HOLD ME THRILL ME KISS ME KILL ME!

Another Bloody Rant

2011-01-15T04:30:00.000+08:00

Here I am back to the blog to send out more shit out there for anyone to read. There’s a special comfort in letting it all out to no one in particular, or to anyone out there, depending on how you look at it. As usual, when things are great, I don’t feel the urge to write. My language as usual, is degrading over time. Fuck!
It hurt, it still hurts, it surprises me how much it hurts. You just know how much it hurts now because now you know it hurts me. Earlier you didn’t. In a way it hurts me more because it hurts you too. It’s a shitty situation. I hate you for it, I hate me for hating you, but I love you even more, too much, so it outweighs everything else by so much, that nothing else matters.
It’s a weird feeling having some one else chosen over you. It’s so weird. And to think in all this confusion, technically it was not the case, or it was, or it wasn’t or whatever the fuck.It never really was like that but the bloody point is that it felt that way. Getting over all this, which is in my head only because I’m so messed up and masochistic, I feel bad for all those guys and girl? Above whom I was chosen over time. Shit! How insignificant must they all have felt? Sorry to you all, if you ever read this, I didn’t do that by design, you know that. It wasn’t even my choice to make, it wasn’t even my fault, but I feel for you losers now. I got no pleasure out of it. Sorry. Now I feel sorry for myself…..for how I feel because I don’t need to but I fucking do. I feel like shit. No matter how much you reassure me somewhere in my head I don’t want to believe you, I’m still insecure, because I was left naked in the cold cold rain while you were enjoying the warmth of a fresh rendezvous. Of course the insecure part of me wondered what I lacked, where I’d gone wrong, why I wasn’t good enough and how the fuck was some one else better than me? My first time you see. Fuck! There’s nobody out there better than me. Fuck that!
The saddest part is the time it has and will take me to get over this immense emotional betrayal. And to think it wasn’t a betrayal of any sort. But if fucking felt that fucking way! I’m still coming to terms with how deeply I am affected. I’m sickened by it all and most of all by me and my inability to get over it all. How’s anything better than me? I can’t face it because I’ve never had to, or felt the need to prepare for it. I’ve been the best, the only choice and the best fucking choice at that. There have been regrets at the loss of me but never a fucking situation like this where I’m the one discarded. Or at least I felt discarded. It doesn’t matter what you say, it makes no fucking difference, your reassurances make no fucking change in my head, but I need to listen to them and if they stop, although they make no difference, if they stop they will make a very very negative difference to me. I don’t need them but I bloody need them. I am depressed, a small part of me is. This depression has lasted too long. For how much longer, I don’t know, I can’t say, I’ve never been in this situation before.
I’m so tired of asking myself if I’m good enough. I tell myself that this wouldn’t have been possible if I wasn’t. No one’s forcing anyone here. But that crap still pops up in my head after a while. It prevents me from enjoying myself to the fullest, it prevents me at times from giving myself up completely like I did before, right in the beginning. It makes me sad that what is now is not the best it can be because I am still holding back just that little bit. Just in case something that won’t happen, happens. It’s all fucking subconscious and out of my control. It’s all fucking screwed up. How the fuck did this happen?
Damn me and damn this ugly fucking world.
Trust me, you say you listen, but you don’t. Human beings are ugly, ugly, ugly. Guard yourself. You cannot look into their eyes and see their ugly souls like I do. You look in and only see feigned beauty, fake shit they want you to see. Trust me, rely on me, listen to me.
Thank you for your patience. What IS, is beautiful, but it can be so much better, it will be. There is no other way.

Thank you for listening.

See Me Through This

2010-05-22T01:23:00.003+08:00

Stability! I need and want just that right now. It’s been years since I’ve felt stable. Yes I have never really lived a life that most people would consider stable and I don’t think that I am capable of living one. But all the same what no one understands is that I draw my stability from just a few constants in my life. Not from anything else but those few constants that I need and want in place to make me feel safe and to make me feel loved so I can feel free of any worries and be myself. Because it is only when I’m my true self that I can achieve all that I want. It’s only when I feel stable that I can reach for the stars without anything bearing me down. I’m a worrier, yes I am, hence the need for these constants. I don’t ask for much, just that little bit will set me free, instead of holding me back from what I want to do, wondering if I’ll lose all that I love because I went too far away. This won’t be easy for you I know. You aren’t used to this. But I know how strong you can be if you want to……only if you want to. I know that as long as you keep the bigger picture in mind and realise what we have, it’ll all be so easy.

I need you to tell me you’ll be there every time that I’m back. I need to know my love. I need you to know that I love you so much, that no matter what happens, I will be there for you, always. I need you to know that you’re always in my heart, through the ups and downs, thorough the happiness and the sadness, my love for you will never change. I want no other. All I ask is for you to love me back the way I do and together we can make magic!

Hold my hand through this my love. Be my Angel for now, just for a while and then I'll be your Rock, forever and ever.

All I want is you.

A Ray of Light

2009-12-10T17:22:00.005+08:00

I’m tired and weary. I’ve been silent for years and secretly scared. I am tired of being hurt over and over again. I’m just tired. And it’s not like I’ve not learnt from my mistakes. I have and I’ve grown and evolved. But I still can’t protect myself. I don’t think I will ever be able to.

There are just these simple things one wants in life. Just a few, but these few are the most elusive. Just a few constants in my life would make me happy and keep me that way till the end of my days. But every time I’ve gained even the smallest amount of confidence in the fact that ‘Yes, now I’m stable, now I’m happy, now I’m content, this is all I need and want’ everything has just come crumbling down.

One must always have a ‘Plan B’ a good friend of mine said to me. But there are some things in life for which you can’t have a Plan B. You just can’t. Of course my friend does have a Plan B, she’s always had one, for each and every situation in life and each and every plan, whether long term or short. But I know how messed up she actually is. Everyone’s messed up in this world, in some way or the other, it’s only human. But I know I’m more messed up than she is. She plays it safe, her ideas on life are different from mine. I usually always have a Plan B, but some times you just can’t have one. Some times life demands that you put all your eggs in one basket and try your best to make things work. Hope like hell that things that are humanly out of your control don’t ruin everything. It’s at these times that I feel so helpless. When I give something everything I’ve got and life just comes around and takes everything away.

In the blink of an eye I have lost everything that I ever wanted. I’ve lost everything that I ever needed. It’s happened so many times now that I don’t want to do this any longer. I don’t want to go through the entire process again. But there’s no other way to achieve what I want. In my book of rules there’s no other way of going about it.

So here I am again, uncertain of life, my life and what will happen. Again, I’m putting all my eggs in one basket. I don’t care. I dare life to hurt me again. Because more than anything else in my life right now, I want this to work.

I want you!

When Things Come Out of Nowhere

2009-08-21T00:20:00.003+08:00

Life is funny. When you want something really badly the entire world works against you to make sure you don’t succeed. Then you struggle through all the resistance and come out victorious. And just as you begin to enjoy that wonderful sense of achievement standing atop this cliff you’ve scaled, the world plays its final trump card.

There you are right on top, sitting with your head in your hands, wondering what to believe and whom to trust. Wondering if this is the world’s sly underhanded trick just to spite you or if this is the world’s way of saying, “I told you so right from the beginning, you just didn’t listen.”

If

2009-08-20T19:12:00.002+08:00

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

-Rudyard Kipling

Standing in the Rain Just Wishing I Could Hold You

2009-08-16T23:33:00.005+08:00

I’m all weird again. I’m a different person from who I was when I last blogged (which was a very long time back). I was a different person in between and now I don’t know who I am. Anyway, here I go again letting it all out.

I’m in a very strange place. I know how the world works and I know how human beings work. I can have anyone I want if only I try. I have reached a stage in my life where I am so self assured that I don’t need anyone or anything. I am finally strong and I am finally who I want to be. But when it comes to her, I don’t really know what I must do. Do I remain who I was when I first met her? The person who she was attracted to? The person who knew the right things to say and the right things to do? Or should I show her the rawness of my soul, my weaknesses and my shortcomings, hoping that she will still love me and not just leave? A very very practical and persuasive part of me wants to play the games humans play, the game I’ve gotten so good at to keep the attraction high. But there’s still that innocent part of me who wants to let her know that I need her so very much. That in a relationship we will need each other. This might not be the most attractive trait in a man. She might mistakenly think I'm weak and needy, but I must show her the rawness of my soul, show her who I am and make her realise that this is the worst that it’ll get. Because if I let myself go and fall any deeper I need to show her every facet of me, with total openness and the truth with no emotion in check with no feelings unsaid, with no insecurities unshared. If she is mature enough and if she loves me enough then she will see me for who I am. And if she is the woman who I hope to God she is, then this will last for ever.

