Breaking

It's been more than a year (honestly, why do I even start these blogs!). I've barely written at all for ages, and I think it might be catching up with me. I leave a lot unsaid in terms of talking, although it's less than it used to be what with texts and WhatsApp. Honestly, though, nothing used to soothe me better than pouring things out willy-nilly onto a blog or diary.
It's been a very difficult time for the past six months. In fact, this is kind of the six-month anniversary of Shit Hit Chia's Life. The grandfather has been unwell on and off, which meant constant trips to the hospital and terrifying hours of uncertainty. A new house was bought without my whole-hearted consent, with money that isn't mine.
What has been really, really exhausting and unnecessarily dramatic is my personal life. Details are sordid and have been rehashed too many times to the point of terrible pain. Major, major screw-ups, emotional and physical violence, friendships stretched...
These were the times I would always run to my diary, or the computer, to write. It's strange that I haven't and perhaps that's why healing has been slower. Immediately after the storm broke, I was stoic. Eerily calm, some said. I cried, but mostly, I was sharp, cold steel. I shut myself off to reason it out, unable to trust nearly everyone I considered close. I rarely see crises as the end of the world, rather choosing to see them as enormous changes. But, this may have been the end of life as I knew it. When what is most precious is shattered, maybe it can be repaired, but never in the same way.
I now find myself wondering if I didn't give myself enough space to grieve, if I wasn't gentle enough on my own broken self.
Because....I did break. And six months later, I still sometimes find myself crying for no apparent reason. More frequently, I find myself filled with doubt, brimming with sadness and uncertainty. Wondering if I should have done more. Done less. Shouted more. Made it more difficult.
Over the last few days, I've been feeling especially constricted. As though the house, the city, the people around me are growing smaller and heavier all at once. As though I need a change, and to break away from everything familiar, at least for a while.
Maybe it's that I just turned 30 and one of the coolest things about that is making decisions entirely for yourself. Maybe I just need to quit my job, do something different, travel and write more. Maybe I need new people with better energy.
Maybe then I'll be whole again, or at least a little less fractured.

A serious love affair needs laughter

Manolo sometimes forgets to keep in touch. Especially if he's out riding, sending a text to let me know where he is or when he's back doesn't always occur to him. Sometimes there is no network where he is.
I like checking in. My routine is far more set than his (I'm also far more lazy), and I like telling him where I am and what I'm doing. And I'd like the same in return.
When it doesn't happen, I throw tantrums. Tears flow, angry words are exchanged (apologetic in his case), drama ensues.
Now, severe and hysterical analysis could see this as a sign. He doesn't really care. I'm over-possessive. I must give him space. He must adjust. I've read so many of those articles I could write a thesis on their predictability.
Instead, I've started to find it funny. Not weird funny. Just the sort of wry humour that makes you realise your flair for drama and that he's not being a jerk. Because the messages do come. Sometimes I don't even have to act wounded and ignored for them to come. And he hasn't forgotten me. He makes sure I remember that.
Neither does he expect to know exactly where I am or what I'm doing. Unless I'm travelling, he's perfectly content to let me do whatever I want. Nobody has to account for their time. (Of course sometimes I wish he was a LEETLE more possessive :D)
I told a friend the other day, 'Don't treat love like the G8 Summit.' It's just as important, but with a lot more laughs. Laugh when you've called him at some obscene hour of the night to talk dirty, and he grunts three times and falls back asleep. When you're getting drunk together and you try to kiss him and end up bumping noses too hard.
Laugh when he smells your hair and asks if it's Head & Shoulders. When a romantic dinner is butter chicken and beer rather than wine and handmade pasta.
Romance is in the near-hits and misses. In the arguments. In being drastically different from one another. In sharing truly disgusting jokes.
And laughter is as affectionate as holding hands.

কিছুই ভালো লাগছে  না। ...

Talk show

I've been having trouble
talking to you, and it bugs me
no end
Why is it that when you start gazing into someone's eyes,
when you start calling them 'darling' or 'sweetheart'
language changes, words fade
These are such fragile words - the tongue barely touching the roof of the mouth; the lips forming a brittle 'O', a soft, swoosh
Sweetheart
'Friend' is stronger - the teeth nip firmly over the bottom lip. It's a word that stays. And stops when it needs to.
But we don't want that, do we, my love?
We want soft blue waves for words, or even silence
Conversation is too stark, too sharp, too noisy; why, if it were a colour, it would be neon
 And romance is painted only in pastels, so the books say.

For all the Awesomes

So, there are all these awesome people I know who I really want to be happy. I keep seeing how much they're submerged in giant waves of despair and inadequacy. Feeling too fat, unlovable, unsuccessful and all manner of horrible things. Security is a strange word. We put guards at our gates and on our hearts in case unwanted people break in. But who's guarding our emotional security? What's stopping social expectations and ideals from making a mess of our self-confidence?
Some guy/girl breaks your heart and makes you feel like a lump of amoeba poop. Your boss is an evil bitch who refuses to recognise your potential. Despite all the self-help websites and 'spiritual trainers' promising to teach us Zen-like acceptance, we break. There is no security in the world strong enough to guard against that.
The good thing is, I think we're a lot more resilient than we give ourselves credit for. And most of these people have the intelligence, the education and the willpower to change these lives they're so miserable in. But I also get that constant melancholy and feelings of inadequacy are draining. It's so much easier to sit in a familiar rut and bemoan your fate. Change is bloody scary and takes a ton of effort. Plus, you know, you've still got some nasty voices in your head telling you it's not worth it.
To these people...if love has all the strength I hope it does...you'll get this message. (If love doesn't do it, a clubbing on the head might). You are amazing. Truly and uniquely wonderful. You have so much to do in the world, so much learning and teaching and beauty to spread. Don't sit in your rut and be bitter every day. You're meant to be doing fabulous things and drinking toasts to yourself every day.
If you can't make too much of a change just now, suck it up and bear things till you can. Stop complaining and being angry at the world. You know that ultimately it's all you.
Much much love
Muah!

Why blogging again? Because I'm a ranting lunatic.

I'm not sure why I got back to blogging, apart from a tearing need to break out of a mostly self-imposed writer's block that has plagued me for over five years. The trouble is, unless I let out a lot of the rant and rave inside me, the real, honest, 'creative writing' won't find space. Problems left unsaid block the system, it's like emotional constipation. So, once again, I have an online 'blow-off-steam' space. I always write easier than I talk, plus I'd rather whine to a not-quite-living object.
Okbye.

Out of your way

Sometimes, a girl wants a grand gesture. Scratch that, sometimes we ALL want something extra special done for us, for someone to go out of their way, just to bring us something or just to BE there. Exactly when we need them.
I have a really hard time asking for anything. Presents. Words. Time. And it is something I should work on. Why would you have the lowest expectations from those you love best? Why WOULDN'T you, no matter how busy you are, go out of your way once in while for someone who's important? I'd like to be able to ask for an evening out with my lover. I'd like to be able to say, 'I want to go to dinner somewhere with candles and fresh-fruit cocktails and talk about love and poetry and corny jokes.'
And I don't. There's beer and night outs and lots and lots of love. But sometimes, I want the gesture. I want to be first.