Right and Wrong

Have you ever sunk back on your sofa, stared at the ceiling and thought, “Man, what should do? Is this right or is that?” if you have, then continue reading. If you have not, then maybe it has not occurred to you yet, and you will find this as unintelligent as unicorns farting rainbows in the heaven.
Recently a line of peculiar things happened in my life: I dropped out from the college course I was doing, took up a job and am soon going to apply at another college. I had an angry bunch of relatives saying how a girl who had a future is squandering it because she is getting crazier. And so what I did automatically becomes wrong, because according to them I am thinking with my hormones and not with my brains. But I am battling my way to convince them that I am as sane as I was before and what I did makes absolute sense and is absolutely right. And this just furthermore strengthened my lifelong belief of how we consider ourselves as everyday martyrs, of how we continuously struggle and suffer regardless of the result.
If I put it bluntly, I would say that I am very much biased when I write; I am very much riveted by every post and every word that I devise to form a readable article, is very much personal. And like a friend once said, if someone reads my work, then they can read me too and already know my secrets. I had been seeing this friend for a while now and as we stopped to chat over coffee, she happened to stir me, making me write this article that I had been avoiding for months now. Her vocabulary included words like ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ more often than not, and it irked me till I sat down to write this and give my piece of mind. I do not know if this was what was on her mind, because we were talking about something entirely different altogether, but this is what I perceived. So before I continue, I would like to firsthand apologize to anyone who would feel offended by this.
“I fought with my mum when she started criticizing her own brother’s party, saying the food wasn’t satisfactory,” she said, “I mean, how could she do that? That’s your brother there, how could you even say something mean about your own sibling. That’s not right, you know.” “Exactly,” I answered smiling, “it was not him that cooked the food anyway.” So what is right, and what is wrong? This is the question that has been on my mind from as long as I have been writing. Is it right to kill someone, to have a control over someone’s life? Then why do we have death penalties. Is it wrong to want to go away? Then why are we always desperate to find a reason to getaway. Why does affect us that much, because what is right and what is wrong?
If I be honest, I would say that I do not know. What I would also further say, that someone who knows the difference, would never argue to prove herself, because she already knows what is appropriate, that there is no such thing but a cause and an action, that things are not meant to be put in categories but done and done with a whole heart nonetheless. Is it complicated? I think not. People who are not sought out are often the ones who have their emotions coiled in a tangled heap that tumbles inside them and creates a chaos that leads to a necessity of justifying themselves; because when we succeed in justifying ourselves, we know it is right and it pleases our ego, when we cannot, there is a whirlpool of confusion and turmoil, and of course, madness. I have always talked about justification because this has always been, I believe, so central to our existence. We have always strived to be right, because it was instilled in us as soon as we started having a mind of our own- being right is always best, and being wrong is nothing but a disgrace. So when we get good grades and more pointers, we are right and when we drop out, we wrong. Nothing about dropping out is displeasing, not that I am encouraging, but saying I did not do any wrong, neither did I do anything right. And so I would want to know if you are, like I mentioned before, sought out enough? Are you still pondering if this article is right or wrong?

-a

Black Holes and Worm Holes

 Black Holes and Worm Holes

So interestingly, I saw these videos on warm holes, déjà vu’s and 5 second rule and somehow it got me thinking, and thinking, and thinking even more about the things I haven’t given my serious thoughts to before. But today, I am only going to talk about these holes, and bust some myths & try to sterilize minds of those who mistook these two (pole apart) phenomenon’s to be one.