Or is this a big mistake? Should I listen to the voice of experience and practicality? Or should I give in to the hopeless romantic in me who still believes the world is a beautiful place where people love each other and no one hides the truth. I ask you this, because I need to know. The last post was for you too.

An Addict's Rant

2008-08-28T01:55:00.004+08:00

Eyes, they speak a language of their own. They always do. It’s so very difficult to mask what they say. It’s hard to lie with your eyes in league with your mouth and brain. It’s hard for your eyes to say anything else but what they actually want to say. But those who master the language of the eyes rule their own little world, the world of their immediate surroundings, the people around them, even the strangers they meet.

Anyway, it’s hard not to have what you CAN have, but might not NEED to have, knowing that you can easily have it. It’s hard to be restrained to one if you’re so used to getting everything you set your eyes on, even if that one is everything you ever wanted. Primarily because you are so used to getting whatever you wanted, if not immediately then pursuing and eventually attaining what your end goal was. And this ultimately becomes a sort of habit, a sort of addiction which is hard to let go of. An addiction which one shouldn’t be slowly weaned off but must have a clean break from once and for all, no matter how horrific the withdrawal is. A clean break though, is hard to do. I’ll tell you why, once you develop a familiarity with the state you’re in, the state in which you always try different drugs and once you’re done, there are so many more to choose from so much more to try and so easy to attain, sticking to a regular drug a regular taste a regular feel and a regular high makes you feel utterly unsafe, absolutely unstable and completely insecure, no matter how amazing and intoxicating the stuff is no matter how safe the gear you’re using is. You just feel like you’re in unsafe waters, in uncharted territory. It’s a world you haven’t seen or felt in a long long while. You’re utterly happy, totally ecstatic, you’re loving the trip but the unfamiliar environ and the unfamiliar weather keeps you from totally engulfing yourself with this amazing feeling this drug you’ve shot up your veins is drowning you in.

Yet once you have decided with total conviction, ‘Yes, clean break, no more, I’ve found the stuff I need, I have all I want right here.’ You’re okay for a while but then the inner urges almost kill you saying, what a waste of resources, what a waste of talent, what a waste of life, of everything, you moron, remember the high you’d get? Remember the exhilarating feeling? Remember the feeling of achievement? Remember how invulnerable you felt? How much in control you were of your world? But then this other heady feeling tells you how short the high was, how worthless it all felt after a while, and how useless the entire trip was. How I’d crash with boredom till I found another chase only to get bored again. And here I am with something which has substance, which has everything I’d really ever want, or need, and MORE. A ‘constant’ high, with no crashes the next morning, a perfect drug.

‘Hang on to it’, I tell myself.

‘Don’t lose this drug in the process of shooting up again with another drug or a concoction no matter how hot it may look on the cover. You know once you unwrap them they’re all just the same old worthless shit. You know that the literature on the cover is just a bunch of words to get you all excited, it may for a while but when the light of scrutiny falls upon their nakedness there’s nothing to be found, no more thrill to be had. Just a short uncertain trip ruined by the anticipation leading up to it which doesn’t match up to the actual trip. And then what? Move on to the next prettily wrapped drug? No. Just hold on to the perfection of this one, to the smoothness of its trip, to the happy ride you always have, to the excitement it always brings, to how it pleases your brain, to how it soothes your heart, to how it enters your dreams, to the boredom that never comes.’

So then how do I counter all the other tempting drugs who’s wrappers promise a brilliant high, a different high and at times a very alluring evil high? How do I resist when they don’t need any effort to acquire? How do I resist if they make a deliberate effort to find me and keep trying to add a teasing bit to the stuff I’m cooking so they can give me a twist of their taste in my usual stuff? A tinge of evil, or a tinge of lust or a tinge of short lived ecstasy…… What do I do, take my gear and run? Isolate myself? Or just give in and add them to my best stuff to satisfy my craving for the ultimate high which might just kill who I am?

Kill me if I waver. I don't want to die a guilty man.

Rethink, Rewire, Reboot, Move On

2008-05-19T21:25:00.005+08:00

Epiphanies are really odd things, if I may call them things that is. They hit you like a loose brick from the balcony of a building you're walking under. And and once you've dealt with the immidiate shock of what you've just realised you wonder why you didn't get hit earlier. Subsequently of course you begin to take stock of the numerous realisations and answered questions that have been dumped onto you in that one infinitesimally minute moment of time. I for one, wrote everything down not that its the SOP, I don't have epiphanies too often to lay down an SOP for them, but I did, lest I forget anything important. There was so much information balancing on my head, all piled up, one sudden movement and it would have all fallen off.
Anyway now I'm sitting going through whatever is scribbled onto this little piece of paper and there's just one thing that I can deduce from it all. That is, being at sea, has changed me, unfortunately for the worse. I didn't like this conclusion that I'd arrived at. But this is how it is. I obviously would never be able to notice this change since I was the one going through it. But the people present before, and who are still here after, can. How I'd wish everyone would help out and tell me strait up, but life's not as simple as I'd like it to be and not every one's at straight forward. People like to drop small subtle hints here and there in the hope that I'll get it and that I'll realise without getting hurt as compared to a more blunt and direct approach. Well, I'd actually appreciate the latter. But then again not many people know me well enough to know that. But anyway, a lot of rewiring is needed in my head and a lot of modifications are underway. I some times think I was more in control of myself and my brain when I was twelve, more sensitive to change and the world around me. Now I'm more like the character 'Moose' from the Archie's comic books, who's reaction to everything he didn't understand was 'Duh' followed of course by aggression, which stemmed form the secure feeling of being the only thing he knew would work out. in his favour for sure.
It has taken a year to bring about these little yet damaging changes within me. Some hardly noticeable and others quite obvious. What I don't know though is how long it will take for me to get back to normal. But then again what was, is, or will, define 'normal'? I guess till I'm not satisfied with the state of my mind, body and soul, I shall wear a T-Shirt that says:

Caution Work In Progress
Do NOT Operate

And I guess I will need to buy eight of them, one for every day of the week plus one backup so I don't get impounded in the CDC again, this time for being a stinking Bio Hazard!

Shaken and Afraid

2008-03-22T19:08:00.008+08:00

It has been two nights now, if this lasts more than fourteen then I'm in for a lot of trouble. A part of me wants this feeling to last more than fourteen days so I can be certain about what I'm feeling. You all know my fourteen day theory. I needn't explain more.
Last night whenever I closed my eyes I saw her. Yet when I opened them I realised how unfair I was being to whom I was with. Fifteen minutes into it I didn't really care anymore since my current bed buddy had already screamed in ecstasy. I closed my eyes just to see her again. I wanted to, I needed to. I wished it was her I was holding right now; wish I was making love to her all over again. I hadn’t planned for this, it just turned out this way. A part of me wishes I didn’t see her face whenever I closed my eyes yet the other part wants to dream about her all day. Just as a part of me wants her to obliterate my fourteen day theory whilst my other self, who made his opinion heard in my last post (one way highway), wishes that her memory just fades away.
It was disgustingly wrong of me to do what I did, but I did it all the same. I thought of her all the way through, her eyes, her lips, her face, her skin, her bosom; how soft she felt against me, how perfect the kisses were, how comfortable I felt when we cuddled, until I finally let go.
We both turned over and lit a cigarette and had another drink, I made myself a really stiff one, I needed it.
I felt a hand run down my spine and I turned to look into a pair of eyes that had a lot of questions. I felt so low; I was being such a dick. But I said nothing.
I sat in the balcony; the moist breeze that was blowing didn’t dry my sweat. I was so engulfed in thought that I didn't realise I'd been out there for more than an hour. So much was going through my mind but none of it led anywhere. It just depressed me more since I found no solution.

When I got back to the bedroom my blanket was hijacked. I knew what was expected of me but I couldn’t do it. I just lay on my back all alone on my side of the bed and watched the ceiling hoping it’d come alive and transport me where I truly wanted to be right now.
I woke early, collected my stuff and left. This escapade was supposed to be fun. It turned out to be a disturbing eye opener. I realised a lot but that just added to my already confused state of mind. And now I stand with a head so jam packed with confusing feelings and thoughts that I feel I’m sixteen years old all over again. I don’t like feeling the way I did when I was sixteen, I don’t like not being in control of my feelings, my actions and my emotions. I feel weak, I feel vulnerable. I am afraid.

One Way Highway

2008-03-19T03:54:00.004+08:00

Why do I fall in love with all the wrong people? Why do I fall in love knowing that I can’t have the one I love? Why am I always so stupid when I’m in the fullest of my senses?

How did I fall in love with her? What happened? What was there between us? Or what was it that I felt when she was in my arms that made me feel the way I did?

