Platonic relationship with Netflix

Just finished watching Episode One of Season One of The Politician and in spite of the darkness all over it, it made me feel better and smile, something I needed after the kind of day I have had today. So, what does it says about me? Dark comedies are kind of scandalizing to admit to being a fan of, isn’t it?

My phone’s battery died and I couldn’t go running without music, I couldn’t find time to waste on Instagram pretending to be cool and I definitely didn’t know who to call or how to call to share words, any words. In the end, Netflix came to the rescue.

You know, how we all move on in life thinking ‘we shall cross that bridge when it comes’ and today I saw the bridge waving at me from afar; I would be lying if I said I was surprised because behind every day’s pep talk lies the subtle subtitle ‘nothing is forever’, yet the mere view of what lies or might lie ahead brought an earthquake of 5.5 on Richter Scale leaving me disorientated and stumbling.

Falling in the arms of the comfy fictional show, I saw people broken, aching, dark, fractured, hopeless, forlorn and yet on top of their pretend-game and I found myself feeling okay and at ease. Pity, isn’t it? To find balm in the fabric of fiction because nothing or no one in the real-world has the power to offer the same.

Anyhow, here’s a fun fact I’ll be alright tomorrow giving myself the ‘You’re awesome, you’re beautiful and Billie Ellish would so want to be you.’ pep-talk.

Goodnight world and stay safe.

The broken toy of revolution…

A revolutionary is someone who religiously believes in non-existence of barriers. And I’m all but someone who is blind to the walls for all I do is paints dreams over the them, turning them into my canvas for imagination. 

Maybe I’m broken part of the revolution generation, maybe I’m the idea of what a flightless bird looks like for I sure would not fly even with the cage down. A revolutionary I shall never be, but I do know how to feel like one with my eyes closed. I can  paint myself into anything I want, a flygirl, a pirate, a war hero and even a renegade, an insurgent. 
So let the mind weep for the deadness of the brave rebellious soul; the heart shall live in stories, the fabrication of beautiful lies, that brings  a whole new world alive creating a sky and land that needs no more anarchy. 

Hello from the otherside …

It has been a long time since I had a general post about life and things inside my head; so much has happened and yet I’m still where I was with my last conversation here.

You know how people say things like ‘I’m dead’ generally and casually in a conversation, I have started to see it as gibberish. It makes no sense. People don’t die, they vanish. You know what dies, a radio or a car engine or a mobile battery; things die and then they stay there on the table or the bed or inside the pocket of a forgotten bag. A radio dies and becomes a rusty box but it stays there. People don’t stay, they vanish. People cant die, they vanish and cant be found again even if they are rusty or useless.

I’m not being melancholic, dark sure, but I’m just stating the facts of what I felt after my father’s death. I don’t think I’m a writer enough to describe it, so let’s move on.

Well, when I said a lot has happened but I’m still here I was talking about my ‘Im going to get my book published’, yeah hasn’t happened yet and I don’t think its on the cards.

Today is day 2 of NaNoWriMo and here I’m a hopeless owner of random words, stories, ideas and characters but no courage. For someone who likes to pretend to have a superhero alter ego, I sure am quite a chicken.

Maybe, I should just do it. Write whatever, it’s not like that it will get published and judged.

Yesterday, I was suffering from Mean Reds like the ones Holly Golightly talks about in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I had a dream and even in my dream I chose to be the righteous one and letting go of something because the words were there, the thought ‘What would the world say’. It is absolutely stupid to not live life even in a dream, the San Junipero made of tissues, cells, nerves and some other weird human anatomy stuff.

I woke up blue and red; spent all my day thinking how another day has come and gone by with nothing happening. Something has to happen right, some stars have to collide to divert me from this path, I’m dragging my feet on.

Anyhow, I think I’m going to write. Its not like I want to be Rowling or Woolf, but maybe I could be Paul Varjak with one book and no fame. That would be fun too.

I have started catching up on Audrey Hepburn movies. I certainly believe I’m in the wrong era.

Alright, I’m going to do it. I’m going to send my book to another publishing agent and I’m going to do NaNoWriMo 2017.

Here is a song from Rooney Mara’s latest A Ghost Story. She is an underrated actress with so much to give. She is exceptionally talented and I’m a fan.

                    I get overwhelmed

Just one of those days when I miss the voices…

Have you ever had a day where you don’t feel anything? You are not happy, but you are not sad either. No anger or fear or anxiety. Nothing. You end up wishing for some kind of emotions, anything would do heck even tears would be great but there aren’t any cause you ain’t sad. No sadness. 

The only fraction of emotion that you feel is doubt. You wonder and doubt whether you’re even alive. Because you are that numb.

So you try to read but you’re not interested, you try to write a story but for that you need emotions but there aren’t any, you open your laptop to watch a movie but you don’t feel like. 

Not only do you not feel any emotion, you don’t even feel like doing things that you love. 

Have you ever had a day where voices in your head are locked somewhere, you do occasionally hear a muffled scream begging you to do something but you cant make out the words and have no interest in even trying? 

Have you?

No emotion is the worst kind of emotion

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Maybe, I’m a not-so-talented & less-creative version of Cath from Fangirl!!

image

Crazy how a random line from a book can make you look over your shoulder, wondering if the author was stalking you. Because it wasn’t just a line, it was you sprayed right across the page…

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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