These are the days...

Of leisure and plenty of time,
Of vacant days and barren nights,
Of some music and some books,
Of plenty of new unseen sights,
These are the days...

Of checking for unrecieved calls,
Of empty inboxes and waiting eyes
Of restlessness and disappointment,
Of text messages and no replies,
These are the days...

Of daily bickering and foul mood,
Of aimless wandering for naught,
Of tasks waiting to be touched,
Of motivation still to be saught,
These are the days...

Of memories sparkling bright,
Of reminiscing distant years,
Of remembering the easy laughs,
Of recalling those heartfelt tears,
These are the days...

Of walking new first steps,
Of fearing what the future holds,
Of uncertainty and anxiety,
Of apprehension of what unfolds.
These are the days...

Stages of my anger.

Note: Had written this at 3 am, but got yelled at by mom for staying up that late, so posting it first thing in the morning. Yes, I'm actually awake at 10.30. The world is cruel.

When the world sleeps, I seem to get energised and motivated for some reason. My brain begins to race, and my heart begins to pump, as ideas come storming into my under-utilised head. While the rest of the day I put my mind to a deep slumber, it's at night when there's silence around, and a nagging guilt of pending sleep, that I get most charged up to write. Regardless of any worthwhile content.

I argued with Mr.A today. Nothing new, we argue all the time, mostly over the most insignificant little issues. It takes a few words from me, and few replies from him, we huff and puff in annoyance, and are laughing again within the next 10 minutes. Admittedly, I have a lot more of such meagre issues than he does, being the complicated wreck that I am. Distance doesn't help either. Most of our biggest arguments have been on the phone, or when we don't talk for long. Misunderstandings and miscommunication tend to be artificially enlarged when the person is not in front of you.

So anyway, it has been around 9 days since I'm away from Italy, and as expected, my frustration of being alone and away gets translated into sentiments of abandonment and I drown myself in self pity. Nobody cares about me. Nobody writes to me. Nobody texts me. Nobody remembers me. Nobody even reads my blog (sob sob). These are just some of the familiar thoughts that encircle my tormented mind. So who do I usually dump these thoughts and feelings on? My dearest friend, Mr.A. When he's with me, most of the times, he just hugs me and tells me to shut up. The hug does the trick, all's well and good. But then, there are those unfortunate times, when he's not there in person. These are the times when I growl like a vicious mongrel, hiss like a troubled cat and bare teeth like a wild chimp. It takes only a tiny trigger to make me take those claws out (talking metaphorically here, for those hiding their faces) and dig them where it hurts. All those pent-up feelings come soaring out in the form of unreasonable anger and I roar like a hungry lion(ness).

Anyway, my usual reaction after the thunderous outburst, is to storm off (usually hang up the phone, or go offline). Then comes the phase when the adrenalin starts to wear off, and anxiety starts to crawl up. Does nobody really care? Does nobody notice that I'm upset and angry? Why isn't anyone bothering to ask me? Why doesn't someone call or message to see if i'm still angry? Why why why? Oh, I was right, nobody really cares after all! I revel in those same feelings of self pity, and often burst into angry tears. Oh, how they flow, effortlessly and endlessly.

Now, Mr.A is one smart cookie. He knows me to my very core, can predict my every move, probably can even tell what fingernail I broke! He knows very well that I'll sulk for sometime, then cool off and call right back, usually to yell some more about not having recieved a consoling phonecall. So he waits. He waits till I cool down, till the anger subsides, till the storm passes, till the breathing resumes its normal pace. He knows I'll call or text or something, so he waits. Predictable that I am (to him, cuz I can't even surprise him anymore), I call, and I yell some more. Those proverbial claws scratch some more, then fold right back. He laughs at my predictability, tells me not to be silly, and that he obviously does care, and I melt. I laugh along, at him, at myself. At the situation in general. Anger gone, frustration gone. The world suddenly becomes a better place, and I suddenly become a happier person.

Today he was a bit more clever though. He left a comment on my blog, in other words, hit the nail on the head. And what did I do? Well, I burst out laughing at just how well someone can read my thoughts.

For now, free of anger...

Disobedient Tears

Away from a dreaded land,
And yet I yearn to be there,
Have desired to be where I am,
Tell that to my disobedient tear.

When flow once they did,
For the lack of a mother's embrace,
Now they fall free and long,
Missing that comforting friendly face.

An agonising state of mind,
Perpetually homesick, I happen to be,
Constantly taken miles away,
From those who genuinely care for me.

Attempts to stop these wretched tears,
Have failed in the past, miserably so,
When for my mother's gentle caress,
I waited and sobbed some months ago.

Once again, the dams have broken,
the flooding has filled a vacant space,
the abyss created by a major shifting,
leaving behind my favourite place.

Change

I've often said, and I have truly come to believe that change is the only constant. Try as hard as you might, this is one thing that is inevitable. My life has, once again, gone through some major changes. I've changed countries, occupations, phone numbers, even some perspectives about people. And all this, in a span of 2 weeks. Now that i'm beginning to settle in the routine of life again, I'm keeping in mind that this routine is only transitory and there will be a time when this too will be different.

I just moved from Milan to Dubai. The two places could not be more different from each other. While Milan has the feel of an Italian big city with Fashion treated like a religion, Dubai is a majorly Asian setup with buzzing life and noisy construction everywhere. Milan was relatively easy-going and chilled out, with dinner and happy hours with friends, with a quiet movie here and there, with frequent shopping escursions, with late night drinks and public transport, with the quintessential European living. Dubai however, is a city of fast life and consumerism , with food joints open till 3 am and cars which look like aircrafts on roads, with some new building or road being built at every corner, with South Asians everywhere and Indian food easily available, with the social circle of other Indian families and a rather modest dress code.

