.
Tired of understanding.
Tired of the pillow being the only thing I don't need to be strong around.
Tired of showing a courage I don't have.
Tired of finding out time and again that I care too much to say that I don't care.
Tired of, God forgive me, listening to people.
Tired of pep talks and inspirations.

Maybe if I had a good sleep, things would change.
Maybe if I had a good sleep that I never needed to wake up from, I wouldn't be tired anymore.

Despair night

Feverish demon fingers,
Curling, clenching, clawing.

A long drawn moan
A beast wounded, the fight is done.

Despair night, rolling down the hill
Like a consumptive cough.

The stars wink down, content,
Far above from the beast, the demon, the fog.

Lives unnumbered, have been crossed by the stars,
Have the stars too been crossed by their lives?    

Ashamed

I am worse than the whole lot of them.

The current flurry of "College Confessions" on Facebook. Anonymous, spiteful, misguided, depraved. And worst, in some cases, false.

I know some of the people who are trying to prove their coolness in a twisted manner, feeling safe behind the veil of the promised anonymity, goaded on by virtual cheers and "likes".

"I stole X's iPod touch, LOL bro"

"I act drunk while dancing around girls just so that I can grope them #epicwin"

"After my roommate used the toilet I used to clean the toilet seat with his face towel :D"
 
And so on, so forth. There have been thousands of these in about 7 days, and it's rising.  I have actually picked some of the benign ones, the ones that were comparatively less sickening.

Sad thing is I know some of the folks being made the target in this free-for-all, even when they themselves don't know.

And I am gutless to stand up for them in front of this mob of hungry wolves who are devouring these with glee. 
I'm afraid of being taunted. 
I'm afraid of being marked.
I'm afraid of being made the next target.

I'm worse than the whole lot of them.
And I have never been more ashamed of myself in my entire life.

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The Year of the Thankful

It is perhaps inevitable that I'll do a birthday post. 20 was a milestone, and I made it as such here.

21, however, feels unplanned. I mean I had always expected to be 10 or 15 or 18 or 19 or 20. But with juvenile innocence never really thought of anything beyond that. Well, here I am, as they say.

There has been probably this one thing that stood out this year. Learning thankfulness. I am more at peace with what I have or I don't. Of course, I'm still a paranoid freak, but I'm thankful for what I have, in spite of the knowledge that some things may be taken away. I'll be ok. I know I'll be ok.

I'm thankful for the people around me.

Thankful that we are all safe, if not totally sound (specially in the head).

Thankful that none of us have sold our souls, in spite of everything.

Thankful for unexpected miracles and uncharted territories.

Thankful for a abundance of books and puppies.

Thankful for all the dreams, in spite of the nightmares.

And thankful for the fact that I still have it in me to be stupid and proud of it.

Heigh ho, another year!!!

Do not stand at my grave and weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry, 

   I am not there; I did not die.           

                      

                                                      -- Mary Elizabeth Frye

I came across this first in a favourite light read of mine, Alan Titchmarsh's Rosie. I love the serenity of the poem. It's sad, but it soothes too. Sometimes.

Keep Running

I seem to be rushing through my days.
Blurred moments, blurred faces, blurred ache.
Running on. Running on.
Always on.
No way to rest. No place for fatigue.
Forward. Forward. I don't want to any more.
Somebody make it stop!
Don't stop,
Don't stop. To move is to hurt, but to stop is to die.
Don't weep,
Don't weep. There will always be enough time for tears.
Keep running.
Don't panic,
Don't panic. Fear is a friend. Fear will keep you alive.
Don't fight,
Don't fight. Even when the walls close in.
Keep running.
It will pass.
The thud beats out a rhythm.
Forward. Forward.
No hurts. No tears. No regrets.
Even when it bleeds.
Even when I break apart into a thousand tiny pieces.
Even when I see the hilarious injustice of it all.
Even when the grounds falls away under my feet.
Keep running. Keep running.
Someday there will be rest.
Someday the tears will flow.
Someday there will be no fear.
Someday I can let go.
Someday. Not now.
Keep running. Keep running.

What They Say of Me

They say I'm brave. They do not see I'm terrified.

They say I'm impertinent. They do not see that a world inherited by the meek is not worth the trouble.

They say I laugh too much. They do not see that life is not for the grim.

They say I'm loud. They do not see that my silence has no place for them.

They say I'm smart. They do not see that it's exactly what makes me stupid.

They say I'm unsympathetic. They do not see how hollow a "I understand" sounds to someone in pain.

They say I'm wishful. They do not see that stops me from making wishes.


They say I'm childish to begin sentences with "One day in the future...". They do not see how every second feels like borrowed time.

They say I hate everyone. They do not see that includes me too.


They say I'm weird. They do not see it protects me against mundane normalcy.

They say I'm alive. They do not see that I had wanted not to be.

They say I don't believe in miracles. They do not see I'm living one. Just like each one of them.