If only you’ve had preferred pen over politics!!!!

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Ironically, this is true…great liars are also great magicians.. Hitler had the skills to be counted among great authors & writers in history, if only he hadn’t been obsessed with politics and antisemitism. Crazy, but some of the most infamous men in history have been highly intellectual minds…

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Are you talking to me…?

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Found this on Instagram and I can’t help but wonder if it’s for me. But writing about what hurts needs courage and I’m anything but brave. Well my guess is as good as yours, Mr Hemingway didn’t really penned this down for me.

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the better side of the window…!!!!

I think happiness is a myth, it’s more of a fashion style that people carry with them.

Is it really possible to be happy like so happy that it would hurt, but in a good way?

I don’t know why I’m asking. I have had a good evening yet I feel unsettled. A part of me is tired and knowing that tomorrow is another day of wearing a face, and walking out in the world, is only making me feel more exhausted.

Today I saw a man who wasn’t physically well and was begging for food or money. I stopped my car at the traffic lights and rolled down my window to give him a banana. He seemed happy, walked away, sat on the ground and used his good hand to eat.

Now , who am I to cry or crib about life when he would do anything to be me even lie and pretend like I do. I know there are hundreds of people who would happily wear a face everyday and live my life. Because I m well, healthy, have a job, some money, family, a home and I get to be the one rolling the window down instead of the one knocking on it.

But, does this mean my pain isn’t significant? Does this means it’s okay to cry alone and to fight the inevitable?

I know I have it good and I shouldn’t be the one to complain, but it still hurts everyday. Knowing that I have to fight a certain kind of sadness & fear every minute of everyday doesn’t help. I am thankful for the privileges but I still can’t stop hurting.

Does it make me a horrible person? To be ink blue all the time when I’m at the better side of the window.

It’s just the sadness is so heavy some days it gets too hard to carry it without swearing at the world and the people and the dried-down river of empathy around us.

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Rumor has it that Little got inked…!!!!!

I did. I did. I got inked.

For past few weeks, I have been working towards this day. Convincing the family, convincing myself. So, finally it was time. Since Monday I was nervous, freaking out and kind of (SUPER) scared about today. But, I woke up with this thought that if I can walk into a tattoo parlor all by myself and get it over with, I could practically do anything else.

So, I did it. I drove to the Tattoo parlor, sat there and got what I always wanted…musical notes inked on my wrist. That’s another check on the bucket list.

While, I spent last few days breathing heavy and hard shifting from left to right with the anxiety I feel numb right now. Yes, I’m happy. No doubt. I finally have a story now, not that I don’t cause God knows I have a story but now I have a crazy and fun story. Like, guess what I did before I turned 30 kind of story. So yes, I’m happy and thrilled to have followed my heart. But, I don’t know why I’m not jumping. I should be, shouldn’t I?

It’s just that it didn’t feel any different. Not that getting a tattoo could ease the hurt but I thought it would feel different.

Though, I do feel proud of me. It feels like taking control of my life even if it’s for one day. Dude, a tattoo is no joke but I did it even when I had no one to sit there with me with a camera aimed at my am-cool-am-cool-oh-god-am-going-to-die face.

I’m so effin proud of facing my fears and fighting for what I wanted for so long. Truth is, I might not feel different about things in my head but I do feel brave. Cause I just got a Tat… and rumors are true.

Dear Me,

Remember that day you sat there on your bed inking a tattoo on your wrist with a pen, because no way on earth could you ever get one for real.

So, don’t give up on dawn. Not yet.

Myself

 

Did I just ruin ‘The Girl On The Train’?

Sometimes after reading a book I wonder what if things had gone down differently. What if, one of the characters had done something differently or the protagonist had walked away from something? I, often, wonder about an alternate ending and I don’t know why.

SPOILER AHEAD (for The Girl On The Train, Code Name Verity and The Boy In The Striped Pyjama)

Imagine if “The Girl On The Train” wasn’t about Rachel obsessing and witnessing the life and death of Megan Hipwell. Imagine if, it was a story of how both the women meet and swap their lives only to help each other get over the issues. I picture Rachel seeing Megan and envying her happy life, while Rachel looking at the train everyday with same feeling about happy passengers passing by everyday. And then one fine day, they meet maybe in bar, get to talking and realize how they both see each other at the same time, at that particular time when the local train passes Tom’s street.

Little drunk and emotional enough to spill things out they become friends and realize that none of them is actually happy, that the grass always looks greener on the other side. And in the end each one gets something. Maybe Megan ends up helping Rachel fight her alcohol addiction and get a job or meet someone new; at the same time Rachel ends up helping Megan walk out of her strange marriage and deal with her own issues caused by loss of the brother.

Of course, it wouldn’t have been a thriller then and probably not many people would even like it. Yet, I can’t help but wonder…

what if, there was no murder and it was just a story of two twisted women who become friends and fix each other, instead of one dying and other ending up in the suspicion of being the killer.

I had the same thought of alternate ending about my personal favorite “Code Name Verity”, though I would not change a single thing about the book even page 285 because that’s what made it a heartbreaking story. But I wonder if things had gone differently on that one page on that bridge, how would have the story ended.

Imagine if Maddie hadn’t fired her gun. I try to picture that but I wonder if that would have made the book as good as it is now.

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I mean you wouldn’t be swearing on the brilliance, and the intensity, of The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas if he hadn’t walked inside the fenced area and followed his friend into those chambers. I try to picture, what if he hadn’t but then what would be the story about?

There is a reason why something happens in a story, even if every part of our body wants to jump inside the scene and shake the protagonist begging her/him to not do something or walk into something.