I’m More Than Just That…

Suicide rates of homosexual Individuals is 2-6 times more than Heterosexual individuals.
I’m just trying to address this in the following post and this doesn’t mean that it is based on my life. Not that there is anything wrong in being about my life, but just that it isn’t. 

Why this blade you ask? Why this decision? Why are you being a coward?

**            **                             **                   **
Things are different now,
now, every single eye is trained on me when I sit In class. Any girl gets uncomfortable when I look at her, like I’m tearing open strand by strand, her clothing,when all I want was a pencil.
I’m still human
But now, I had pushed the boundaries of society so far it had broken on me;
The day I decided to “come out”,
for I couldn’t take it anymore. I was a lesbian, it was a part of me. A part I had no control over, a part that I had tried to deny existed and failed miserably at, a part that I finally accepted was integral and beautiful in its own way, a part I wanted for others to know- not because I sought attention, like many said, because it made me complete.
Oh other things ‘made me’ too, like my flair and talent for writing, my eloquent speeches my mediocre grades and with all the boastfulness, my helping nature.
but these ceased to matter
from that day on, the identity of a human was plucked from me
it was like I was a translucent bundle, made opaque only because of my sexuality.
an apparition, visible only for that.
my friends stopped talking to me. They had conveniently decided that they wouldn’t want to be known as the “homosexual gang”
those who did, merely viewed me as a specimen. All they wanted was information, regardless of how insensitive it was.
“don’t you get attracted to yourself when you look at yourself in the mirror?”
why did conversations now always have to orbit around this?
**                    **                          **                 **

my mother supported me throughout my life,
Our relationship used to include a truckload of laughter and happiness that I capriciously scattered to the wind back then, unknowing that time would come, when I would need that, solely from my side, to keep the relationship alive.
Ohh, she didn’t throw me out of the house, although on second thoughts, that seems to be Elysium compared to this.
Now, she no more praised me for the numerous awards i bagged in “creative writing”.
She made it very clear, every time I brought a medal home, that she would rather have me winning a new set of hormones to replace my “lesbianism”.
Her eyes bore holes into me as she carefully scrutinized my every move when I was around women, whether it was our maid or the neighbors 2 year old girl.
I was forbidden from uttering anything about my supposed abnormality to anyone,
as she made me enter the hypocrisy- reeking  superstition-infused, abodes of “swamiji’s” who could “cure me”.
**       **                **                         **                                **
dear people out there,
how long should I live like this?  am i no more than this?
how long before these walls seem like home again ?
I’m not the coward, you, the one who is afraid of any change that disrupts your “natural and structured functioning”, are.

Is it wrong for me to find you more cold and indifferent than the blade in my hand???

Where in These Years…… ?

When we are children we seldom think of the future.
This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can.
The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind.
-Patrick Rothfus, In The Name Of The Wind

September 14, 2007 

Myself, Aadya Swaminathan new student at my  new school.
Chennai was new to me.
I had a scary past.
and I hated my school, like a prisoner hates his barricading grills.
I did not have an easy life before this,
but all these new people, with seemingly glaring eyes and uninterested faces, made it harder.
Somewhere near there, I learnt independence.
I didn’t make friends easily in the PSBB Millennium.
Everything, from the way of speech, the “aiyos” and nonachalant attitude towards what I considered important, was unacceptable.
How could people be so easygoing? Didn’t they have manners?
You don’t just come and  taste my food, urgh.
I had joined midterm, and I loved math while others whined about it. How couldn’t one love it? Wasn’t it practical?
And what was this “kaa” “pazham” thing they did with fingers? Was making and breaking friendships that easy here?
Why did the teacher have a problem with my miniskirt that I had to wear before getting my uniform stitched?
Mornings found me fussing over not wanting to go to school, crying to mom and throwing my classic ‘lying-on-the-floor-with-legs-in-the-air’ tantrums.
I didn’t want to enter this hostile territory, where everything I did, I felt and said, was being judged and scrutinized
“I. DON’T.WANT.TO. GO. MUMMY. I HATE THIS PLACE, THESE PEOPLE” was always followed by “we’ll change you over next year” or “you’ll get used to it, you’re a lion cub
I never got “changed over”, I never “got used” to it either. Rather, I became a part of it.

Today, exactly 9 years, 1 month and 19 days later
the fear of leaving is squeezing my insides and making then squirm in unease.

I smile to myself , and  try to look for the scared, lip biting 7 year old,
who would’ve loved this opportunity.
That girl would make this easier, wouldn’t she?
I smile to myself,for now
I don’t even wait to ask my friends before opening their lunch boxes and gobbling everything down.
I don’t take reprimanding from teachers seriously anymore.
I detest math from the core of my very spirit and have taken up humanities.
I’ve made and lost friends and finally found peace with the ones that have embraced the idiotic, nonchalant, easygoing, obnoxious and rude me.
I still wear miniskirts but am now strongly inclined towards Feminism and erasing gender stereotypes
and oh, how this place has changed me.

