There is a lie you partake in. It’s beautiful so much that you do anything to not let it break. It’s so carefully constructed that you can’t see the truth that has been buried behind it. If at all the truth tries to find it’s way out, you quickly find that beautiful lie to cover it with. I was a part of a lie too, so beautiful that nothing else has ever come close. It was my seed, but two other people watered it daily, one more than the other. It grew so big that it consumed me. The truth came forward many times trying to talk to me. I didn’t want to hear it because of the two people who kept my beautiful lie safe for me. I knew the seed was faulty, something I had scrounged for in the storm. The thick foliage seemed too good to be true, but those two made me believe and I believed because I wanted to. Then one day they stopped, leaving the lie there. It didn’t grow, but it didn’t die as well. It’s still in my backyard the beautiful lie one of the best I have seen. I go back to it even now, when no one comes there anymore. My lie carefully grown by the two who don’t exist anymore. Their words are still hanging there, their impression still lingers ages after they stopped nurturing the lie. The truth is poking out, marring the beauty but I can only look at the lie. Alone I visit it again and again to look at the lie. My beautiful lie, so carefully constructed by the two, one more than the other.
I sometimes wonder why I stopped writing/imagining. My imagined world is the coolest place to be. I am a budding movie star giving a talk show and all of a sudden I am dancing at a college party all the super cool and difficult steps. The boy I had a crush on is gobsmacked after looking at me. He is wondering how he survived all these years without knowing me and he knows that now the only way he lives is if I am with him. The wind blows and our eyes lock and we are in love, but we don’t tell each other and let the eyes speak and meet each other every day. Next thing I know I am in New York I am really tall and wearing very high pointy heels. My hair is swishing in the wind and I am getting late for a meeting. I am the youngest boss of that place wherever I am going and everyone admires me and is scared of me too. Next thing I know I am in a meadow with the most exquisite scenery in front of me. I am wearing everything prim and proper and I feel so relaxed. Suddenly I am on the stage accepting the best actor award…..
I wonder why I stopped imagining. Maybe because when I was in school there was so much left to see. Now, after experiencing few years of adulthood I don’t want to see anything else. I don’t like growing up. I wasn’t made to grow up. My imagination has given me such high standards that my life is half dead trying to match up to it. I want to imagine again but “logic” tells me to stop being childish and well what else is there? It’s so weird to be stuck in the middle. I can’t live in my dream land because I know better and I don’t want to live in the real world because it isn’t better. I hope I survive. Because I gave up on living a long time back.
When I was small we used to take a lot of road trips. I remember getting up early. Packing snacks for the trip. My mother and father would drive alternatively. Sometimes we would stop by the road and pluck fruits from the trees, my father would tell us how to identify different trees by their leaves. My mother would tell us about the different rock forms. It was a delight to traverse through the expanse that is india. So many different things we would see within 400-500 km. It was amazing. Even though there was more to see during the day, my favorite part of the trip always was when the sun came down. Everything was cooler than before, the wind slapping your face, the smell of evening. The orange streaks turning into purple and then dark blue
. It was my favorite. The stars would appear above the lights below. I don’t know what it was but that is what I looked forward to the most. So beautiful I could cry. You could see squares of light from faraway houses. Sometimes you could peak a little inside their houses. Get a glimpse of their life. I wondered if we ever meet would we ever know that I crossed their house so many times. Sometimes you could smell the food being cooked. Sometimes you could see a single house standing alone. Almost always it was white in colour, with blue windows and white lights. It looked barren but intriguing. Nothing short of a scene from a novel
I wanted to go there. To go inside.
Look at it. The blue windows never gave much away. I would look at that house for as long as I could. and then think about it. It’s not one house but many like it. I never knew whether it was a happy house or a sad one. You just know it when you look at some houses. Like the small hut in the middle of the farm with the golden lantern was a happy house. I saw many of them. But this one. This one was so secretive yet so beckoning. Sometimes when I reach home every night I feel like I have reached that very white house with blue windows. I can enter this one too.
Behind the wooden door would be the answers to all the questions I had as a child, all the imagination put to rest, my mind satisfied because at last I could find out the secret of the white house with blue windows.
And it’s the same like I saw it years ago. Away in a distance with white lights.
But when I enter, the secret remains. Everything is still hidden. I am inside the house but I am still trying to catch a peak, except now I am tired.
And I still don’t know whether it’s a happy house or a sad house.
Nothing to do with twilight series here, but yes the vampire-ness I am talking about is inspired from the vampire species in that series.