In the past (meaning; always), I have been exceedingly fascinated by the idea of black holes. The whole theory of this thing that can suck you in, and is so dense that it is relatively impossible for even light to escape (or trespass?) it, is somewhat captivating. But you see black holes are dangerous (theoretically talking), and can cause this spaghettification effect (where your body stretches so bloody much that it tears) and you die (not instantly, but eventually yes).   However, there comes the Worm Holes (the moment we've been waiting for {well, some of us; or maybe only me}). Worm holes reduce the probability of you dying, unless you end up somewhere where cannibalism is legal and righteous or get stuck in it (yes that can happen). Now, worm holes are these crazy time portals that take you from one part of the universe to another almost instantly (well, technically it’s not instant because when you’re in it, time does not move for you and it might seem immediate,  when in real you've covered almost what, some thousand light years?) As a result, you tend to ‘jump’ in from one place to another like a freaking time/space traveler. Like in this movie (Thor II {I just can’t get over it}) the characters are travelling through portals as though they are only encroaching different ‘earthly’ territories. Some might assume that to be unreal (well, I don’t know about that alignment-of-planets-producing-worm-holes part), but that really is true. Yes, you can travel from one galaxy to another (I don’t know if you can stay alive though…*cough* oxygen *cough*) and yes, you will stay as young as you are at the moment of travelling, because like previously mentioned, there is no concept of ‘time’ in the universe but in our world (and aging as well).

So here are some pointers that I wrote for better (?) understanding:

1.       Black holes and Worm holes are totally  DIFFERENT things (except for their last names, and assuming that they both might be elongated funnel- like or round holes)

2.       Black hole probably has compressed matter within it, knowing the fact that it only swallows and does not throw up the content anywhere. On the other hand, worm holes lead somewhere, like a doorway to another world.

3.       Black holes squeeze the matter into something as small as possible, like turning Earth into a ping-pong ball or even smaller, and a human into just an atom. Worm hole DEFINITELY do not do that, and take you somewhere, though you can’t say where.

4.       While black hole is only just killing you by that spaghetti thingy effect, worm hole can trap you (I know that’s scary, especially if you had already made up your mind to travel through it) and you can die in due course of time. You see these portals have a mind of their own and they open and close as they please, which means that once you’re in it, you work on your luck. It can either take you to the most beautiful and prosperous place or just lock you in between like a prisoner and there is no going back or an escape.

5.       Black holes are black and dense. Warm holes can be of any color.

6.       Black holes distort light ('cause of tons of mass and density), and worm holes…I don’t know what they do (bless my laziness)

Anyways, so if you know anything more leave your ‘piece of mind’ in the comment box below.  

A Black Hole

A Worm Hole

Lost and Found

How is it that when it comes to writing, I sit brimming with words and yet empty? How is it possible that when I have a new idea that I want to jot down, I am bouncing off my chair in enthusiasm, yet holding my pencil over the paper in sheer apathy? Why is it that when I have finally written something, I feel victorious yet lost? Why is writing, when I think about it, so pleasurable yet so intimidating and uninviting? Why am I afraid of failure, even though I have not even tried? Why am I scared of what the reader will think when he is not seeing it from my point of view? Why is it irritating, nevertheless pleasing when someone comments on my work? Why is it good yet bad when someone asks me to edit it? Why may I ask, when writing should be easy, it becomes arduous?

You know how they say it right, that anyone can write but not everyone can be a writer. So this questions my grounds, and shakes me, making me all obscured and conscious- am I just writing because I have time to, or am I a writer? You see, every person goes through this initial phase of anxiety and insecurities, of feeling lost and bubbling with questions. There is this point in time where we are so bundled up, so astray that that we are nowhere to be found, that our work is as devastated and vulnerable as our emotions. And it is not just a writer, but everyone that has an imaginative psyche, for example, a painter, or a lyricist or a composer, or maybe an inventor gazing at the sheets of his research work. The field where mind has to create something out of its fascination, where you are daring to make that dream come true through your project, is the line of work where you have to struggle and fight with yourself. I personally have a strong belief that more than people outside who criticize me, it’s my own inner sentiments that put a leash around my neck. For example this novel (The Third World: CONSPIRACY) that I have been writing from the time I was in 10^th grade, is still a draft of incomplete five chapters and is locked untouched in the files of my laptop, and I always find an excuse to dump it rather than working on it. When you are lost in the labyrinth of your own uncertainties, which is the biggest block on your augmentation, you need to come out of it as early as possible. Feeling lost is nothing alien, but not finding your way back is almost lethal.

