Got no title…let’s pretend this post is called Chocolate Banana Coffee Pie…

A dagger is stuck in the heart of mine
It moves like needle with time
They flick at it a little
It bleeds inside a litre
How it got there
No one knows
An organ within me it grows…

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Are you talking to me…?


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.