 

I fail to realize, where in these years, I fell in love
with my school
my classmates,
my life , and
Chennai….

 

If I find that little girl, I shall ask her, where her determination to never cross the line and give way to adjusting to this new life,went away?
At which milestone of her laborious journey towards becoming me, did she lose that side of her?
And when did she decide, she doesn’t want to leave?

Why do I have to leave this life after my 12th grade?
_ A seriously frustrated 12thie (F_O_M) 

STAY

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.
So throw off the bowlines.
Sail away from the safe harbor.
Catch the trade winds in your sails.
Explore. Dream. Discover.”
― H.Jackson.Brown jr. , P.s, I Love You

 

Stay” they told her,as a child,
untouched,
by the wind,
“stay”, they said
from the sun that burns you

One creased eyebrow
singed hair,
calloused hands that  lacerated
her tender lips , when she kissed them.
rejoicing his homecoming
from the crusade of “rights”
ah, the dazzling irony .
she thought,
damming the words with her lips

and she loved him,
only  more because,
all that was empty in her,
was not in him
for he had a will, and a way
oh, she too, had a will
but “stay” was her only way

he wasn’t going to let her fill her emptiness,
but he was so full of himself
and she was so full of him,
she hardly minded.
But he told her to” stay “
behind the walls , that seemed to her,
a borstal,
obscuring her from the world’
and the world from her

and then were the days,
when people thought the sound of canon
blisters the very spirit of the soul
but,she painted a canvas of pictures in her mind
pictures of her out there
stumbling , falling ,
out of the cage, and fighting.
but the colors of these pictures were never real
for how could she possibly know ?
with the words “stay”
guiding her very existence?
�����

I’m so sorry, my writing is getting more  pathetic by the day.
I mean, before i could post with no validation and now i seek so much validation. 
I honestly don’t understand whether it is my confidence level falling to nadir  or just my writing reaching new heights of crappiness
So, I promise, I will not post from today, if there is even a mild doubt about the quality of my work, plaguing my mind
But this time, please deal?
And yea, please don’t hesitate with the reviews. 
Thank You 
_ F.O.M 

Dear Timeless Self

Dear 22 year old self.
That breakup is hardly one part of your life. You have managed to wreck problems you never thought you could overcome, losses you thought would never take their painful shadows and leave; and wounds, you thought were adamant on never ceasing to bleed. The alcohol that looks so appealing to you right now, will numb you. You left him, for he was destroying you, now why would you want to let the glass filled with churning red liquid do the same? Instead Look at yourself in those photos. Laugh at the stupidity that surrounded you back then, and the nostalgia that grips you as your eyes glaze the pages will tell you :- life isn’t over! Those ever-smiling eyes that look back at you, will make you yearn for that life, and remember this:  if you could’ve been  happy then, after years when the world actually starts to make sense, none can stop that curve that brightens your face, if you really want to give it the power to. Know that if no one else does, I love you, to the individual cells of your broken heart, to the bits and pieces of your soul: I love you
-yours
16 year old self

 

Dear 35 year old self
A success in your career is not the be all and end all. Thick for me to say, for even now I can’t predict what you would be doing ,for which I sit, grappling and wrestling with the endless options and fears that threaten to choke me and my very spirit to do anything at all. But sure, you overcame that destitute side of me? Then why do you worry? If you need a break, take a break, wander around aimlessly, till you think you are ready to figure out the lane in life you would want to choose. I know, that when people keep telling you to start being “more responsible”, it sends shivers down your spine. Be as childish as you want, but keep yourself and those around you happy. How? That’s what life is ‘bout. Figure out its intricacies, and it will give a thrill beyond possibilities. If your contributions aren’t recognized at work, it is okay. Breathe. Talk. Talk to friends, talk to your boss and sort things out; something you’ve been learning from childhood has been to stop holding things back. And don’t be ashamed of your excessive sensitivity. Don’t be ashamed of the moistening of your eyes everytime someone says something even mildly piercing. Don’t hold back the tears, don’t dam them with your eyelids. Let them flow. Don’t be ashamed of being sensitive. Just because you are sensitive, doesn’t mean you aren’t strong enough to handle the situation, it just means you are human, maybe a little bit more than the stones who heartlessly tease you for being so.
-yours,
16 year old self

 

Dear 71 year old self,
No, people aren’t oblivious to your existence. I know you feel withdrawn, for gradually, your legs refuse to take the long sturdy strides they managed to before, and your mind can become fuzzy at times. remember when you were 15 and had a sort of sinking feeling when the thought of growing up and taking responsibilities sprang up in your mind? Well, you got through that!!
I realize you feel old, most you loved have left. But were you really someone who needed another to live happily? Now is the time, to explore all those books you wished you could’ve read as a child, to watch movie marathons and visit 5 star hotels. Listen to music, both new and old. Don’t while away time, live it
yours,
16 year old self .