I'm adjusting. It'll be a slow process, but I'll manage somehow. I do miss my apartment in Milan. I do miss living alone. I do find it hard to be told what to do again. I miss cooking for my friends. I miss the aperitivi ( typical Milanese concept of drinks and buffet in the evening). I miss hanging out at my friends' houses. I miss going shopping with them. I miss just laughing with them. I miss the rain and standing in my balcony with my friends looking at hailstorms. I miss the company of my friends when we studied till 4 in the morning for some annoyingly difficult subject. I miss the celebratory lunches after the exams, when we all did well. I miss the long walks to get to Duomo. I miss the feeling that all my closest friends are just a phonecall and maximum half an hour by tram away from me. And most of all, I miss my best friend Mr.Adorable, I miss talking to him for hours, I miss watching Sex and the City at night with him, I miss calling him up when I was feeling low, I miss eating at the kitchen table with him on the other side. I miss his affectionate hugs, I miss his heart-warming laugh, I miss his shoulder on which I've broken down many a time.

I'll get used to it, I'm sure I will. I will get used to my life here and slowly all that I miss will fade away. It will stop piercing my heart so sharply. It'll hurt me less. Soon, I know, I'll get myself busy with the routine here. I'll find new things to miss, I'll find new people to be around. What I will not forget are the moments I spent in Milan, the closeness I've felt with my friends there, the precious bond that we share. My life will change, my feelings towards them will probably not. We will probably not talk to each other often, or see each other often, but I will always care for them, I'll always try to keep them a part of my life, and will always hope that I remain a part of theirs. Yes, change is constant, but so are true friendships.

On to another set of challenges now...on to meet new people...on to a new life...

Fear

My earliest memories of fear are those of a 2 year old me, standing on a beach, on the Southern shores of India, wailing when my parents were entering the water, and watching as huge waves swept into land, where I stood. I vaguely remember the feeling of desperation at the thought of my parents being lost to the engulfing waves. A panic, an enormous sense of peril and a feeling of helplessness at not being able to do anything. I did what any other infant does, bawled my eyes out! I remember crying so much and so loudly, that eventually mom and dad had to get out of the water, and stay away from it!

Nineteen years later, with new fears of my own, the emotion rather intrigues me. As a cynic and an alleged pessimist, I constantly keep an eye out for weaknesses. Whether they are faults in houses, countries, families, friends, colleagues, teachers, or just some random person I meet somewhere, I tend to notice the faults almost subconsciously, and keep them in some corner of my mind. I figure it works sort of like a defense mechanism, that I use to stop myself from being intimidated and overwhelmed by the close-to-perfection around me. Don’t get me wrong, I would never hold these weaknesses against anyone, I would maybe not even think consciously about them, but I know that some corner of my mind gets comfort knowing that this weakness exists, and makes me accept and possibly even love, the people or the places even more. Since I see fear as a weakness, it always interests me knowing what might scare people, what is the one scary thing that scars their seemingly (to me) perfect lives of contentment? So, I ask.

After getting a lot of, “I don’t know”s, and “Oh, I never think about that”s and “Umm, you’re random”s, I finally managed to get a bunch of people to spill out their deepest fears to me. My best friend, Mr. Adorable (a-d-o-RABLE!), aka Mr. A, told me the thing that scares him the most is loneliness. Very similar to my own fear of abandonment, the feeling that the people around you are going to go away (somehow, with some deep dark magic), and you’re going to be left alone, all by yourself. Writing this out is nearly giving me the chills and the expected shiver down my spine, so i’ll swiftly move on.

Another close friend, Goofy, fears fights, huge disagreements and arguments, specially the ones she’s involved directly in. She’s scared of everything from the beginning to the outcome, and it doesn’t surprise me. It take so much effort to lead an uncomplicated life these days, that any glitch is enough to break the facade of perfection. So, it’s understandable that someone would fear these triggers and sparks, and the unpleasantness that comes along, since it puts all the efforts of simplicity in scrutiny and unwanted risk.

Then again, most of us are so scared, that we somehow create a barrier for ourselves to live our lives the way we want. Mr. Self-Assigned Misfit (SAM), told me that the thing he fears the most if putting yourself out, opening up to people, and then not being taken seriously, or worse, rejected for who you are. While I can completely understand his fear, and partly relate to it, I also feel that there’s this tiny bit of risk that people should take, just because without this, fear will be the only ruling factor, leaving less or no room for freedom of just being who you are.

My friend, Ms. Biker, has a very strong fear of failure. She’s excellent at nearly everything she does. She’s ambitious and determined and knows how to get what she wants. I can’t remember the last time that she actually failed at anything, and that this possibly because of this pulsating and beastly animal called fear, which crawls inside her and inhabits the very core of her consciousness.

Over the years, my fear has found new meanings, new targets and an entirely new set of reasons. They have grown into obsessive, almost psychotic, tangibles, which have sadly but surely, become an integral part of my being. My life is engulfed around them, and I spend most of my conscious time trying my very best of evade or avoid facing them. But then come times, when you just cannot ignore the so-called “elephant in the room”. What do I do in those terrifying moments when my fears challenge me to a face-to-face combat? I cower initially, but then regretfully stand up and face them. At that point, it doesn’t matter anymore whether I win or lose. The simple act of standing there, facing the sea of my fear, with its monstrous waves of terror, and physical reactions of trembling, shaking and overall disintegration of any sense of calm, remain the only relevant factors. The result becomes insignificant in that moment, since the process itself drains me from any ambition or goal.

I still see myself, somewhere on a beach, still crying and fearful...the only difference is that I take my fear with me, and enter the water. I’m scared to my very core, but I enter...and hope that someday, this fear will just go away....and i’ll be left to enjoy the softness of the sand and the waves brushing gently on my legs...