I wish we were all vampires. Weird statement, yes, but I have my reasons:-
1. One of the biggest reason is immortality. You never have to worry about anyone dying. For someone who is prone to anxiety the thought of death can send the heart racing at the maximum speed possible. And not one’s own death but death of a loved one. So once everyone is a vampire, this worry ends. (I know the entire problem of what will everyone eat if all of us were vampires and the issue of sustainable development and what not but if we are wishing, then we can wish anything)
2. Speed. Travelling takes a lot of time. If you’re from India you’d know that it takes even more longer. Distance itself is a hassle. If everyone was a vampire we’d just run to any place we wanted to be. Imagine never having to pay for travel again.
3. No sleep. You don’t have to sleep you’ll get so much done. There’ll be more to see and more to be done.
4. No heart. No elevated heart rates. No anxiety I guess.
When I started writing this I thought I had a long list of reasons but I have run out of them at 4. If I manage to find more I will add and hope we were all vampires. (only the kind of version I want)
1. Anxiety. I worry too much and spend all my energies on worrying before actually doing something.
2. BecauSe of 1. I look for the easy way out. The easiest way being quiting.
3. Insecurity and jealously take over mu mind clouding my thought process.
4. I need help but I do not know who to ask.
5. I want to hide inside a blanket and sleep forever.
One day. 24 hours. 1440 minutes. 86400 seconds. Lot of time. I spent 5 minutes of my 1440 minutes watching a quick fix recipe video for cauliflower baked bites. 1. I am not very fond of cauliflower 2. I will never make those nakrd bites ever in my life. Even after knowing both the above things I watched all 4 variations of the recipe. I don’t know why I could not stop myself. The ager that I spent. 30 seconds of my 86400 seconds trying to find more recipe videos so that I can watch something that is visually appealing after being left unappitised by the cauliflower bites. After find them another 20 minutes went into the same.
Had I not watched those 5 minutes of the early recipy I would have saved 5 mins + 30 seconds + 20 mins = 25 minutes 30 seconds. Rounding it off to 26 minutes.
26 minutes out of my s 1.8 per cent of my day. Rounding it off to 2 per cent. So 2 per cent of my day I wasted in doing something I didn’t want to in the first place. One can say that 2 percent in a day but 26 minutes in the entire lifetimes hardly matters and I agree. Buy these other 26 minutes in different slots that I keep wasting on people, places and things what do I do about that? Nothing. They’ve gone, slipped away.
I am mathematically unable to calculate how much part of my life has escaped without my knowledge and how much more will. I don’t know.
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know why the phrase “I don’t know” has become an inseparable part of my vocabulary. I want to be like those people who are so pumped up about things, who are happy, who are not scared to take risks and the positive people — the people who don’t “don’t know”.
These “knowing” people — you just know them, they can be very easily identified from a distance, they do not have a scowl on their face, they are not double checking their belongings, they do not hide behind their phones, they will talk to you, they do not fumble, they also are happy or they are immensely strong to remain happy in the face of all the problems on them.
I want to be like that. I don’t know (here it comes again) but I think I was somewhat like that, not exactly but somewhat. My default expression was never a smile and I always had trouble speaking to other people (so much so that I would think 10 times before asking the teacher whether I could go to the washroom) but I had the pleasantness and ease. I, I, I another word that has found a permanent place in my narrative these days. I do not want that, I do not know why is that the case.
I also complain a lot these days, there were times when I would very easily defend my argument with words like “realism” but now I know that it is and was plain cynicism. I hate everything now a days. It is annoying to the point of torture. I hate the people who are happy every time, the ones I mentioned above who I want to be like, I want to shake them and ask them what is wrong with you has life not happened to you yet, what are you, why are you like this? Be sad. I know that I sound ridiculous but it is extremely off putting — excuse me please do not be nice to me, no I do not want to talk to you and let you know my troubles. It is so refreshing seeing someone as miserable. There is this editor I wish I can be like in around 8 years or so and I saw him talking about despair and sadness in the socially acceptable humorous ways and that was the only thing that was uplifting for me this entire week. Only thing — again a very horrid thing, but what can you do?
But, that is the reason that I do not know. I do not know what is gotten into me, why am I such a person now, why is there so much confusion, I hate the fact that I am becoming one of those people that come and write something nonsensical on the internet when they are feeling uneasy and are never the ones to share a positive comment. I hate that rather than being inspired by the nice people I hate them, I hate when they have happy things to share, my mother always said happiness spreads by sharing and you should always take part in other people’s happiness but I cannot. I hate the fact that that I talk about myself so much that I have a blog about myself in which I talk no sense, I only talk about “I”. I hate the fact that on days like this I have nothing important to do than fret over my muddled brain. I hate the fact that I do not know why all of this is happening, is it hormones? Is my brain getting damaged? Am I being over dramatic? Or what kind of nonsense is this? I hate the fact that I don’t see any point of blogging anymore, earlier it was an outlet to my stories, sometimes real sometimes imaginary, now it is my rant machine. I hate the fact that it is so. I hate that fact that I do not know why this is so. I hate the fact that I don’t know so much. I hate the fact that I don’t know. I don’t know.