The day I started bleeding blue.

Lately, I haven't been posting on the blog. So when I was asked to write something new, I spent hours trying to think of what to write about. And then it hit me- why not write about writing?

Confused? Let me explain-

It all started 11 years ago. I was in third grade and back then life basically consisted of minimal academics and more of play time. I was hyper active as a child (quite contrary to the lazy bum I've become now.) and mom would often find it hard to keep me occupied.
I was always an avid reader. The only way for me to fall asleep was by reading a story. Only my parents can tell you how hard it was to separate me from my beloved books. I read whatever I could, whenever I could.
It so happened that one evening, I was particularly bored and idle. Like every other kid, I asked my mother what to do. Might I add that at this point, she also had to take care of my three year old younger brother. So when I kept bugging her that evening, she abruptly said "Go to your room and write something!".

Write something? Hmmmm....

Accepting her challenge, I went to my room and sat on my favourite spot- the upper right corner of my bunk bed. (Yes, I had one of those.) As I began thinking what to write about, one thought predominantly occupied my head- my mother wouldn't play with me because she was busy with my brother. So I wrote a poem about my brother.
I went back to my mother to show her what I wrote and she was so surprised. I guess not every person would expect an 8 year old to be able to write poetry. (Granted, it was the most silly little thing I ever wrote.)

I was 8 years old then, I'm 20 years old now. And my love for writing has only grown. My mom got me a journal to write my poetry in. For 11 years I've guarded that notebook like it's my life. If you ever looked at it, you would clearly notice the change in my handwriting, my style of writing, my train of thought. When I flip through the pages now, I can't help but laugh at all the things I wrote as a child. I've had my kiddy phase where I wrote about butterflies, rainbows and cartoons. I've had a teenage phase where I wrote about school, friendship and crushes. And today, I write about whatever speaks to me, whatever inspires me.

Writing has saved my life, quite literally. Whether I was happy or sad, everything felt just a little bit better after I wrote something about it. It's my addiction, and my cure.
There are at least a 100 scraps of spare paper and tissue with my emotions penned down on them that got lost somewhere along the way. So many poems that I scribbled on the back of my school notebooks, never to be found again.

And then, 11th grade happened. Somewhere in between tuition, coaching classes and a never ending syllabus, I stopped writing. Not out of choice, but because there was simply too much going on in my head and I didn't know how to untangle that kind of a mess. And that reflected in my life too. I got angry more often, had mood swings and lost focus. In retrospect, bleeding ink instead of shedding tears was probably a better idea.

It was my father who pulled me back to my notebook and pen. He was always my first critic and the first person I shared everything with. And when I stopped writing, it was he who encouraged me to keep trying. Every once in a while he'd ask me if I wrote anything new. And no one was happier than him when I started writing again.
In fact, just a few weeks back, he called me out of the blue just to tell me that he loved what I had been writing and that he was proud of me. And that one call just made my day.
For an average child with limited talents, having someone tell you that is like accomplishing something great.

Today, it gives me so much happiness when people come up to me and say "Hey, I loved what you wrote". Especially when I don't even know the person. The fact that someone read something that came out of my head and somehow related to it, made me feel like I'm not alone. Like there are other who think and feel just like me.

I'm not a great writer. I don't have a fancy vocabulary and I sure as hell am not going to be the next J.K. Rowling or whatever. I may never get published and I'll probably never make a career out of this. But I love what I write. It's honest, it's raw and it's me.

So that's the story of how I started writing. I sincerely hope whoever reads this gives it a try too. It's not that hard, just pen down whatever you're thinking. Trust me, it feels liberating! Whether its a journal, micro-tales, poetry, essays or even articles, believe me, it'll feel like a weight being lifted off our shoulders.

Go on, pick up that pen.
And bleed.

This one's for my girls.

I’m sure you all know of the achievements of Indian women in the Rio Olympics 2016. It was a topic much talked about. Our girls showed us hope when we were left hopeless. They brought us glory when we were left in darkness. And of course, the people of India stood alongside them with pride and encouragement.

Well, most of them.

