And the observer concludes. Her journeys aren't over yet, all her tales haven't been told yet.
Her stories crouch in the attics of her memory. They hide in corners, they gently sneak about in her head. Like little, kittens they hide in playfulness, waiting only to be found again.
Her stories are left to you. Left to you to understand. Left to you to write.
This observer is still here, watching from the shadows.
This observer now see you. And only you.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
And the observer concludes. Her journeys aren't over yet, all her tales haven't been told yet.
Monday, December 29, 2014
The observer splayed onto an empty seat on the bus. She had heard sniggering as she slowly dragged her school bag, her nose buried in another book. She ignored the remarks. She had learnt to block out all this. She had learnt to live in another world.
But today, even the snarky comments had been delivered without enthusiasm. Mondays took out the meanness even in the meanest.
She turned her back to them, and watched from the window. It was a cold, grey morning and the observer, wearing just a thin blazer shivered as the winter wrapped its frigid arms around her. The windows of the bus remained stubbornly open despite the desperate attempts made by all those who miserably shivered as the wind lashed their faces.
The observer saw that the whole city was affected by the chill. Fires had been lit at street corners and men and women huddled over the dismal flames as they trudged to work.
Suddenly the battered bus freaked to a halt. The observer looked up in surprise, here's had always been the last stop before school. As she watched a little girl hopped on, her face flushed from the cold.
Little was the only proper explanation for her. She was hardly 4 foot tall. She was slightly plump and her face was sparkling with an energy that nobody around her seemed to possess.
The observer realized with a jolt that the tiny, elf-like being was in high school too. She gaped at her she yanked a gargantuan bag behind her and plunked down beside.
"Hi!!!", the girl yelled and the observer shook in her seat. She offered her a tiny hand and went on to offer the whole tale of her life until that point. After a weak handshake, the observer leaned back in her seat, nearly blinded by the near literal ray of sunshine sat next to her.
Until someone yelled from the back, "Keep it down, tiny! And try and stay away from weirdo!".
The observer instantly ignored the taunt. Suddenly, a little red cannonball shot past and punched the owner of the offending voice.
And then the tiny girl was back in her seat, dusting herself off as though nothing had happened.
The observer turned to her.
She was gifted with a smile that she knew was going to stay with her forever.
Her smiles were like sunshine. Blindingly beautiful.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Her palm gently caressed the crescent shaped scars on her hand. They were scars that her nails had left on them, when she had buried them deep into her skin, past the protests that the pain made. Like she wanted to claw out the evil that had embedded itself into the pores.
She shook her head, shook of the covers that she had cowered under. She tried to push herself up. To get up again. To live again. She tried. But the strength left in the observer was not sufficient. Not enough to find her a better reason to look forward to a better future. She wanted no future. She wanted no help, she wanted nothing more from a world that had given up on her.
The observer too had given up. The observer too had stopped trying.
She traced her fingers across her arms. Her spidery hands trailed the silvery scars that had found a home on them. She remembered the shark points that had gone swish swash across, leaving behind much more than a thin trail of blood. They left behind relief, a feeling that justice had been served. That somehow, some of her flaws had been rectified somehow. That the wrongs had been turned right. But most of all it brought back sleep. When the observer could finally close her eyes, the dull thud in her heart vaguely coinciding with the sharper throb across her limbs.
But now, even the pain couldn't offer solace. Even the pain had numbed itself. There was nothing left for the observer. Until she turned and the portrait of a little girl caught her eye.
The girl was tiny, hardly two years old. But her tininess didn't in any way obscure her blinding smile. It was so pure, so innocent, so happy. The little girl had so much to look forward to.
And that was when the observer made a promise to the little girl. To find a reason to live.
Saturday, December 27, 2014
She didn't care about who he was or what he did.
She had known him for far too long to care about that.
She just watched his hands frantically fly in the air as he tried to be the first to answer the teacher's question. He had long, long fingers. An artist's fingers. A musician's fingers. She could imagine those finger gently caressing the strings of his guitar. She could imagine those fingers gently untangling the strands of her hair. Brushing them away from her eyes. Lacing them through her own stubby short fingers.
She stopped. She turned away.
The observer knows all this very well.
She knows that this will never last. That moments are fleeting, temporary.
That feelings are there today, gone tomorrow.
And that emotions could kill.
She knew this because she had died too often.
Because she had felt like someone had taken a piece of her soul. Because they had left a hole in it too.
Because she had felt like the sun wouldn't rise. Because she sometimes didn't find a reason to get out of bed.
And the observer knew very well that she couldn't save herself from a hollowed out heart again.
The observer had covered her eyes with her palms, determined not to turn around and look again. One more look and she knew she would fall. And fall hard, with no ground to prevent her from falling. With nothing to hold her as she fell.
She didn't want to.
Until she opened her eyes and saw him looking at her.
Until she saw his eyes.