I can’t express myself to her about this. I don’t want her to distance herself from me. I want to hold her close, even if it means not letting her know how I feel about her. I can’t expect her to feel the same way about me. I can’t tell her that I want her, I need her, and that I love her. But I’m sorry I won’t be there for you for the major part of the year. I can’t tell her that I want to have something more that we already have, but you’ll have to wait for me five months at a time. Such is my life, such is my occupation, I can’t afford to attach myself to anyone. I’ll just end up hurting them as well as myself. I don’t care about hurting myself. But I do care about her. I do want to have her in my arms all day long. I do want to spend a week in bed with her, doing nothing else but cuddle up to her. I do want to be there for her every time she needs me. I want to hold her hand in mine forever. But I can’t. I won’t ever be able to be with her for more than a month at a time in a year, two if I’m lucky. I can’t expect her to wait for me, a guy she doesn’t even know, a person she’s just getting to know. Someone she’d not trust beyond her nose since she knows so little about me. I want so much to just give in, to show her who I am. So much that I need to let it all out in secret tears since it won’t come out in words for her. I can’t. All I can do is hold up the best smile I have when I see her. And have her nothing else but happy when she’s with me. So for the precious little moments we have left together, I want to be happy with her. That’s all the privilege I can afford without hurting her. I don’t know how she feels about me; I don’t have the strength to find out either. I’d rather have her close to me, as she is now than have what I feel for her push her far away.

I had given up on love a long time back. I wish I could still feel cold and void of that beautiful feeling of love. Since I don’t have the ability or means to make it work, to see it through. I can’t hold my hand out to her and ask her to hold on to it through what I have to offer, an almost constant state of yearning and loneliness. I have nothing more to offer but my love, my life and my word that I’d give anything for her love.

I'd give anything to have you forever.

Snippets

2008-03-10T08:28:00.008+08:00

It’s cold again. I needed a smoke, it’s not my house, I must smoke outside. Coming home isn’t always easy, isn’t always fun. I love my parents, but meeting them is always an odd experience. I love them to bits and they do me, but as much joy I derive from seeing them and being back in their sanctuary is underlined by the immense sadness I feel realising that they’re fighting against time. They’re growing old. Succumbing to the ailments of old age. I hate to see them having to compromise to the realities of time.
“What? Do we look that old? We’ve just reached our half life, we have a long way to go son.” Is all my mother said to me with a comforting smile when she read the thoughts right off my mind.
It’s not like they’re old and losing their battle against life. Nor do they suffer from any sort of disease or terminal illness, it’s not like they can’t walk gracefully or stand upright without help. But at this stage, not as upright or as graceful as I remember them through my childhood, or as I’d like them to remain throughout their lives.
I’m such a kid when I’m home. Lazier than a lion. I still get the utmost comfort with my head on my mother’s lap with her hands gently stroking my hair. Helping dad around the house with minor modifications, repairs and carpentry. Still being his assistant although I could do the job myself. I do love being home.
Catching up with friends of course is another story altogether. I get to know details about their lives that they omitted in their correspondence with me while I was away. Because it was too tedious to type all the details or for it was too important a detail to be put in words and was better told as a long tale over the phone. Its fun listening to these tales though, especially when they involve a story that began just before I left and is about to end just as we speak. I have the rare opportunity to study their change (sometimes a total 180 degrees) like the before and after pictures one sees on TV or in magazines; without my mind having to process the transition from their point of view in the beginning to that at present. For instance one of my friends had just gotten into a relationship with a bloke (whom I thoroughly disapproved of) and at that time she was head over heels for him, within a week of them going strong she’d been discussing with me long term plans about their relationship and its ultimate culmination in marriage. She’d been going on and on about all the feelings and all the other bloody bollocks that pollute peoples minds when infected (even temporarily) by the poison on the tip of Cupid’s cursed arrow. When the initial infatuation passes a normal person usually sees the world for what it is and notices this arrow sticking out of their bum. And one thinks, ‘Hello? That’s not supposed to be there is it?’ and yanks the bloody thing out. Now that she’s pulled that stinker of an arrow out of her bum (not sure which cheek it was though), she suddenly sees and senses the real world. She sees the inadequacies, the imperfections the incompatibilities the et cetera et cetera that is to be seen by a clear minded person. Now I get to hear all of the bloody bollocks that she suddenly realises about her present sweetie and their dying relationship. I’m always tempted to say, ‘I told you so’ because more often than not, being seasoned in all this bullshit and totally disillusioned with life, I know where the tale is going to end up by reading into the making of it, the characters involved and its beginning. This one wasn’t destined for a ‘….and they lived happily ever after’ climax. So now I hear the rant, of a woman who feels she’s been wronged, expressed in all the fury of a woman whose mind is now infected with so much anger and scorn that I can feel the speaker of my handset burning under my ears. I never did tell her, ‘I told you so’, I didn’t have the heart. But such is my state after just a short tenure on this earth, that rather then feel genuine empathy, sorrow and pity for a friend in distress, all I feel is a smile inching up my cheeks waiting for the phone connection to die so I can flip my head back and laugh at life and its rules that never seem to change no matter who the players are. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not laughing at my dearest friends or at their state, just at life. I guess no matter how hard you try or what you do, you will end up in the groove that is etched for you on this playground of life and you shall ultimately follow it till its end.
Just when I thought life was going to be just as simple and relaxing as it is every time I return home I had a dose of classic tragedy slung at me. It involved none other than the unnamed heroine of my first post (Chaos). She and I haven’t spoken in a long time. That is of course until yesterday, when after a series of e mails that she initiated we got back in touch. I don’t mean to say that I regret it, just that I hadn’t expected myself to react the way I did.
The first e mail that she sent out of the blue one day caught me so off guard that I couldn’t stop shivering. Seeing her name in the inbox alone had engulfed me in that unforgettable feeling that I’d get every time we were together. Everything and I mean everything just came back in one flash. It felt good in the beginning with the happy moments, the love the intensity of our relationship, the warmth of our every caress. Alas, this feeling was soon laced with sadness and longing and eventually complete and utter hopelessness. I was helpless, almost paralysed sinking into the chair with the whole world vanishing from view and just this feeling, so intense that I can’t explain it in words. I have no counter for this, no defence; I never had and never will. After what seemed like an aeon, my hand, still shivering with this feeling running through my body reached for the mouse and opened the mail. The contents of the mail made my heart sink. All the sadness that I’d thought I’d never feel again in my life, I felt at that moment. For about a day I was in a daze. A world of my own where I’d see and feel life like I did back then. She’d opened up a deep wound that had just begun to heal. I replied to that e mail which was a question, with a true and straight answer, resisting the urge to mention anything else than what was asked. Eventually the mails became more frequent, each friendlier than the last. She wrote to me like she would a friend. Like everything was normal. I couldn’t do the same, but I did. I didn’t want to be unfair to her and load her with my issues. “I still love her that is true, but she probably doesn’t, hence the normality in her tone of the words she types. She’s happy, the way you want her to be, leave her be that way and help her be that way”, that’s all I thought whilst replying to her. Each correspondence digging deeper and deeper into the past and unearthing the thoughts and feelings I’d thought I’d forgotten and was incapable of feeling. It effected my days and my work; it affected everything I’d do. She still was the only person, thoughts of who were capable of occupying my whole body and soul. No one other than her. I saw where I was heading and I didn’t want to go there, not again. So, I asked her politely to leave me be till I get back on solid ground, till I get back home. She did.
I called her when I got back. My hands shivering more with every number I pressed on the keypad. I composed myself as best I could. I didn’t want her to hear my heart and what it was yelling out. As we spoke I got to know a lot about how she was and how her life was going, not from what she told me, but from the tone of her voice and her inner voice that always spoke to me without her permission. I guess I pulled it off pretty well. I was normal through the entire conversation that came to an abrupt stop thanks to my phone minutes running out. But the message that needed to be delivered had been delivered.
If you’ve read my first post (Chaos) then you’ll surely know the villain of the post. Well as it happens in the twisty ways of life now the villain is the hero and I the villain. How?
Well she told me they’d broken up, no actually, she’d said they were not together anymore and that she’d called it off temporarily. When I inquired as to why, she said that she felt she was being unfair to him. Upon digging deeper I was told that he was a little upset that more often than not she’d end up mentioning me in her conversations with him. I’d keep popping up everyday. In the beginning he was understanding since she’d just broken up with me and hoped it’d wane away eventually but apparently it never did. I ought to feel happy about this but I didn’t. She wasn’t happy about it. Her inner voice had already spoken to me, it said that she truly loved this guy, she’d been with him longer than she had with me. She’s probably been happier with him. And she doesn’t need to go through the extreme highs and extreme lows that was the essence of out intense, short lived, yet unfinished time together. She was comfortable with him, happy with him, she loved him and his company is what her inner voice screamed out to me and the memories of us and the memory of me that stuck onto her mind had ruined it. She was unhappy because of me. I was responsible once again, for making her sad. I wasn’t a happy person when the phone cut off. I derived no pleasure from her sadness, I never had, never will. Her slightest dissatisfaction would worry me, she wasn’t meant to be anything but gay and merry. Now I was really worried. How, without doing anything at all or being directly responsible had I managed this? I needed to help her. I needed her to stop thinking about me, to help her forget me, to erase me so she could be happy with him, the hero of her present life. I am the villain; I’m the culprit of her currently ‘on-hold’ relationship. I’m the thorn imbedded in the sole of her foot that pains her every time she walks.
Good God! I have to work against all my feelings for her that still prevail. I have to suppress my heart that wants her back so badly and go through the ordeal of making her successfully inert to my existence. To make myself, our love and all we’ve been through and all I’d done to make our relationship work, a totally insignificant chapter of her life. Such is my plight, such is my responsibility such is my duty since I can’t bare to see her feeling anything other than happy.