Amidst social media posts in praise of these amazing women, I noticed a lot of people (men, more than women) questioning why people used the achievement of these women to glorify “girl power” and whether there would be posts about “man power” had a male won a medal. 

I don’t know why this is still a matter of debate. After all these years, somehow people still haven’t understood basic logic. Let me explain with the help of an example (courtesy, Gabbie the Youtuber.)
 Let us say for example that the following statement is true: 
“All humans have 2 eyes.” This is statement number one.
Now, let us consider the following statement to be true: 
“Mriganka is a human.” This is statement number two.
We have established that both these statements are true. Now if we add the two statements up- Mriganka is a human. And since we agree that all humans have 2 eyes, we can say that Mriganka has two eyes.
The statement “Mriganka has 2 eyes” in no way translates to me saying that YOU don’t have two eyes. Or that any other person doesn’t have two eyes. Apply the same logic to the issue above.
Consider the following statement- “All humans have power.”
Now consider this statement- “Women are humans.”
By combining these two statements, you’d imply that women have power, because they too are humans, and we already established the fact that all humans have power. Now, that doesn’t mean that men do not have power, or that they’re not as important.
So why do people equate talking about “girl power” to being unfair? 
When you have already started on the wrong foot, it takes time to bring things back on track. And since time immemorial women have been put down for not being strong enough, not being good enough, not being powerful enough. 
“Don’t play like a girl.”
“Don’t cry like a girl.”
Boys have grown up, learning that these statements are perfectly normal. And you know what, if such issues weren’t happening as of this very minute, no one would emphasize on women the way we do now because we would have achieved gender equality.

But this is still a “current issue”. This is still happening. And that is why we need to talk about it.
Think about it- the spirit of sports is called sports-MAN-ship. The entire human race is called MAN-kind. When women were oppressed for thousands of years, from the time of the earth’s creation to the world today as we know it, it only makes sense to give them an extra push to bring them to the same level as that of the opposite race.
Please understand that this doesn’t mean we want to pull the male race down and oppress them in revenge. It’s high time this was understood.
It angers me so much to see that we’ve come so far, in terms of science and technology yet lack so much in terms of humanity. So much, that I’m literally pounding the keys on my keyboard as I write this piece.
So the next time you see a post about “girl power”, please don’t argue why there are no “man power” posts. Save yourself the trouble because I’ll tell you why.
Yes, there are no posts glorifying the power of men, nor will there be. Because the world has already established that statement to be true (remember the statement logic I spoke about?). Because we have spent the last thousand years doing just that. Because there are no phrases like “Don’t cook like a boy” or any other comparison to an activity that is stereo typically a woman’s skill.
Stop trying to grab attention from an issue that desperately needs it. 
Until then, #girlpower it is.

Nineteen and three quarters.

vAs I pack my bags to leave for college, I take a look at the calendar- July 25^th 2016. Half the year was already over and I didn’t even realise. And then it hit me.

I have just 3 months more of being a teen.

Suddenly, I wished for time to just stop. Not because I didn’t want to go back to college or because I wanted some more time with my friends and family. I just really did not want to turn 20. I wasn’t ready to be an adult just yet. I’m still not.
Two years back I was just a girl with big dreams waiting to live her life on her own terms. I thought that my life would be a never ending party full of awesome ‘How I met your mother’ kinda stories. (Except, of course for me it would be ‘How I met your father’) I used to look forward to each day, with an enthusiasm that refused to waver. Two years ago feels like a long time now, and as it turns out, none of the things I imagined ever actually happened. Somewhere along the path of living up to other people’s expectations, I forgot to just be a teen. I forgot to make mistakes; I forgot to just be me.
And now perhaps, it’s too late.

All my life all I ever wanted to do was to do something that would make my parents want to say “Beta we’re really proud of you.”  And believe me, I tried. But I guess my parents and I had very different definitions of things you should be proud about. At least, that’s what I always thought. What I didn’t realise is that I don’t have to hear them say it for me to believe that they are indeed proud of me. I hope they are.
I look at other kids my age and I know I’m not exactly the golden trophy of children or a prodigy of any kind. While people I know are out conquering the world with their own companies, bagging scholarships and reaching new heights with medals around their neck, I sit here with no accolades, no trophies on my table and no certificates on my wall.
All I have is a simple blog, a journal filled with poetry, and some decent dancing skills.

