Dialling a number that doesn’t exist…

I am not joking when I say this, but right now I am missing someone. Not anyone specific but someone. Someone from books and stories. I am missing a fictional character, don’t know which one. But the need to sit with one of my many favourite fictional characters over a cup of coffee, is real.

All I want to sit with is one of the women from the books i adore or the series I have seen, and have a conversation. Just a talk about something or nothing.

Why? I don’t know.

I don’t even know, why a fictional character.

Being a woman with imagination and a story building machine in my head, I crave a conversation from people I wish existed but don’t.

I wonder what would I talk about, but what a wonderful conversation it would be…

Love…

I have grown believing in a kind of life that doesn’t exist. Everyone and everything has convinced me that I grew up believing a kind of love that only exists in books or movies.

Sometimes I see people claiming to be in love, rip up the fabric of it and take each other for granted in such ways that I want to smack them and scream, ‘love means falling everyday like it’s day one’…

Perhaps, it is good that love hasn’t found me all the way because how would I have survived the fraud.

And so, I got the half love which hurts for a whole different reason and i don’t have to worry about it being wrong.

In another dimension, we are all happy…

Movie life…

Been sometime. It’s 3am and i just finished a movie that made me cry a little bit.I cried cause life isn’t the movie, I want it to be.

I keep going back to ‘if onlys’ and that is such a fuckin sad thing. Pardon my french. I’m just swimming in blues.

Good thing is… I don’t know why I said that. I got to go and get some sleep.

Goodnight to the other me, in another universe, living the movie life i want to live.

Analog lifestyle

I think I am an addict and my choice of drug is Instagram. The amount of hours and the depth of doomscrolling I had fallen into makes a perfect candidate.

So now not only have I logged out but also removed the damn app from my phone.

But the withdrawal is real. At first it was just my hands reaching out for the phone every second, but now it’s about the emptiness. Like something is missing.

The pang. The pain. The urge.

Fomo is real but do I regret it? Not really.

I have been drowning in plain sight surrounded by a swarm of witnesses.

I don’t know if brainrot is reversible but I do know, I can stop myself from my kamikaze mode.

Am I reading more now? Yes.

Am I writing? Trying to.

Boredom is the medicine, a sentence i never thought I would say.

Why am I an atheist?

A friend asked me why I am an atheist and I didn’t know how to respond without being disrespectful towards his beliefs. Cause I may not pray but I understand the need to have faith and a belief in a higher being.

A couple of months ago I decided to get rid of all my diaries, I used to journal every damn night. So when I was taking them out and sorting them, I decided to take a peak and guess what I found.

Nothing ever changed except the dates. Years after years, all my entries were the same. A cry for help by a lonely unhappy girl with constant 3am tears when the world went to sleep.

It fucking shocked me, how nothing ever changed. I mean I don’t understand why no one from up above never felt pity for that girl, writing those tears filled entries and hoping one day things would change.

Nothing changed.

How do I explain to people that if God was testing me or is still doing it, I am done giving the exam. I am okay. Cause that little girl will spend forever alone but she won’t hope anymore. Superheroes don’t exist for her.

Ophelia you have been on my mind girl, since the flood…

I think I am the cancer that is eating me. No matter how hard I try, this other part of me wins. Perhaps I am not trying enough but how can someone fail at self care so badly.

When was the last time I did creative work

Gym? Isn’t that the place you give money and never go

Books are for buying and reading one page a week

Sulking at the sucking work place is good skin care with all those secret washroom crying

Damn Little! Don’t be your own murderer.

You were supposed to be Batman, remember?

I am Ophelia and Hamlet… Death and destruction is inevitable…

I cook amazing fake scenarios in my head

What food would you say is your specialty?

Scenarios. I cook fake scenarios with such perfection that I deserve all the culinary awards there are.

Gordon Ramsay would love me. All my fake scenarios are cooked with such finesss that its impossible to realize it’s all made-up.

I serve them usually with a dash of anxiety and sometimes a pinch of joy.

Death and grief… is that a major event?

What major historical events do you remember?

Is it still historical if it happened just with me? I remember when my dog died and I sat in a cafe reading a booking with tears occasionally escaping my eyes.

I was supposed to be at work or home, but i chose neither. I couldn’t stop crying and it was not something you take to work and I don’t like to cry infront of family either.

So, I sat with a copy of “The perks of being a wallflower” in a coffee shop until I could no longer sit.

I have done that alot. Used books instead of people for emotional support.

I remember sitting in a hospital waiting area and reading “The Pearl Thief” while my father was getting treated. He was admitted. He would keep falling sick and we would find ourselves in hospital alot.

So I sat there reading not aware that it was just a matter of few more days before he would leave us.

Are these major historical events? Do they count? Am I important?

If only there were shops to go buy bravery and will…

What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?

Quit my job of 17 years, because of so many reasons and biggest of all, I do not enjoy what I do.

I, once, was someone who loved Mondays and coming to work. I learned alot but then came the fall. Today I’m someone they can’t ask to leave and someone who has no courage to leave.

Anxiety and depression and loneliness will tell what will you do, what if you dont get a job, you have saved nothing and what if this what if that…

So I stay put.

I often daydream of the scenario where i walk in to my boss’s room and leave my resignation and walk out. Its always a beautiful dream because i feel freedom.

But freedom comes with a price and usually its courage and risk, i dont have that currency to pay. I am broke when it comes to bravery.

So no risk, no gain, lots of day dreaming and existential crisis…

A superhero whose only job is to keep self alive…

A Ghost Story is one of those movies I couldn’t understand much, I mean I got the plot and the theme but the ending was made of creativity that I fell short of grasping. Yet it is one of those movies I call intelligent and worthy of recommending to someone with a taste for darker subjects.

It happens, sometimes we just say we loved or enjoyed a movie even though we had no idea what it was about because we feel the acting was brilliant and we are in love with one of the cast members. So, we do that, put trust into random people and their projects and push them high in front of others, but we would never do that for ourselves. Put that same trust in ourselves, and push ourselves up even if we don’t understand the things we do.

Why do we do that? Give random strangers the benefit of doubt and try to appreciate the part that we understand but have a pity party for ourselves and declare our minds a rotten planet, not giving a minute to appreciate the part that isn’t rotten and has probably kept us alive.

I might have lost the key to the creative room inside my head, I need to appreciate the other rooms that are keeping me going. I am not brave, I am not street smart, I am not witty or charmingly funny, I am not a leader or even a follower. I am nothing, but a writer with no ink and paper, but that’s not all. I am still alive and making many believe that I am everything that I am not. Perhaps, I am something. A con-artist? An actor? A fabricator? A storyteller? A survivor?

I am not sure what that movie is about other than a grieving woman and a ghost, and I am not sure who I really am.

Perhaps it is possible to exist without a grand purpose, it is just my inability to accept the ordinary of my existence that I stubbornly seek a reason for it. It can’t be? I can’t be someone born to breathe, hurt, breathe, hurt and continue the same until the music stops, the play ends and the curtains fall down.