Home Finally

2007-08-28T02:32:00.002+08:00

Coming back home always alters my perspective of life and its issues. It’s like every time I step off the ship I’m a new person. The time spent onboard changes me. If it wasn’t for my friends I’d never even realise it. I’m not sure if it’s for the better or for the worse but I stand before them a changed person every time I meet them.
It was quite refreshing meeting a whole lot of my old friends and buddies and forging new relationships this time around. But the happier and more satisfied I feel the sadder are the lows that hit me when I think about the limited time this joyful time will last. Soon it shall be time for me to step aboard a new ship and a whole new period of life begins.
I’m yet to come to terms with the fact that this is how my life shall continue to be for a long time to come. Selling the years of my life to earn a living. Desperate desires to take forward relationships consume me every time I’m back, which I need to tell myself will never work out since I won’t be around. Forcing myself to keep my emotions in check and not get carried away even if it means hurting or losing people I may secretly be fond of and might care a lot for. It is frustrating and it is hard to explain this to everyone around me but such is my life and the path I tread on.
I love sailing, there’s no doubt about that. But the detachment from my emotional side is what I still need to master. The change over from the breathless beauty within people to the breathless beauty of nature still takes me a while. Some times I feel I’d rather keep sailing than come home in between ships, just so I can save myself the agony of experiencing the beauty within human beings which deters me from leaving again. But then again I guess it’s the limited time ashore (home) that makes every feeling, every meeting and every experience so much more special and worth while.
I ought to take this opportunity to thank everyone who’s made this trip of mine back home so special and wonderful. Who have brought out in me the feelings I’ve not felt in a very long time.

Ahoy There!

2007-03-28T10:07:00.002+08:00

Hello everyone, I am in a gaming parlor in Ulsan, South Korea. No! I'm not gaming, just checking my various in boxes and of course the 'ever so addictive' Orkut.com. Heck I feel so bad seeing no new scraps but heck I didn't expect any anyway. So its all good.

Thanks to a very kind Chief Officer, my fellow cadets and I have had the opportunity to come ashore, along with a couple of officers. While most headed for the malls and shops, I've found myself alone in search of some cultural exposure, trying to expand my cultural horizons. Heck, some times I feel so out of place, why doesn't anyone want to see places for what they are? Experience and feel a new land, people, language and food. Maybe learn a couple of things while you're at it? Shopping malls and fast food joints are the same all over the bloody world. Anyway, the people here, though weak in English, are very patient and helpful. I shall be having some Korean food for lunch and if possible, dinner. I'll post about it later, whenever I get the opportunity to.

Speaking about posts, well I have this five page long draft just lying there. I meant to complete it a month back but a combination of sloth and procrastination has prevented me doing so. I can't seem to complete it on board either. Firstly, because I haven't had the bloody time. Working on Tankers is not the easiest of things to do. But its okay, fun at times. Secondly, I haven't felt 'funny' in a while. I'm just to dog gone tired at the end of the day that all I want to do is sleep. As I have mentioned to so many of you, 'I need to feel funny to write funny'. Heck, I hope once I settle down into some sort of routine I am able to complete what I started.

I'm off for now. Keep reading.

In Transit!

2007-03-15T08:27:00.002+08:00

Hello, Hello, Hello!

Well I'm on my way to join Maersk Progress! Waiting for my flight to Tokyo in the new Bangkok airport. After Delhi airport (which as far as I'm concerned is worse than a bloody railway station) this seems like heaven. Aaaaaah! No hastles, no mile long queues, no line cutting Indians, no muck and no Paaan stained walls! Such bliss!

Gosh, up till now I thought Mumbai Airport as bad. Shit Delhi takes the cake! It takes a whole half hour just to wrestle your way past relatives and loved ones (not mine, the other buffoons) who've come to see off their relatives and loved ones and invariably block the entry to the airport. It actually took me half an hour to get into the airport. How sad is that? I asked around, since I was so bored, apparently this is always the state of affairs at IGI Airport.

Anyway, I'm not posting this to bitch. I just wanted to tell everyone that I am in the middle of a post that I can't seem to complete, I did a couple of pages on the flight here since I was in a funny mood, but I promise a good one soon. Since I'm going on board and shall have access only to my ship's e mail account, a good friend of mine shall be posting all my subsequent posts as and when I send them to her. They shall be sporadic though, after all life on board doesn't allow us cadets much time to ourselves and our musings. I hope to post as often as I can. But whatever happens, please keep checking this URL.

And everyone, please keep in touch.

Maersk Progress, here I come!

The Hunt for Bermuda(s)

2007-02-26T15:31:00.002+08:00

I’ve always hated small towns. I happen to be in Bhatinda. Heh! I’m sure most of you wouldn’t know which state it happens to be in, your high school geography hasn’t afforded you such information. Anyway, until my call to sea doesn’t come through I’m pretty much stuck here. My dad is posted to this God forsaken place and hence I live in the Army Cantonment which, as always, happens to be cleaner and greener than the town (village) outside. Having done all my pre-seagoing essential shopping, which included an inflatable doll (which had a striking resemblance to Madonna), a tonne of porn, a dozen packs of a condoms that have a dozen in each pack (which makes 144 by the way), a dozen lubricant tubes which had 120grams in each (which makes 1440 grams by the way) and a whip (expensive leather variety by the way) I decided to spend the remainder of the funds that my parents had set aside for me on the less essential articles like general toiletries, a dozen new panties (Jockey! No less, mind you) and a new pair of Ray Ban’s. Heck now all this took about six days to accomplish. The hardest part was finding the blooming inflatable doll, you see the male citizens of Bhatinda haven’t yet been exposed to the world of male Sex Toys. They are yet to experience the pleasures and unconditional love that these toys are raring to bestow upon their owners (much to the relief of the women folk here, I’ll bet they’re responsible for keeping the competition out). Anyway, so I ended up ordering the inflatable doll online along with the 1440 grams of lubricant neatly packed into 12 EZ Squeeze tubes (which makes 120grams in each tube by the way). The condoms and the porn were easily attainable locally. Amassing the toiletries took me three days and five trips to the market, what can I say, I’ll be onboard for 5 months, I’ll need a lot of my face washes, cleansers, toners, under eye cream, anti wrinkle cream, concealer, body lotions, hair remover, bleach, shampoos & conditioners of five different varieties to keep my hair guessing, aroma therapy shower gel, et cetera et cetera……….. you know, the works. On the last day I also managed to convince myself to pick up one can of shaving foam and a couple of cartridges for my Gillette Mach3 shaver and a small bottle or Gillette after shave lotion, I mean, a little bit of extravagance is okay once in a while, plus shaving foam makes for an exciting substitute for my lubes, just in case I ran out of the 1.44 Kilos I had.
Once done with my toiletries I could focus my attention on my panties, now colour is important as you know, it kinda sets the mood. Since the Jockey showroom in Bhatinda hadn’t all the colours I wanted I had them order the remaining ones. So six of them are due to arrive this Wednesday. I’ll pick them up then. Ray Ban’s weren’t a problem. I was shopping and there was this unshaven guy sitting on the road side who erected himself when I was a couple of feet from him and unfurled the overcoat he’d wrapped around himself apparently to keep from catching a cold in this chilly weather. Now I don’t quite know if having an inner lining of Ray Ban’s provides extra insulation, but he seemed comfortable when he sat right back down, wrapped in his over coat after selling me a pair of shades.
I discovered at the end of this six day shopping spree that I still had mullah left to spare. Now sitting in the veranda in my Bermudas and a sweat shirt, sipping hot tea, the flavour of which made my head race, I was wondering how to spend (squander) the money I had left. The tea warmed my body. I felt nice and warm all over once I was done with my cup. Wait, not all over. Heck! What’s this I feel? Strangely there was this one spot on my right bum (one centimetre in diameter as I later discovered) that refused to adhere to the general trend the body was following. This defiant spot on my right bum was still rather cold. I investigated. Shifting my weight to my left bum I tilted to the left (as seen from behind) by about 45 degrees allowing sufficient room for my hand to safely navigate under my right bum and allow the fingers of my right hand to find this spot of cold skin. After probing around a bit I located it. I got to my feet, excused myself from my parents who were looking me in bewilderment and exited to my room. My Bermuda had a bloody hole (yes one centimetre in diameter) around the area where my right bum found itself when I wore this piece of fabric. I felt sad, these were my favourite pair. But heck I had the cash to buy a new pair so I could maintain my wardrobe with six pairs of wearable Bermudas. I put on jeans, walked out to the veranda stood in front of my parents demanding their attention. I held my Bermudas up to the horizon so the light of the setting sun could seep through that damned hole and make visible the breach in the integrity of my favourite pair.
“Its hardly anything, we can get it stitched” said my mom while my dad squinted before the blinding spot of sunlight (yes yes one centimetre in diameter) that fell bang on his right eye through the missing piece of fabric that was probably some insect’s dinner.
“Stitched? But mom they’re my favourite pair, I’ll just go buy another favourite pair”
Mum said nothing, resumed the paperback she was reading and uttered a rather loud groan. Dad got back to his files.
I took the car and drove to the market with Bermudas on my mind. I had no idea what lay ahead……