Sylvia Plath, a famous American poet said, “The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” So well, here it is- question and answer, lost and found. Self doubt is as torturous as standing on a Lego and unable to step down. When something you love should be so personal and precious to you, why does it become a suffering, a frustrating and painful cause? It happens with me, when I would just look at the rough drafts of my articles or story and I feel that it should be erased, both from the computer logs and my mind. However, it is equally painful and I just cannot bring myself to click ‘yes’ when the screen prompts the permission to delete it, and somehow I also believe that this is how it is with every person who makes an effort to give their piece of mind. I can imagine people loathing and whining and trying to fix this, because it is almost a nightmare to not let out that thing you so lovingly carry with you. It just keeps on building inside you, even though you are constantly trying to brush it off, until it is heartrending and you cannot carry it any further. That is the time in your life that you are in crisis that letting it go or letting it out would mean either death or salvation to you. So what do you chose now, now that you know?

You see, you will always be lost in the thing you love. You will find yourself there too.

-a

For you, with love

There are many ways in which a writer takes risks, takes chances and faces her own demons. There are many ways in which a writer stirs, feels leveling up and wiser. And there are also many ways a writer understands, writes and shares her experience. Writing is not as easy as it is reading and forming an opinion, and definitely not as easy as it is critiquing it. Since I have started writing a blog, That Weird Indian Girl, I find myself at a much open and fragile position. But because of this, I have many ways in which I get inspiration.
I met a girl recently, and we started talking because she read my blog and found it ‘out of ordinary’ and could correlate. She told me about her personal struggles, her addictions, her fight with drugs and her life in general. For an hour that we talked, I grew fond of her and understood her. This is a letter for her, for trusting me, telling me her story and allowing me to share it with the world.  

Dear Amber (name changed),  
I do not believe in coincidences, I do not believe that you came randomly to me because you liked my face, and I do not believe in ‘lucky’ meetings. There is no such thing like it. In Arabic there is a word, Maktub, which simply means ‘it is written’ and I believe in this. I believe that whatever happens, happens for a reason, happens because it is written, and because it changes us for good or worse (that depends on how we perceive it). I also believe that the girl you are today, possessing both positive and negative trait, is because it was already written.
You know back in the early days, the concept of ‘loosing virginity’ was as scared as deities themselves, and I remember reading rules of loosing virginity in the Old Testament. And when you said the same, all I could say was “You’ll know when to lose it, and you’ll know which person you’ll want to lose it to.” You smiled, and I know it all might be too romantic or too dreamy of me, but that is how my mind works. You said you are not ashamed of losing it to that person, but you felt mortified of what happened after; of making love to every new person you met. And while I sat there listening, I felt more like a mother listening to a child whine about losing her favorite thing. I felt that compassion course through me, but I did not say a thing, because I could not. In that moment, I lacked the ability to form a single word, leave alone a whole sentence. I kept repeating “I understand” because that what made the most sense to me, and also, because I meant it.
I can imagine how it would have been for you to go to a psychiatrist, to feel like you were buying a friend, hiring someone to hear you out because talking to walls does not help. I sympathize with you, because that thing can be daunting, to giving your secret to a stranger, you know.  But the thing about drugs is that you treat it as an escape because reality becomes a nightmare, and I know that you did it too, and you did it for loosing yourself. It is well enough because you can easily blame it later for your inability to cope up, and it is always easy to blame than take responsibility. What got me was that you were taking it from a bunch of guys who were giving you thrill and who are all now in rehab. Have you ever thought how would it be if you would be too? How it would have changed your life because you were fragile? More than all of this, how it would have broken you too.
Since my cousin brother was born more than a year back, I have myself been fascinated by the idea of having a child. It is beautiful and superhuman, I think, to be a mother and create a life. I had never shared this with anyone ever before, but with you I had to, because it would have irked me if I had not. When you said you understand what that would be, I was surprised because I thought no eighteen year old would ever understand it. “It was almost a year back, I was 17 and a month pregnant and I was devastated when I came to know,” You said, “I did not have strength to tell my mom, so I told it to my closest friend and she helped me. She bought me a pill from the chemist that I had to take every day for a month and it was so strong that I felt dizzy at times, and was body was swelling too.
“One day I was standing in front of my wardrobe, trying to find my underclothes to head to the shower, and something rolled down my legs, and it was like a tennis ball size lump. I was so scared that I did not know what to do, so I just picked it up from the floor and flushed it in the toilet. I called my friend I was staying with at the moment and told her. She said ‘Congratulations, it is done’.
“After I realized what she meant, I sat on the floor and cried for God knows how long, because I could not believe I flushed it, my baby, you know. It was my baby.” It made me emotional too, especially because it was a personal story you, because you had not shared with anyone. I thought for a moment that I saw tears in your eye before they dried.  

