How are you?

What do you mean? I mean I know what you mean but I don’t know. I don’t know how to answer that. How am I? Like the “W” in the word answer. Like the letters – U, E, U, E in the word queue. What’s that expression – French answer to this question? – comme ci comme ça. Like this like that. Like this. Like what? Like meaningless. Like pathetic. Like chaotic. Like not-good-enough. Like unoriginal. Like pretentious like I think that I am being all the time. And when I ask myself to be true, to be more “I” like in the word – I, I come up with same I.

How am I? You ask. Physically? Pretty sound. Have a slight head ache but who doesn’t. Mentally? As in if I am normal? Yes, Very. Thank you. Emotionally? Don’t ask. But then you have asked! Not well, my friend, not well. I am crushed. I am on a relentless ride of highs and lows. I have no clue how to stop it. There’s flood. There’s drought. Flood – when there’s too much happening at the same time and I am drowned in the haphazardness. Drought – when there’s too less happening over a long stretch of time and I am convinced that the end, despite being the inevitable entity, is never going to come.

Then living isn’t fun sometimes. Doing things I don’t like isn’t fun. Doing things that I like and then finding out that it isn’t as fun as I thought it would be, isn’t fun. Not doing anything isn’t fun. Just doing anything isn’t fun. But why am I complaining! I am supposed to be the lucky one! Be grateful, child! Be grateful! So, thank you for this life god, which you clearly created out of habit instead of necessity. Thank you for this.

But, yeah things are fine. This coffee is fine. My cellphone is fine. My laptop is fine. The weather is fine. The woman over there with the flowy red dress and the nicely tied bun is fine. And that group of school kids shouting over a game of UNO are fine. But how am I? I guess I am angry. Also sad. Also disgusted. Also disgusting. Also chaotic. Also ugly. Also clumsy. Also confused. But also alive. Also dreamy. Also calm. Also peaceful. Also inspired. Also amazed. Also beautiful. But then you don’t want to know all of this, do you? So, how am I? I am a careless and disproportionate mixture of fine(s). Of course, to put it simply, I am fine. Is there anything else we can all be?

~Musings from the coffee shop

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I am so fucking jealous!

I am so jealous of your pretty face, of the perfect way you put your eyeliner, of your lipstick shade,of your ear rings and your bangles, of your body, of your amazing dressing sense. I am so jealous of your photographs on facebook, of beautiful places and beautiful people, of your bike rides, video diaries, your successful travel plans. I am so jealous, not the right kind, not as a compliment – when your plane lands in the different continents of the world, when you attend those amazing concerts of your favorite bands,when my mom speaks so highly of you, when she tells me how brilliant you are, how you have made so much of your life, how your salary is simply unimaginable, how your future is even brighter than the sun in my dull world. I am so jealous, so fucking ridiculously jealous of how talented you are, of your stories, of your films, of your blogs, of your voice, of your sense of humor, of the perfect way you speak and sing. I am so jealous when you tell me how you drowned in alcohol the other day, of your wild nights, of your wild affairs, of the way your lover looks at you, the way you hold each other’s hands, the way you have fallen in love. I am so jealous of the way you draw, the way you submerge in it, the way you breath in colours and fill life in them. I am jealous of the way you can act and the beautiful way you can dance. I am so terribly jealous when you crack that joke among my friends and everybody loses their shit laughing at it, of how you handle attention, of how you meet their gaze, of how you are wanted. I am so jealous of the loving way you eat, of the smart comments you make, of how you seem to know everything about everything, of your maturity, of how confident you seem, how amazingly you handle yourself, how insecurity doesn’t seem to be even a mile close to you. I am so jealous of the fact that you can cook, of how organized you are, of how peaceful and calm you seem all the time. I can’t help but be jealous when I think of your disciplined life, your determination to chase your dreams and your ambitions. I am so jealous of how you are brimming with traits that I will never have! I am so jealous of how you are better at using all the qualities of mine that I find in you! I am so jealous of how amazing your life seem to me.I am jealous. Honestly, I am. Your brilliant achievements, your intelligence, of everything you will do and you do and I won’t and I don’t.

But even after all this how come we are heading in the same direction? Even after all this how come you are jealous of me? When it is so apparent that your life is much better than mine, how come we are equally destitute? You know that rubs ice on my burns but what is the use if I am thrown in the same road even after I get to be you, even after I trade your tomorrows with mine. What’s the point of this jealousy then?

What’s the point?

And yet…

My headache – A prose poetry

My head aches. My head aches because of the cold, I guess. My head aches maybe because I haven’t eaten. My head aches because I am tired.  My head aches because it is losing its equilibrium trying to change things that can’t be changed. My head aches because my mind has toppled from its balance and its weight is crushing. It aches because the neurons circuitry has fused mistaking hopeless imaginations as reality. It aches because chemical transmitters are sending the wrong signals about different emotions. It aches because my thoughts are brutal and disparaging and they hurt. It aches because my brain is unsuccessfully trying to bulldoze the inner walls wanting to escape.  It aches because my heart bleeds and it won’t stop beating.

 

My head aches. May I have an aspirin?