Shop 1
“Hello, can I have a look at the Bermudas you have.”
(silence)
“Hanji sir?”
“Bermudas” I repeated, trying to be as articulate as I could. I even took my hands down to my knees trying to ensure he didn’t give me shorts instead.
“Accha accha! Hai na. Pleej come edhar”
I was decently ushered deeper into the shop which apparently had just a roof. The walls were hidden away behind racks of fabric. The sheer quantity of stuff in the shop gave me the impression that I’d find what I’d come looking for.
“Yeh dekhye, aur yeh bhi dekhie” he said taking out one pair of shorts after another. Before I could stop him he’d already taken out half a dozen shorts and proudly displayed them on a clean glass table for me to inspect and choose from.
“Bermudas!” I said to him. Meeting his eye and subconsciously begging him to read my lips. I repeated “Ber-mu-das” breaking down this HUGE, elusive three syllable word for his convenience.
All I got was a blank look. I gave up. Walked out.

Shop2
“Do you sell ber-mu-das?” I asked optimistically.
I was escorted to a young hip looking shop attendant with a bushy moustache and hair atop his head which quite resembled a bloody mop. It appeared like he’d been hibernating in this shop since the bloody sixties.
“Do you sell Bermudas?” I asked again.
“Uh! Jes sar, ve sell na barmudhas, wait I will bhring you”
I waited patiently, a couple of minutes later he returned.
What he spread out in front of me most definitively weren’t Bermudas. They were an assortment of pedal pushers and three fourths. I frowned, looked up at him. His beaming eyes suddenly lost their glow as he sensed something was wrong.
“You sar, don’t like colar, I change na for you.”
“Its not about the colour, these aren’t Bermudas. Bermudas are till here” I said placing the palm of my right hand facing upward, square to my leg about an inch above my knee.
“No problem sar, whee wil cut it na for you, ware you want it? I take measurement.”
“NO THANKYOU!”

Shop3
Now this is where I learnt the correct pronunciation of Bermuda, the way they say it in Punjab.
“Bermudas?” I asked half heartedly.
“Arey saab nu Barmoodha dikhi” Barked the shop keeper to his assistant.
Now one must get it correctly, Bermuda is not pronounced as Bermuda, in order to be understood one must pronounce Bermuda as Barmoodha. Let me help you out on this one, it’s a little tricky.
Say ‘bar’ as you would ‘bur’ in burrow. Now say ‘moo’ as would a cow, this part’s easy isn’t it? Finally say ‘da’ as in ‘la de da’ only make sure you exhale while doing so. So inhale with the ‘Bur’ start your exhalation with the ‘moo’ and finish with ‘da’. There you have it!
This dowdy looking shop assistant with grey hair, who was probably old enough to be the shop owner’s father, walked purposefully towards a rack full of undergarments. Now either this relic was hard of hearing or he couldn’t see straight. I had a feeling he’d hand me a pair of boxers and say something like, “Barmooda? Barmoodhaaaa!”
Well guess what? He did just that. Sigh. He walked to the rack of undergarments without hesitation pulled out an entire stack of Boxer shorts and proudly displayed them for me to choose from.
I walked out, counting till ten and taking deep breaths.

Shop4
I was irritated enough to not really care for decency or chivalry. I shoved and pushed my way through a group of over weight women jostling about, in a fifteen square feet excuse for a shop. Heck they even had the audacity to name it ‘Jitu’s Megastore’. Once through the sea of lard, I found myself at the ‘Men’s Section’ An entire corner in a 15 square feet room dedicated to men! How awesome is that?
“Bur-moo-DA?” I asked a thin dark skinned man with bushy eyebrows and crooked teeth.
“Hanji, yes we have”
“Good, show me what you have” I replied, without a hint of enthusiasm.
He opened a cabinet of sorts, which was next to his knees neatly fitted into a recess in the wall. After a moment of shuffling about, sorting things out and getting his bearings right in that humongous storage space he turned an presented me with a couple of Jockey boxers.
My first impulse was to grab this chuck by the throat and strangle him. Or shove his face into one of those lard filled bellies jiggling about behind me and suffocate him to death. But the ‘count to ten when angry’ routine of mine calmed my nerves. In fact, I made the mistake of trying to enlighten this gentleman.
I said to him, slowly, “You see, these are boxers, you wear them inside, under your trousers or jeans. I want Bermudas, um, Bur-moo-DAs. You wear them on the outside over these boxers or other underwear, like you do jeans or trousers.”
(silence)
I wondered if he’d understood. I looked at him keenly, for some reason he looked back at me with a keener eye. For a moment I wondered if my notion of Bermudas was incorrect, but I dismissed that idea immediately. I looked for any sign of acknowledgement, something that’ll tell me that he had understood. Or at least that that he’d heard what I’d said.
His keen look changed to a look of mild bewilderment. His bushy eyebrows went upward and his pupils dilated and eventually he looked down (at nothing in particular). His left hand moved down slowly from its resting place atop the table. I followed his left hand. His elbow straightened and eventually his hand was low enough, he begun scratching his balls. Ah! He was thinking about it. I’d gotten through.
Once done with the scrotum scratching, he spoke, “Nahi sar.” He disagreed with conviction, “Aap, inko bahar pehan sakte hai, outside also can wear, this Bermuda only”
Although I appreciated his spirit of salesmanship I wasn’t about to wear a pair of boxers, coupled with a t-shirt and flip flops and prance about town. At least not until the bloody Italians had done it. Hell no!
I held my breath and dove into the sea of lard yet again and emerged at the other side safe and unharmed. I was defeated though and one ‘favourite pair’ of Bermudas short too. I drove home. Put on my dejected face, walked in. Mum and dad were in the bed room. Dad was reading mum’s paperback and mum was watching Mr. Trump on TV. I took off my shoes and got into bed, rested my head on mum’s stomach and closed my eyes.
“I’ll send it to the tailor tomorrow morning.”
“Do that ma, Punjab hasn’t yet graduated form Barmoodas to Bermudas yet.”

Phoenix

2007-02-15T04:36:00.002+08:00

I meant to post this earlier. Wrote this the morning after I landed in Delhi.