And suddenly, the ground beneath her feet fell apart.
She shouldn't have. The observer shouldn't have.
Friday, December 26, 2014
The pages crackled under her fingers. She delicately fingered them, like butterflies, so delicate that even a touch could mar them forever.
She paused to to take in the words from random pages.
Broken, hurt, lonely........
They swept past her eyes, like a moving vehicle. They blurred past her eyes, all these words that were all to familiar to her. She had seen this words way too many times. Until she stopped where the page boldly proclaimed
Thursday, December 25, 2014
- I am exhausted. Its basically impossible to whip up ten posts instantly in a row. I have been staying up till crazy times just to get the posts to resemble English.
- Today's post needs at least 24 hours more of work
- ITS CHRISTMAS!!
Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, murder me. Imagine my face on one of those punch-the-people-you-hate games until my virtual self has no teeth left. Pin my face next to Hitler and shoot steel-tipped darts into it. Break into my house at night, kidnap me and then pull out each hair from my follicle and poke out my eyeballs and get leeches to suck my blood out.
Yeah. I know. I am a world renowned sadist who hates anything that is generally liked and is awesome. But, somehow the holiday cheer never really gets to me. Maybe because:
- Christmas is yet another of the highly commercialized festivals. Its all about money, money, money and more money. And we are all so willing to part with it because, of course we need a Santa Claus cap and yes of course we need to light up the whole house and waste an enormous amount of electricity and we obviously need to buy gifts for everyone on the freaking planet!!!
- WE CUT DOWN TREES!! How can you cut down so many tree just to adorn them with tinsel and glitter and angels!! Trees give us oxygen! SAVE TREES!!!!
- The food. I blow up like a balloon every year around Christmas because of the unashamed pigging out that I never will be able to cease. Just how can a person say no to cakes?
- JESUS WASN'T EVEN BORN ON DECEMBER 25th!! Biblical evidence proves it.
Because Christmas is not about religion. Its about family. And bonds. And friendship.
It is about the carolling well into the night. About lalalala-ing when you can't remember the lyrics of 'Silent Night'. It is about yelling 'Merry Christmas' to random stranger. It is about the one day you can scream without getting arrested for public disturbance. It is about hugging people you hardly know and holding sane conversations with them. It is about getting drenched in snow spray and gagging.
It is about the happiness.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
House was empty. A house had nothing in it just. A house had no colours, no happiness, no warmth. A home was never empty. It had everything in it. A home was where you could find little pieces of yourself. It was the place where you feel like you belong.
The observer never belonged anywhere. The observer had learnt a long time ago to pack her life into a single bag. She had learnt to move on, never get attached.The observer panted and looked up. She saw two people in front of her. She looked at them distractedly, sure that there was nothing more she could learn from them.
Until she saw the woman gaze at the man.
The gaze was something that made the observer shiver. It was not just about love. It was about knowing everything about the other. It was about knowing more than what is there to know.
The woman was tall, regal, beautiful in a way that made you want to look at her forever. The man had a face that was impossible to not to like. Open, honest. Happiness shone through it.
Knowing a person is more than just seeing the good in a person. Its seeing the ugly in it.
And the look that the woman gave the man was not just all about unadulterated happiness. It was not one of levitating happiness. It was not of having a perfect life which was filled with rainbows and unicorns and roses and remembered birthdays.
It was about the little things that would go wrong. About things that keep annoying you. The things you want to change about a person. The things that you grow to live with eventually. The little things that you grow to love eventually.
It was about hurt. A lot of heart ache. Of believing that they were never going to make it.
It was about things about everything crashing down at their feet. Of losing their homes. Of losing themselves. Of losing each other.
But it was also about building themselves back again. About fixing themselves up, relying on each other. Depending on each other's strength.
The beauty of true love is that you learn to love what lies beneath the mask that we wear even if we don't know what it actually is.
Together they walked into the house, determined to make it more than home.
And outside, the observer watched, her life wrapped into a single bag. Ready to move on already.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
The observer gazed despondently at the clock. Her dark eyes filled with tears as she watched the hands of the clock approaching the time. She balled up her little fists and wiped the drops as they slowly cascaded down her face. She willed time not to move. She did not want to finally say goodbye. Not again. She didn't think she could say good bye to her soul mate, her alter ego, her shadow.
No. He was more than a shadow. A shadow disappeared in the light. A shadow wouldn't watch her back for her.
He was much more than that. He was the light that kept away the darkness that slowly creeped everyday. He was the person who taught her that being different was in no way wrong. That being different was never bad, that being teased or disagreed with just because you are different wasn't bad. It was good. He taught her that the light was flitting, temporary. That eventually, darkness would come back. All the wisdom that emanated from his tiny, 7 year old body was better than anything the observer had heard in her short life.
And she didn't want to lose her teacher.
But time ticked faster than ever and before she could realise, her best friend was gone.