Remember how I mentioned that word Maktub earlier, I want this letter to end on it too. I am glad you met me now, and not two years back, because then I would have judged you to be some spoilt and wasted harlot, and would be disgusted by you. I might even hurt you more than you already were because I could not have understood all the things you went through. I am pleased that I met you now, because I believe and appreciate you. Thank you for letting me in your world, even though I was stranger to you as you were to me, and inspiring me with your story. I could have not understood these things, if it were some body else.  When you read it, I hope you are satisfied; and do not worry, the best is yet to come.

For you, with love
a

Taking Risks

Risks take us a step ahead and spurts our growth, on the other hand, precautions only block our way (not that I am asking you to be all weird and crazy). If I talk about myself, the only few risks that I have taken are:
●drinking coke with mint candy in my mouth (yes I tried, and no nothing exploded)
●flunked my classes
●sucked in my gut and asked a guy to be my date headfirst (he freaked out and turned me down anyways)....and pretty much other random stuff. But the most herculean risk that I have ever taken is trusting people- accepting them for no specific reason. 

My parents have been like these two suspicious twins, always saying, "This is not how it should be, stop blindly trusting people." Or, "That person is only trying to get his work done, not yours."...and so on. (But since when have my age listened?) I have lived on the edge of insane madness; I have trusted people I did not know, helped them because they smiled at me, and got help when I asked. (Like borrowing their chair in the restaurant, or asking them buy me a happy meal)
But being an Indian and surrounded by narrow minds and perceptions, asking was always misunderstood to be selling my soul. In my father's words, "Asking is a higher form of begging, even if you are asking from God." It actually got me thinking, and I thought a lot, and what I personally believe (and not impose) is that how will someone know what you want unless you put you risk putting your trust in them and ask?It is a risk, I know, to trust, and so is there a greater risk to not do the that and shut yourself in a self designed protective shell-cum-asylum. Yes, it is. Here's a set of Q&As I came up with:

1. Why am I not risking?
-Because I am afraid. 

2. What am I afraid of?
-Asking.

3. Why am I afraid of it?
-Because I do not trust. 

4. And why do I not trust?
-Because like it happened last time (...I was cheated/robbed/mistreated/hurt/used/back-stabbed/and other such reasons that I cannot seem to let go.)

5. Is it ok?
-Absolutely not! It is not and it won't be unless I let go and start new (Learn, unlearn, relearn...remember?)

Let go!

I had internal conflicts and faced my insecurities while writing this, and I have censored a lot of things that I do not think will be appropriate if I let it out. Honestly, risk and trust are two things that are like a package deal, you have to accept them both because you have no choice. This idea can be odious to you, and maybe also too much to accept, but that's how it is for everyone in the beginning, even for the saints...but try, to let that shame that's holding you back go; realise it and do not accept it if it comes back because it only rots your ability to take risks, and to trust...try to free yourself from your own barriers and chains, and move ahead, and maybe do that hand stand that you always wanted to do, or write a letter to the President, or go on a jog and reduce the extra weight you have been crying over for almost a year now.
Take that risk. Move out of your comfort zone. Trust yourself and people around you. Risk a chance, not because it is right, but because it actually makes the probability one against zero. Trust, not because you think that is right, but because it levitates you too and frees you from the suspicion that has been grimly sticking to you for all these years.
Please, save yourself from all the lethal monotonous schedule. Risk, trust, and Live!