I wasn’t even trying to stop them, I wasn’t expecting them to come. But they did. When they started to flow out they didn’t stop. I cried. At first for no reason whatsoever, not knowing what it was that was overwhelming me so much. Then, second after second I found reason to be sad, and I wept harder. So much has been eating me within, so much has been frustrating me and last night, it all came out.
I needed to feel cold, to feel numbed by the winter outside. I took off my pull over, took off my t shirt and walked out of the house. The fog limited the distance till which I could see the world. It was as if everything was being revealed to me slowly, turn by turn, just like one by one I found reason to feel sad, to cry harder. It was cold and I was shirtless, bare backed out on a foggy night walking down a road I hardly know, but I felt nothing. I felt the cold on each letter of my tattoo, as though affirming my state of mind. I wanted to float away from my body, be free like I did that day at the beach when it was raining. But I couldn’t. I wish the chill in the breeze that was blowing would help, but it didn’t. All I could do was silently weep and walk. Trying to ignore the stares of the odd watchman on duty at that time. The road was rough and initially pained my feet, but this pain soon turned to a twisted sense of pleasure. Each subsequent step felt good. My bare feet were being tortured by the cold and the roughness of the road but I felt good. Not enough though, to stop me from weeping. It was only this strange pleasure that I felt with each step that kept me walking.
It was so bizarre, I didn’t shiver, I didn’t feel cold but for the sensation on the letters of my tattoo. It’d been half an hour since I’d left home and the tears still hadn’t ceased. Still, second after second I found things so cry about, issues, faces, circumstances, decisions, fate, luck, family, friends, smiles, frowns, laughs, love, hate, pain, sorrow, pleasure, despair, longing, life. The world was so silent, as though everything and everyone was holding their breath watching me. My feet started to bleed, I could almost see my footsteps like I could on the sand on the beach. Not intending to infect the cuts on my feet I headed home. Washed my feet in the bath tub. I stood and looked at myself in the mirror, I looked pale and lifeless, almost white like a ghost, as though all the blood had drained out from my feet. My eyes were red though, some how, but still watering. I didn’t want to stay indoors. I felt cold because of the warmth in the house. I climbed to the roof and sat dangling my feet over the edge. Should I jump? Naw! From this height I’d not even break a bone. Then how do I stop these tears, how do I stop my mind from thinking these sad thoughts? It’s all in the head I told myself. But it didn’t help. I wondered how it helps the numerous people I’ve said this to. It’s all in the head. I wish the apparently wonderful advice I give people could help me some time. I wish I had a friend as wonderful as I to talk to, to share my world with who I was sure would understand. I am alone and that is how I stand in this world. It’s always been like that throughout my life. Then why am I feeling what I am feeling? Why do these feelings have to come? Why after being so seasoned, after training my mind so much and being so cold inside am I still so weak? I know I’ll be okay in a day or two, but why do I need to go through this? I don’t know when the tears stopped and when I fell asleep on the roof of the house. I woke up to the piercing rays of the sun and the voice of my aunt calling out my name. I got up dusted my self, walked downstairs right past her hearing none of her questions and not wanting to answer any of them. Took off my jeans and boxers, wrapped my towel around my waist and walked into the bathroom. The spray from the shower was warm, how I wish it would feel good. I didn’t. I ate breakfast, how I wish I could taste the food, I couldn’t. I went for a walk in a t shirt and a pair of shorts, how I felt I’d feel cold, I didn’t. I knew what was happening. Or should I say happening ‘again’, I was going into my ‘cold mode’ as I would like to call it. I have come to realise this over the years about myself, recognising these cycles in my life that have come and gone. This is my body’s defence mechanism. I don’t turn it on or off, it happens on its own. Now again for a while to come I shall feel no emotion, feel nothing physical, no one or nothing can hurt me in anyway, I shall feel no happiness or sadness. I’m numb……..yet again, I’m numb. It’s the only way I can live now, for a long time to come.

Revival or Death?

Can't Stop My Heart From Beating

2007-01-26T00:58:00.002+08:00

Why is there this conflict within me? Why can’t I just live a simple life? Why can’t I have feelings that are basic and not complicated? I’ve tried so hard to keep my feelings in check. To live a simple life so I won’t get hurt, not again, not for a long time to come.
But these tears just keep coming. They don’t stop. I’m sad because I’m restrained. I’ve made rules for myself that’ll keep me safe from getting hurt again, but these rules frustrate me. I feel so much, but I’ve decided not to express it, so I don’t get hurt, so I don’t lose what I have. I’m suffocating myself in the process. My heart feels heavy. Is this melancholy feeling any less than the hurt I might suffer if I let go and let it all flow out? I don’t know. I want to find out. But I won’t for it involves another soul. I’d rather suffer this way, let my tears flow and carry this heavy heart around than be the cause of another’s depression. I can’t take that.
I am cold, I don’t let anyone in too easily, but the ones I let into my world are given an all access key card. I’m either detached or totally attached. Either numb or extremely sensitive. There’s no in between.
I’m scared right now. I’m raw and exposed. You can kill me by taking a step back, yet you can rejuvenate me by just holding my hand. Circumstances are against me as usual. I’ve never had it easy in life. Hell! it’s always been an uphill climb for me, a struggle to achieve just a bit of happiness. That’s why I treasure all my happy moments. But can you take my hand and walk with me? Can you face the beating life will give us? The circumstances that'll be against us? Are you used to swimming upstream? Will you stand with me? Will you hold my hand when when the heavens rain fire? Will you look into my eyes and say you trust me? Will you love me as I shall love you?

Only you have the answers.

Just another Ramble. You dare not judge me!

2007-01-21T10:35:00.002+08:00

Sitting here waiting for the bus that’ll never come. I catch a cab. I’m heading home. I’ve told him where home is. He’ll take me home. I hope he will, fuck I’m so high, I’m so embarrassed. I’m so fucking high. I’ve not been so high in so long and it feels so sinfully good. Heck thank you Natasha, thank you Pavitra thank you Gautam thank you Shiny. I had a bloody great time. I know I’m so high while writing this but I don’t care. That I guess is the beauty of it.
The road is twining up, the lights are merging, I’m almost crazy. I love it. I’ve not felt so nice in a while. I love it.
Natasha, baby, you’ll seldom find me so lurid and explicit but I’ll call you baby just this once, I loved your company, loved that you were there, loved that we spoke. Heck I identify with you so much. And I so don’t want to contemplate why. I just don’t. The worst part is I’ve met you on my way out. Wish so much that I had met you earlier. I don’t know if I’ll post this at all, I feel like but I might just not out of the fear of being so embarrassed. I’m the one who’s always in control, I’m the one who everyone turns to. But tonight I was so out, almost ungentlemanly. Its not me, but at the same time it was me. Its weird. I’m rambling so much. Shit this is not a post but just a ramble but I want to get it out while I’m still high.
The lights are merging, I’m real but I’m not. I’m here but I’m not. The road is twining but I know its straight. I’m not in control, I don’t know who is. I don’t like this feeling, but I’m in it now. I don’t like this feeling but its in control. I’m flying. I’m doing what I always wanted to do. I see the world before me the way I want it to be. I’m dizzy with all this emotion about nothing in particular. I’m pukish thinking about my past. My eyes are red, my eyes are tired, are they watering, hell they are. Why? Because I see so much more of this world than everyone else does. Because I feel so much deeper and understand like no one else does. I’m so cold but its my warmth that’s made me so. I’m shivering but its because I’m always so correct.
The stars are bright, I’ll be one of them soon. The stars are bright and its cloudless tonight. I’m high above the world for once. Above what holds be back. Looking down I see all you lesser mortals, you bastards. I’m so much better than you. I know it. I just need to prove it to myself, not to you. And mind you I shall, sooner or later I shall. Then you’ll see you bloody bitches and arseholes what I’m worth. You’ll regret you judged me as you did. You’ll want to identify with me and say, “Yeah I knew Rishpal”
You know bloody well I am capable of greatness, you’ve been saying it reluctantly all throughout my life, being the voice of various people. I’ll prove you right. I’ll prove you bloody right. Just you watch. I’m a performer and that’s what I’ve been bred to be. I shall be the best. Just you watch. I can see fucking through you, just remember I can see fucking through you all the fucking time. And that’s what hurts the most. Just get the fuck away from me.

Fucking sloshed. Fucking happy. For once, fucking out of control!