Is that not enough?

You know, when I was a kid, I used to think that twenty something’s were the coolest kind of adults who had their lives sorted. Little did I know that being twenty comes with a whole load of responsibility. No one told me that when you’re twenty you’ll have to start thinking about having a stable future. You’ll have to think about job prospects and how to fund your master’s degree. You’ll have to think about taxes, loans, marriage and a whole bunch of other stuff like that.
Hell, I don’t even know how to deposit money into my own bank account yet.

In the midst of this tangled mess of thoughts, I hear my mother tell me that I should not take a break before my masters. That I should continue studying and not apply for a job yet. So that I’d have a stable, well-paying job by the time I’m 27 and ready to get married.

MARRIED?
I literally did not even think of that.
When I was 13, I knew exactly where I’d be in the next five years. And now I have no clue. That really scares me. I bet it scares all of us.
I’m not ready to be an adult just yet. I’m not ready to think about “settling down”. There are just so many things I still have left to do! And this whole turning 20 thing just complicates it.

I feel jealous. I envy all my friends who tell me stories of when they bunked college just to go for a drive. Stories of how they drank so much that they needed a friend to lift them up to be able to walk. Stories of how the screamed so loud at concerts that it almost ripped their vocal chords off. How they surprised their friends on their birthday at midnight, how they danced like complete retards and sang like monkeys at every club’s karaoke night.
Lol, I’ve never even entered a club.

I was the girl who refused to go to the mall in her first year of college because it was “too far” and I hadn’t informed my parents. I was the girl who ordered lime sodas while my friends sat there with chilled beers. While my friends were out at hookah bars, I sat in my room binge watching TV shows.  While they organised sleepovers at each other’s houses, I politely refused their invitations and chose to hang out with my Chinese food take-out instead.
I rarely ever asked my parents to let me do stuff like this, but even when I did (after a whole lot of contemplation about the safety concerns) they generally wouldn’t let me. And I never had the guts to do something without telling them. Perhaps, even if I did get a chance, I would never do some of the things I mentioned above.  (Like the hookah. Smoking kills, people. If you’re so enthusiastic about inhaling smoke, put your mouth at the end of an exhaust pipe. At least that way, you’d be saving the environment a little.)

I remember a few weeks back, I was talking to my mom and I told her- “I feel like doing something crazy.” I wish I had the guts to tell her all this then. I wish I could tell her to trust me a little and let me make my mistakes.
Oh by the way, mom (or dad) if you’re reading this, relax. I’m not planning on doing any of these things right now. Please don’t get angry because of what I wrote.
I know that for you I’ll always be a little kid. But our generation is surprisingly a lot more responsible that you give us credit for. We care about our safety too. Trust us a little.

So this one’s for all the other teens like me. The designated ‘sober best friends’. The ones who lived behind a shadow of ‘parental permissions’, the ones who were always a little too mature for their own good. Live a little, break the rules. You’ve still got a little time left.

Today, I’m nineteen and three quarters. Most of my teen hood is way past me. And here I am with no stories to tell, no advice to give. I have no checked off bucket lists and no photographs of crazy things I thought I’d never do. No memories of blurry nights, no stupid mistakes to laugh over.

Today, I am nineteen and three quarters.
But I still have a quarter left.

Let the craziness begin.  J

The Autowallah

Around 4 years back, when I was in 11th grade, I used to go for these coaching classes in Indiranagar.
You see, in India it is a customary thing to join a coaching centre at least once in your life,because (surprise! surprise!) apparently you need a school after regular school to help you get into another kind of school after 12th.
(Makes you wonder what the point of school is, if we aren't learning what we should be to get into colleges, no?)
So like all other parents, my parents too decided to put me into a coaching institute so that I can get into  college of my choice with ease.
 No, it wasn't ACE/BASE or any of those other conventional institutes. Hell, it wasn't even a coaching institute for engineering/medical entrance exams.
It was DQ Labs. And it was a coaching centre for NIFT.