Fighting Depression

My writing has always been personal, in the sense that whatever I write are my own examples and not someone else's (or Googled).
I have grown up as a lonely girl, with plugged in earplugs and listening 30STM or Breaking Benjamin. You see, the funny thing about truth is that when it wants to come out, it just comes without caring about the consequences. I do not care if you think I am a loner, because I am in a moment with truth; part of my loneliness was that I was not seeing the good around me, part of the reason was that I was enjoying it and thought I do not need any help whatsoever. It was as though Darkness and I have been friends, but isn't that the notion of every depressed teenager?

I have spent countless nights waking up and crying, and wishing I'd die. I have spent hours in bathroom, cutting myself and liking the way that the sharp razor coldly pierced in my skin, making that blood gush out like water, and I was chanting, "I am never going to be good enough for them." I have skipped my meals, and tried to sleep all the time, and end up sobbing in my pillow, saying life is so mean and unfair. Yes, I have been there and I have done that. And I have done many more things, that when the psychology students conducted the questionnaire test on me when I was 13, my conditions were suicidal and they advised that I see a therapist soon.
But you see the thing about pain and suffering is that when you start living it, you grow comfortable and start enjoying it, and consider yourself as an everyday martyr (that's what I considered myself). You start torchering your body because physical pain is sweeter and addictive than the internal agony, which would be like a constant tightening in your chest yet a hollow feel where your heart is and you'll feel asphyxiated. You know, it's sweet and all, but it is not for you. That place is not for YOU, and that place is definitely not a good one for a long stay.  

I am part of an online community, (not just one, and no, I am not talking about Facebook) and everyday I got through lots of anxious, bulimic and anorexic people who inflict self harm. I have personally known people who did that, and it was disheartening to see it, more because I did not know how to help them. And this all takes me back to the time when I did it because people laughed on me because I was 'skinny' or 'weird', or a 'bad, pathetic girl".

You know, one thing that all these years have taught me, after being mistreated and cyber bullied, that Depression is not a place to be in; it is not a haven so stop treating it like a sacred sanctuary. If you would trust me, I would tell how beautiful You are, how perfect Your body is, and how that twinkle in Your eyes is slowly diminishing because You are believing 'them'. And I would do that so many times and write so many similar notes, and articles on blog, and everything so You believe me, and importantly, believe in Yourself. I know people make fun of you when you tell them how you feel and call you names, and I know it hurts, but hey, they know nothing about You, so stop treating them like they do. Stop giving them the authority to make fun of You. Stop listening to them. Stop Yourself from falling into that humungous pit of frustration, anxiety and despair. Stop crying. Stop it, stop all of it. Sit back. Breathe in. Breathe out. Say, "I am everything I need to be. I am perfect and I couldn't have been better." Accept Yourself.  

Now, when next time you hear a person say, "I am in pain."
Tell them, "Stop enjoying it, and be happy instead."  

-a

What I want from life

What do I want from this life? What do I want for myself?

Option A. Happiness!
As I think about it now from where I write, I think its too plain and simple, and to always be happy would be monotonus and tiring. Reader, you would think I'm crazy, but if you haven't lived rough and hard, happiness wouldn't hold a meaning anyways. Believe me, easy happiness is cunning and shrewd, so its better to always watch your back.

Option B. Money?
Of course. But this is not the only thing I want in life, and certainly its not something that anyone should yearn for either. Years back, I said I want to be rich and famous (though I still want), and that's all. What after being rich? I can't be spending all the money on myself. And I don't want to act like a total douche by bragging about this. {I still don't know and I'm going to re-consider it}

Option C. Satisfaction?
Definitely not! I don't want to be content for the rest of my life and do nothing (;exciting or new). Because being satisfied means there is nothing more in life you ask for and you accept everything that happens. Truly ruled out of the list!

Option D. To be restless?
No! I don't always want to be hyper, or anxious, or agitated, or always on the go. I see myself as a soul, and sometimes I want to stop and admire things around. I want to compliment them, and say, "Hi! This is me. I am a soul and I am Living." That's what I want- I want to live! I want to enjoy. I want to sing, and dance. I want to work. I want to walk on the fresh dewed grass, and even make shapes in the clouds. I want to travel. Write. LOVE. Meet new people. Laugh. Cry. Be curious. Repulsive. And wild...and Live life!
What do you want from your life people?

-a