Solitude

2007-01-12T05:28:00.002+08:00

I have a feeling I’m on the brink of what looks like the second identity crisis of my life. I know that doesn’t say much about my integrity but much has happened in the last year that has changed me. A few of these changes seem permanent. Although I welcome some changes, others have left me rather confused about myself.
To address this issue and get my head out of the almost constantly perplexed state I’ve been in the last few weeks, I spent half a day at the beach. I love it when it rains, people stay in, they like to watch the rain from the other side of their glass windows. It leaves me alone, alone to think without distractions. I love the feeling I get when cold drops of rain land on my body, I love the aroma that fills my immediate surroundings. I feel rejuvenated. As I sat at the beach on the edge of a jetty with the rain beating down on my shirtless back and the chilly, gusty wind turning my skin pale I resolved to get rid of my frustrating state of confusion. Or at least to understand it. As always this condition unfailingly helps me to leave the world behind. I can think outside boundaries of the realm of reality. So as my body shivered and went partially numb and the waves made my dangling feet sway, my mind achieved a clarity of thought and capacity of analysis it seldom does.
I thought about my life in the last couple of years. I addressed a lot of issues. I deduced a lot of conclusions and arrived at numerous realisations. I felt happy. I felt supreme and in control. Although a number of issues had not been resolved, at least I had understood their cause and the effect they have had or are were having on my life at present.
The issue that worried me the most was the inner conflict between the old me and the new me. I know it’s rather perplexing. But I’m sure everyone who’s known me through the years knows exactly what I mean. I am not who I used to be. Among the more glaring changes is my social outlook. I was a complete extrovert, a party animal who’d always find time for socialising. I never got bored of partying, never said no to a gathering of friends. I seldom got jaded with clubbing. I loved making new acquaintances. I enjoyed being among people. Now, however, I seem to be rather strangely comfortable with my solitude. I love having all my time to myself. Most of my friends complain of how I don’t keep in touch, that I hardly come out anymore or make time for them. I just don’t feel like. I don’t know why but I just don’t. Upon realising this change and initially finding it rather threatening. And as a consequence of pressure from various fellow social animals, I forced myself out . Parties, clubbing, dates, outings, movies, lounges, the works. I caught up with friends and made about half a dozen new ones in the process. I indulged in the usual rituals. Did the usual stuff. BUT, I felt numb, these outings and all the partying and late nights that I once enjoyed failed to make me feel any sense of enjoyment. The start, middle and end of each experience felt meaningless, hollow and normal (euphemism for BORING). I enjoyed not one of these escapades. The entire ordeal to resurrect the party animal in me lasted about three weeks and wreaked pandemonium in my head. I was in a state of confusion. I was rather alien to myself at the end of that three week ordeal. I knew not how to react. At every one of my social outings I found my self consciously wondering, analysing, thinking, questioning. Why is this supposed to be fun? Why am I not enjoying this? What’s so enjoyable about that? Why do people think she’s pretty? Why is kissing her so boring? Why does sex not feel so great? What did I feel before that I’m not now? Why isn’t anything fun? Questions down those lines, I found nothing appealing, I was totally jaded. I was seeing through everything for what it was, it all felt like such a farce. I found flirting an utterly useless and predictable process to achieve only one end, which for some reason didn’t seem too interesting. It felt like an effort which I didn’t want to make. At the end of each of these evenings I just found myself irritated and disillusioned. Unsatisfied and angry. So I took a break form everything. I pulled myself into a new world where my only company was usually my own self. I read, listened to music, stayed in, went for long walks alone, used the gym, spoke occasionally on the phone, sent replies to messages, chatted online, watched occasional movie with a friend. I didn’t club, didn’t go for the usual evenings out over the weekend, didn’t flirt around, kept very much to myself. And lo! I was satisfied, comfortable. I was close to being a recluse and I was feeling at ease. I was becoming as boring as Grandpa but I was feeling happy in that state. A week of this and I was utterly happy with life. I felt stable and secure. But a conscious part of me kept on screaming out like a siren in the middle of the sea, forcing me to try to be like I was before. Although I didn’t feel like engaging in any form of unnecessary contact this odd feeling I had, this incessant scream would force me to reach out to some one, to anyone. It was like a ache at the back of my head that didn’t go away. A part of me, that resented the new way in which I had found profound satisfaction and stability in being an introvert. It couldn’t accept the fact that I, “Mr. Party Animal” was now content with my solitude and sporadic meetings with certain friends. This conflict manifested into something rather peculiar. Whenever I was online checking mail and reading the news like I usually do, I’d found my self randomly buzzing and messaging friends over MSN. And since I didn’t actually ‘feel’ like talking to anyone of them in particular or reaching out to them, not because I didn’t like them but because I didn’t feel like it, I ended up making a complete moron out of myself. I’d say the strangest stuff to people online. I’d hail them in the lamest of ways. Just for the sake of it. I’d start off a conversation that I had no intention or enthusiasm of continuing. I know I’ve left so many of you wondering about my recent behaviour over the interned and often over the phone as well. It can be branded, without doubt, as WEIRD. Few of you have been kind enough to point it out, but I know all of you have definitely, at some point over the last month, noticed and wondered. This problem, as of today is considered solved. I have recognised what has brought about this change. I don’t feel the need to reverse it. I think indulging in activities that don’t appeal to me anymore (or for the moment) is unnecessary and exhausting, not to mention utterly irritating. I am taking my time off from the world, I shall bask in my solitude as long as I feel like. I shall be my usual extravagant, loud and spontaneous self when I feel the urge to. I shan’t do the usual bit of over analysis that I tend to, which usually only results in jumpy nerves. I guess I’ll be myself and go with the flow (like some one special once said to me). This is me now, there’s noting wrong with my current state of affairs hence I shan’t make any endeavours to alter it. As for that siren, well she’s been shot in the head with a harpoon. Good riddance.

Lost and found.

My name is Molester, Camera Molester.

2006-12-31T06:15:00.002+08:00

I remember once when I was 12 my father refused to buy me a nice graphite tennis racquet, not until I was better at the game. And rightfully so, when I did improve, I was promptly given a new racquet, a nice graphite ‘Head’ racquet. I was given something I deserved. I had earned it. Also at that level of playing it improved my game play. I also recollect, a couple of years later when I picked up basketball I had a basic basketball and craved for a Spalding leather ‘Outdoor Ball’. The type professionals use. I asked my father if I could have money to buy one. I was harshly turned down and given a long, long lecture on how I wasn’t a professional level player and didn’t deserve one. Show me you’re that good and I’ll get you that ball. That was his rationale. To me then, as an immature child it all seemed like an excuse to deny buying me what I asked for. But now that I look back in retrospect, I have come to the realisation that I was never denied anything that I didn’t rightfully deserve. And I was always denied or when I had my own cash to burn , discouraged from buying stuff that I probably did not need, or would underutilise. I really respect my parents especially my father for that. I wish he knew this, because as far as he’s concerned he’s still my ‘enemy number one’. Actually I love him, I love him beyond measure and I’d give my life for him. It’s just that expressing this at times tends to be difficult. Anyway let me not get into all of that now.
Just yesterday I was chilling with a couple of friends, who had apparently brought along a couple of friends of their own; this resulted in a couple of new faces at the table. Now I love it when there is a new face around, it makes conversation so much more interesting. Thus having a ‘couple’ of new faces sort of, you know, doubled my happiness. Now one of these new faces was a peculiar looking lanky young lad who had brought with him his camera. An impressive looking Canon camera, with a beautiful looking Canon lens. My first impulse was to ask this bloke if it was an SLR. But I refrained form basing my interest in him on his camera, lest he gets the wrong idea about me. So as the evening progressed and everyone was a few drinks down, feeling good, the conversation got a lot more interesting, as did the general environment. Not for me however, with no alcohol in my system, my mind was still exclusively on that camera of his. Distracted, of course, only by the occasional monosyllabic contribution to the ongoing conversation. It was without doubt a Canon SLR, had a 12X optical zoom and a shit load of advanced options that I was working on and analysing, visually of course. I hadn’t asked him about his camera yet, although he had caught me a few times gazing at it. Yeah it was embarrassing. You see checking out a photographer’s camera is like checking out his babe, his girl, his chick, his…….you get the picture (no pun intended). I know this because photography is my newfound hobby. And no, if you’re hoping I’ll tell you about my baby you’re sadly mistaken, I introduce her to no one. So anyway let’s get back on track. The next time he caught me looking at his camera I felt so embarrassed that I apologised and explained to him how eager I was to know about its specifications. He showed not an ounce of reluctance and handed his camera to me. I was aghast! This was like handing some one your girlfriend to fondle as you wished. “Here, do with her whatever you will.”
He didn’t flinch at all as I touched and felt up his baby. I ran my fingers over every part of her, my eyes absorbing in every visual aspect or her form each and every angle possible. I even pushed her various buttons which resulted beeps. He didn’t seem effected by this at all. He was immersed in a rather meaningless conversation with everyone else about some damn TV serial.
I handed back his camera, told him how wonderful a piece he’d bought. And as I blurted out the specifications of his camera to him and what it was capable of, just to get some form of affirmation from him that I was totally right in my judgements his answer was just – HUH?

The rest of the conversation was as follows:

“Huh?”

‘Huh?’ (I thought to myself slightly confused) Was I wrong? Was it not an SLR or was it not an 8.1 mega pixel camera? Was it not capable of taking macro images at 3 inches? Was it not capable of ISO 1500? Where where where was I wrong? Think think think!

"What did you just say bud? Its an SL what?"

“An SLR.” I completed. “A single lens reflex camera.”

With an idiotic grin, “Dude I have no idea what you’re on about. I just liked it and all. You know it’s like a Canon, and my dad’s like Canon’s a good company and all. So I wanted one with a good zoom and all so I bought this one. It’s totally cool, see how the zoom lens pops out”

He demonstrated by popping the lens in and out by roughly twisting the zoom ring one way then the other. I winced every time I heard the lens go ‘clunk’ at the end of its zoom limits as he twisted the zoom rings. He was manhandling her. He was treating a hand crafted, state of the art, Canon lens like an unsophisticated brute.

Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

“Ha! Looks like an erection doesn’t it? Look! Ha ha! Look! Now it’s so big”

Clunk! Went the lens, as it reached its limits again. He muttered an odd “Aaaah!” trying in some pathetic way to imitate a climax and slowly twisted the zoom ring as the lens retracted.

“And now look! It’s like so small. Ha aha! Ha!”

Surprisingly everyone seemed to find this amusing. There was hysterical laughter all around. I personally couldn’t find this torturous way of treating this genuine work of art and demeaning it the way this gentleman (not) was, the least bit funny.
I excused myself from this jolly lot as I needed to think. I couldn’t think among them as I was constantly being slapped on the back between frenzied bouts of laughter in a vain attempt encourage me to join in. Also the screams and agonising squeals of that camera as it was molested and subsequently tossed heartlessly onto the sofa were too much to bear.
I took five outside and spoke to myself about the importance of maintaining composure as I had a very strong urge to wack this dude on the head and twist his balls like a zoom ring and go:

“Ha ha! How does that feel buster? Look I can twist it both ways! Yaay!”