The observer's eyes flitted across the clock every few seconds. She gazed distractedly at the person sitting in front of her. Words grazed up her throat as she forced a grin. Polite remarks, sounds of awe, exclamations. Lies. Lies. All lies. All feinted interest.
Time refused to move. Seconds seemed to take hours as she watched her childhood friend drawl out his latest inconsequential achievements. Like she even cared. The observer usually enjoyed staring at a tin of room freshener. She would do anything to get away now,
She watched. She didn't want to because all she could see was the hollow of what had once existed. Of the brilliant boy who could sprout philosophy that could change the world. But it he who had changed.
And left her alone too.
Tears trickled down her face and she ran.
The observer now knows. Time changes everything.
Monday, December 22, 2014
She never spoke. Her lips were constantly pursed as she scooped up sand from the pit. As she fashioned the grains into the castles of her dreams.She never let the other children who curiously inquired her name hear a murmur, a whimper from her. Her voice was a mystery, drowned in some sorrow that no one could understand. Stifled by something she couldn't understand.
The observer watched all of the girls and boys around her, engrossed in their own world.
Except for one.
The girl with a smile that could light up the dampest day of the year. The girl wasn't like others. Something about her, some weird aura. Something.
The full moon. She will tell you this if you ask her what her name means. With a toss of her wild hair. Her eyes sparkling with the kind of glitter that you will find once in your life times, only if you are lucky.
The observer was scared of her. The observer tried to hide. But the full moon eventually always found her.
Sometimes the observer couldn't stand her. She couldn't stand how the girl could smile, dance, laugh like nothing mattered.
It took the observer way too much time to realise that the moon was scarred, cratered. That the moon was falling apart everyday. That meteors struck the moon everyday.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
They will lure you in like Pandora to her box.
You see her eyes and you fall into them.
You trip over the rim of golden black
That circles her irises.
You fall into
The glittery ebony that they are.
Eyes that sparkle like diamonds
In a night sky.
Don't look into her eyes.
You will never
Be able to claw your way out of them.
You will never swim
Out of their swampy darkness.
The biting bitterness.
The soft tears.
You will drown
In her pain.
Because her eyes whisper the tales
Her lips never will.
This observer of the universe has lost her way in these eyes. The observer has drowned in these eyes. This observer is irretrievably scarred. But this observer speaks.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
You have seen this observer before.
You have seen her in the darkness of shadows. In the obscurity of the night.
You would have noticed him watching from the depths of silence. From the hopes that he cowers from. From the burden of the dreams he staggers under.
You will find this observer looking at you. Seeing far more than just what you pretend to be. Seeing beneath the mask you hide under. This silent observer sees much more than you know about yourself.
This observer never says anything. This observer will never speak a word.
But now an observer speaks.
(I am doing 10 posts in a row. Do read.)
Sunday, December 14, 2014
So by all technicalities I am supposed to write a post about how magical and awesome it was and how being fifteen has suddenly given me a new perspective on life and some emotional crap like that. But as we all know, I am horrible with emotions. And I probably would melt into a puddle of happy tears if I recall how much I love my friends for all they have done for me. So I won't. But to all those who have put up with my insanity for as long as you have, I love you all. You make this life good.
So. Yeah. I won't talk about how they baked a cake that took me 10 minutes to cut up (my friend assured me it was not cardboard) or melted the butter with a cricket bat (Don't ask. Something about kinetic energy translating into heat) or how they mixed chocolate by hand while one of them claimed in a video for "an electronic hand-mixer" or how they forgot to take the camera and had to run half way back to get it or how they gifted me a pack of semi-frozen milk (Something about purity. Again, don't ask) or about thirteen orange dahlias (I never knew this before but dahlias are my favorite. I was in a class called dahlia when I was a kid and it just means a lot to me) and a motion sensing lamp that my friend promptly dropped or a card with a tulip or any symbolism.
I loved yesterday. It felt unreal. Like a dream. I still expect myself to wake one day and land back in August. Or June. Back to the friendless lonely soul whose best friend was a tree. (I am not kidding. I call him Sebastian or Seb for short. He is an awesome tree. You should meet him too.) Sometimes I don't even like the fact that I have so many friends nowadays. I have to smile at people and that is a problem because I don't usually see people because I am lost in my head and people tend to get offended because of that. And I don't really like to smile all that much. I just have too much fun. People know me.
Everyone is usually nice to me. I became really good friends with people who I had only known from a distance. I can threaten to kill people who I didn't even have the guts to talk to last year. I am in charge of stuff.
I really want to thank people for that.
The rainbow in a world without colors.
The walking ray of sunshine who thinks that everything that breathes is awesome.
The fangirl who scarily shares many traits with me.
The light blue who takes a long time to understand even direct insults.
The one whom you can insult and will never get insulted.
The quizzer who has no issues with being painfully blunt.
The sane one who still hasn't run away from me.
And to you all, you make this world a better place. Thank you.