Dear self a minute before death,
I understand you are nervous and excited about everything that you will go through after closing these eyes, tired from their years of service. And yes, the questions regarding the extent of your life’s productivity and contribution in all its years, is haunting you. But let me tell you something. Nobody leaves without finishing their given task. That’s what the universes handbook says. And, just reiterating; be glad for the impact you’ve made, the achievements you’ve left behind , they most certainly count more than any of your failures. And get ready to meet all those whom you thought had left you forever.
-yours
16 year old self

 

Dear present (16 year old )self.
I have in no way tried to predict or position your life in a certain way. But all this is inevitable. But the one common aspect, I hope you’ve noticed, is how with time, things have gotten better. Everytime and always (a word i know you’ll love till eternity). I know you are worried for college, a new life, growing up, but remember; when you are about to die, you shall remember not these tiring problems, but the good moments; the laughter in class, the dinners  with family and all the times you read harry potter. Cherish these whenever they present themselves. The rest works out.
and once more, I love you ❤

  • Yours
    timeless self

Flooded!!

I- I… c-ca- can’t hold on!” he wailed, gasping for breath as the current  slammed him against the log he was cleaving to, his prized treasure at the moment, and receded seeking to haul him to his end.

His hold tightened. The vile and pounding rain mixed with his sweat and ran down his shirtless torso, crafting numerous labyrinths.

Positioned securely on the jagged rock, that jutted out, probably a god-sent; she could catch sight of the apparent regret in his eyes.
She always knew his proclaimed love wasn’t something that came from his heart. She always knew her dad’s sudden soaring of assets and money, participated in her love story and made it a love triangle.
It was always money for him and him for her.
But never in her 21 short, dismal years, had she even let herself think that such an angel as him would take her hands in his, and melt her heart into a mercuric puddle, that leapt a 5’3 at the thought of him (yes, that was her height).
Never had she fathomed such an abrupt end to this bliss.
And BY NO MEANS ever had she believed that CHENNAI, of all the places would experience such a flood.

And all those days spiraled in her album of memories

sitting under a banyan tree, as he traced his long calloused fingers over her dainty knuckles in circles.
the smell of his cologne hitting her, as he squeezed the space in between them, unfurling his fingers running caresses down her neck, and thrusting his lips to hers that sent electricity coursing through her , with force far exceeding the  irrepressible waves in the beaches that crashed against the rocks obstructing its way.

But today’s  “waves”  weren’t pleasing her or appeasing her senses.
instead they managed to brim her up with a sense of dread and hollowness, for these were the waves that could loosen the hold that her angel had over life.

and now, he’d put himself in this situation, trying to save her, trying to get her on the rock, again more out of gallantry than love.
if she held out her hand to him, she could heave him up the rock, but the force would send her off to her end.
but she didn’t even let the choice erupt in her mind.
Her hands, she extended, her angel would live.

Isolated Pages

reckless thoughts roaming my brain 

 

I’m the same book all right

but I open a new page for everybody
each page so different , so unconnected from the previous, uncaring to be comprehendible
if I open one to you, you shall never know I could have a possible other page that varies so greatly from what I show you
and you can’t turn the pages until I let you
and even if you do you shall never understand
what the strings of seemingly meaningless ink means
for I show what you could possibly understand
I show you the emotions that’ll buzz in your mind saying ‘isn’t she like me?’
I’ll uncover delusional faux mysteries, that don’t even exist , that’ll make your brain whirr with a frustration and curiosity to unveil these nonexistent secrets of  mine
very few , de-code more than one page
and fewer, be able to connect them

“Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

 

but right now I’m befuddled!!

I’m the same book alright?
but which page am I to myself??

Love Paradise

bello!! :’)
happy valentines day guys :’)
i just had to write something for all the valentines’ out there
this is some sort of valentine’s day post.
and no, that doesn’t mean i’m in love ❤

 

Not of flowers it smells
not of perfume it reeks
no vibrant colors  embellish  walls
no ribbons adorn the ceiling

drops of blood from a bleeding heart
brackish tears burning the scars
from all the previous one’s
is what you shall stumble upon here
this is the place I have for you
this is the place I save for you

sieved parts of my pierced heart
parts removed from the engravings
of assorted names,
of those who left behind the scars
sopping blood,  bright dazzling  red
strident ,  deplorable echoes
passionate ones of pain
begging to mend the broken heart
this is the place I retain for you

with your soft lips will you heal my severed heart
with your shielding arms
squeeze out my insecurities that;
have taken claim of my heart?
in this place, away from prying eyes,
will your heart beat in synch with mine?
in  this place, where no one dares tread
due to the jagged shards ,Of my broken soul

will you heal me ??
will you love me?