That's right. NIFT.

You see, unlike most stereotypical parents who feel like their life dreams are shattered when their child tells them he/she wants to do something unusual, mine decided to do whatever it takes to make sure I could do my best. And so, they put me in a coaching centre.
Now from where I live, Indiranagar is a pretty far place and knowing Bangalore, there's always an insane amount of traffic. So travel was always a little difficult, but we managed. Sometimes I would go by bus, sometimes dad would drop me and sometimes my friends would drop me.

But there's this one day I still remember. The one day, where I learnt a little lesson that would stick with me for the rest of my life.

I had just finished with my classes and was waiting for the bus that would take me home. It was already 7:30 pm and back then, I was "too young" to be out alone "in the dark" in a place so "far away" from home. My mother called me to ask me where I was and I told her I was waiting for the bus. Being a typical worrying mother, she told me to stop waiting and just take an auto and come home as soon as possible.

So I went looking for an auto to take me home. For those of you who haven't had prior experience of hiring an auto in Bangalore, you should know that auto-wallah's always have the last word. If they choose to take you to your destination without any arguments it's like you've won some kind of a battle.
I went around searching and finally found an auto-wallah who graciously agreed to drop me home while also going by the meter.

We traveled a few kilometers and stopped at a signal, when the auto-wallah casually turns back at me and says, "Aaj toh bohot traffic hai na madam?"
 For some reason I panic. I'm not used to having auto-wallah's talking to me while I travel, and instinctively I can hear the voices of my mother and my kindergarten teacher saying "Don't talk to strangers, Mriganka".
So I pretended like I never heard him. The signal light turned green and we continued our journey.
I was so happy to have moved past that awkward situation but I spoke to soon.
Almost immediately, he turned around again and asked me "Aap college student ho?"

I cautiously replied with a simple "No."

He then began telling me about his own daughter and proudly mentioned that she also goes to school and was, in fact a very intelligent student. I gave him an awkward smile. Although, I felt like he was just cooking up some story.
We were just a few kilometers away from home, when he suddenly took a diversion from the regular route.
A dozen alarms went off inside my head. Shit, I thought to myself. Something bad is going to happen.
But I couldn't let him know I was scared. No, that would only make things worse.
I yelled at him an said "Bhaiya aap kidhar jaa rahe ho?" and he told me that he was just taking a diversion to avoid more traffic so that I could reach home faster.

"Aapki mummy chinta kar rahi hogi. Already do baar call aa chuka hai." he said.

I still felt like something was fishy, so I very smartly told him "Wapas main road pe jao warna paise nahi doongi."

He turned back, looked at me and went back to the route via the main road.
And of course, as predicted, we got struck in more traffic.

After 1.5 hours, we finally reached my apartment and I got down and pulled out my wallet to pay him. Just went I extended my arm to hand him the hundred rupees, he looks at me and says - "Rakh lo madam, nai chahiye."
Obviously, I was surprised so I asked him what happened and he said - "Madam, hum auto-walleh bhi insan hi hote hain. Hum aapko darana nai chahte. Aap toh meri beti jaise ho, mai toh sirf aapko jaldi ghar pohochana chahta tha par pata nai aapko kya laga"

Which when translated to English means- Ma'am we auto-drivers are also humans. We don't mean to scare you. You are like my daughter and I just wanted you to reach home quickly".

I felt so terribly guilty. My judgmental mind got the better of me and made me jump to conclusions.

He went on to give me his number and say that if I ever needed to be dropped home from class again and I couldn't find any other auto, he would come and pick me up.

You know, of all nice things any person has ever done for me, this was one thing that I'd always remember. He did, in fact drop me home after classes thereafter. And he would still tell me stories about his daughter and laugh at how similar the two of us girls are.

You know, it's strange. All those "moral science" classes, all those kindergarten rhymes about good manners- none of them taught me how to let go of my ego and speak to every human as an equal.

The auto-wallah taught me that.

Hello, you're lovely. Won't you tell me your name?