I guess finding humour in his shrieking and yelping wouldn’t be that hard for me.

I re-entered the joint. The laughter had just died off (thankfully). Now it was back to that TV serial and how this actress had and affair with that actor and who’s having who’s baby and what not!
As the evening drew to an end I was enlightened with the knowledge that this camera had cost this well mannered gentleman (not) around two thousand four hundred Singapore Dollars! He had no idea about all its features, nor did he seem interested. He was happy with the fact that he could attain a 12X optical zoom and that he could make jokes using his camera as a prop, blissfully ignorant of the camera’s power and capabilities. A dozen photographs were taken for the sake of memory of this wonderful evening, where a camera was tortured by its owner who almost got tortured by me in turn. When he took it upon himself to act Mr. Photographer it was even more evident to me that this undeserving person, who held this masterpiece, had no idea about even the basics of photography. Deeming his inability to churn out quality group photos to be the result of too much drinking (that’s a new one) he gave up.

“I’m just too drunk to take pictures I guess.”

I willingly volunteered to get some quality shots off using this ultra powerful tool. Boy, I tell you, using a digital SLR is such bliss. Before I handed her back to Mr. Camera Molester (my name is Molester, Camera Molester) I whispered to her a few comforting words. I also sympathised with her, told her it wouldn’t be long before it’d all be over. She’d be liberated soon from all her pain.

I can only imagine how underutilised this powerful camera shall be in the hands of this dude. It wasn’t like he was eager to learn stuff he didn’t know. He couldn’t even be categorised as a beginner or a novice. There was no beginning as there would be no end, and no journey to it. He was just so content with the fact that he had the best gizmo on the market and with her he could click pictures at 12X optical zoom (he would never go beyond something as trivial as). And of course that she, some how satisfied his twisted sense of humour.
I don’t know what to say. I’ll leave it to you to draw conclusions. I personally wouldn’t be able to buy that camera for myself until I believed that I had graduated to a level where I could exploit its full capabilities or felt that the type of pictures I was taking demanded a better camera.

Thanks dad.

Love Hurts, But Sometimes Its a Good Hurt.

2006-12-25T05:23:00.002+08:00

A lot of questions have plagued my mind for so long now. I’d suppressed them. I can no more. Why does no one feel like she did? Why doesn’t anyone’s hug or cuddle feel as comforting as loving? Why do I feel complete in her arms? Why do kisses mean nothing anymore, no matter how talented the partner? With her every kiss was filled with emotion and propelled by love. Why can I touch no one like I touched her? Why do I long for no one but her? Why is she the only on in my dreams, my thoughts and my fantasies? I’ve been with others since, but I feel not the intensity I felt with her ever since the beginning, ever since we met. Why did she have to leave when everything was so right? Why did she give up if the feelings between us were so intense? Why does she still say she loves me? Why does she regret breaking up with me? How can she move on just a month after we broke up and say things like that? Why can’t I move on? Why does it feel so wrong touching another and being with another? Why am I devoid of feeling toward the whole world? Why do I look at women differently? Why do I wonder so often what my reason for living is, my purpose and my place? Why have I contemplated suicide more than once? Why do I feel so incomplete without her? Why did I give her and our relationship all that I had, my heart, my soul, so much that I have nothing left to give? I’m a walking talking human in perfect health with no feelings, no compassion and no empathy. I’m cruel, I’m nasty, I hate, I despise, I rebel, I antagonise and I feel pleasure in sadistic behaviour. I am frustrated and I would not think twice before picking up a fight with anyone, just anyone. Why is there nothing about our relationship that I can blame for what happened? Why did it have to happen to us, to me, although our relationship was so pure and the feelings so true? Why do all those arseholes, those bastards who lie to their girlfriends, tell them they love them, yet fuck around and cheat on them multiple times, face such issues? Why do they “Live Happily Ever After”? Why can’t I be happy? Why can’t I be happy with the only thing I want, the ‘Love of My Life’? Why can’t we be together? Why can’t I have myself my very own happy ending?

Chaos

2006-12-13T19:47:00.002+08:00

Walking beside her I was incomplete. She was completing some one else. Her smiles were not meant for me, nor was her touch. Confused though she claimed she was, she now seemed completely in control of her feelings. I walked a few paces ahead of them, glanced back once and could take no more. I shut my eyes in a vain attempt to keep my tears from trickling down. They flooded my eyes then rolled down and warmed my cheeks, I wiped them as they came. She looked so content, so satisfied. For the first time I felt incomplete around her. In her presence, so alone, desolate, so cold. The piercing pain in my heart was unbearable. We parted ways, said our goodbyes. Her eyes were moist, she touched my hand. I felt life run through me, it felt so good. But with the abruptness of a tornado it vanished, as her hand slipped off mine. I looked into those beautiful eyes, the eyes I fell in love with, one last time. Without any words I said, 'Good bye love, be happy.'
Why? Why? Oh! Why all this pain? Am I to seek solace in the fact that she loves me? Am I to feel supreme because she isn't yet over me? Am I to seek comfort in knowing that she has wept so much wondering why she left me, regretting not giving our love another chance? Why did she make all this known to me now, after so long, if the finality of the situation still reigns supreme?
She shares her life, her love with some one else.
She called me the other day, out of the blue. We spoke, as would best friends after a long separation. Almost five months had past since I’d heard her voice. I loved hearing her talk, that familiar voice, that familiar tone. I felt so alive. I was smiling from ear to ear while I spoke to her. The excitement in her voice felt pleasing. We spoke for so long, carefully avoiding the sensitive issues. The conversation ended. My smile wore off. Before I could deal with this new situation she messaged. In it she said how much she still cared for me. I replied telling her how I would never stop caring for her, she is after all the love of my life. I waited for what felt like an aeon for a reply. I could hold my composure no longer. I snuck in to a quiet corner, called her. We both wept over the phone. I told her how much I loved her and how much I’d missed her, how there hasn’t been a day that has passed without me thinking of her. She said she’d missed me too. Said there were so many moments when she’d cried her heart out, wondering why she’d not given our relationship another chance. I asked her how she could move on in just a month, how could she be with another. I was still not over her and was incapable of thinking of anybody else. Her answer shocked me. She said I was not around, she was lonely, she was getting to know new people and found that she liked him a lot. Was I supposed to be around? Wasn’t I asked to leave her alone? Hadn’t she said she wanted to be alone and among friends. She needed her space. Hadn’t she said that she didn’t want a relationship so early in life. She said she needed to be single. How could she be so weak? How could some one who I thought was so strong get into a relationship on the rebound? Didn’t she know better than that? I said nothing though. I didn’t utter a word. I consumed it all, as I have so many things before. Keeping it all within. She stressed that she didn’t want to lose me and that it was important to her that we kept in touch and that we didn’t lose each other as friends. I agreed, we’d shared so much when we were together, known each other so well, there had been no failure of any sort in our relationship, we must remain friends. Rest assured it would be a difficult task for me as I hadn’t moved on and I assumed she had. But it stopped the tears on both ends and for the moment we were both comfortable. We decided to meet. She asked if it was okay if she brought him along. I saw no harm, thought at that time that I would be able to take it, that it would urge me towards my ultimate closure.
We met. Seeing her at a distance filled me with such joy. She was alone. I hugged her, felt her warmth. Felt her in my arms. I looked into those eyes I had longed to see. We smiled, I felt complete. We walked to where we intended to sit. I wondered where he was but refrained from asking. We spoke to each other, smiled, caught up on old times, but all our laughs ended in sighs. When we were both quiet, we were busy thinking. I could tell from her eyes that her thoughts consumed her. A million thoughts were racing through my head too. I was longing to touch her face, to feel her in my arms again, to kiss her. I’m still not over you, she said suddenly. I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do. Before this issue could be taken further he arrived. His step was cautious, so were his words. We were introduced. He was well guarded and didn’t converse much. I felt nothing at his arrival, felt nothing for him. He was sizing me up but I didn’t care. In the subsequent half hour I spent with the couple, I knew he didn’t deserve her, or was that just me being unfair? I don’t want to contemplate. I didn’t want to rationalise anymore. He just doesn't deserve her, period. He put his arm around her as though he owned her. She smiled at him and turned to me with an embarrassed smile. My heart had sunk, it ached like hell. What was to help me attain closure had in actuality wounded me more. I remember telling her when we were together, how I’d die so many times a day just thinking of her because I missed her so much when she wasn’t around me. But at that very moment, I truly died! Never had I felt so sad. Never had my chest hurt so much.

Loved and Lost