Recently, there has been a challenge that's been trending on Facebook- yes, the #ComplimentChallenge. Its this thing where you upload your status and ask people to drop a comment and you respond to the comment with a compliment. Some people termed this as "the most stupid thing I've seen in human mankind" but I thought that this would be a welcome change from all the hate in my life, and it was. But it also made me  realise something very important.

Have we forgotten how to appreciate?

This world is changing, and changing fast and somewhere along the way we have forgotten some things that were never meant to be forgotten. And it's not only about appreciating others, we've even forgotten how to appreciate ourselves.
Ever since we were little, we've been told about the 'magic words'- thank you, I love you and sorry.
Someone would do something nice for us, and our parents would ask us, "Beta, what is the magic word?" and with utmost joy and satisfaction we'ed happily oblige and respond "THANK YOUUUUUU" which would then be followed by the laughter of all the adults in the room or a joint chorus of "Awwwwww".
We were kids then. We're adults now. And as adults, thank-you has become something that's just a formality.
Except, it's not.
Thank you is a way of appreciating a person for whatever nice thing they've done or said. You know what else is appreciating? - saying something nice or doing something nice for a person.
And we've successfully forgotten both.

I didn't know that the world was in dire need of true appreciation. When I uploaded my status on Facebook, I was surprised by the number of people who commented. And not just the number, I was even surprised by some people in general. Some were people I didn't even know or had ever met. All of these people just wanted to hear someone say something nice about them because apparently, that isn't the normal way of life. Why? Because-

We have built a world where putting others down in the race to come first has become more important than pushing each other to be the best we can and hence call everyone a winner.

When was the last time you did something nice for someone without expecting anything in return? When was the last time you complimented someone without a motive?
Ask yourself honestly. I'll admit, I certainly haven't done any of the things mentioned above in quite a while. And I feel quite sad about it.
They say that happiness is contagious. So is appreciation. And since happiness is a reaction to appreciation, it's safe to say that we'll all be a great deal happier if only we can start to appreciate.

Not just appreciate others, but also learn to accept appreciation for ourselves.
When I was in school, I had this habit of randomly complimenting people. And it wasn't just donkey praise. If I found something nice about them, I'd tell them. But the weird part was that sometimes, they would think I'm lying, or feel obligated to say something nice in return. One of my friends, Sanskriti Sharma was quite different though. Every time I'd compliment her, she would smile, blush and say "thanks". And you know what, it made me feel happy that in some way she's happy. (Sanskriti, if you're reading this, thank you for making me realise the importance of appreciating people.)

So ask yourself this- when was the last time you just accepted a compliment?

When was the last time that you didn't feel the need to contradict someone when they said "Hey, you look nice today"? When was the last time you didn't compare yourself with another when someone called you beautiful? When was the last time that someone said something nice and you just accepted it with open arms, with only a thank you for their kind words?
It's been a while hasn't it?

It's time we started to embrace our awesomeness, while also acknowledging and appreciating the awesomeness of others.

Go ahead, compliment someone. Watch them smile. Watch the smile come on your face as well. Feel the happiness, spread the love.
Oh, and if you didn't already know-

"Hello, you're lovely. Wont you tell me you name?" :)

To Sir, with love.

Hello dear human!
I don't know if you know this but "final exams" aren't really exams for people studying design. (and architecture, I think)
We have something called the 'jury'. It is a real-life feedback system consisting of 2-4 humans who get to decide whether you will pass the semester, based on their opinions of what you made. Which is really strange because in a world of billions on people with billions of opinions, apparently if these 4 people don't like it, it is automatically assumed that the rest of the world also won't. And hence you become a 'bad designer' and hence you fail the semester. No offence to these 4 people of course. they are all experts in their fields, I know. And they have far more experience and knowledge that any of us students, nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt them to maybe just be a little bit more nice sometimes.
Anyway, what happens during a jury is that you basically display all your work done through the entire semester and explain it. In an exam, you don't have the examiner sitting right in front of you, pointing out your mistake as you write the paper. In a jury though, that's exactly what happens. And while some people are not affected by it, others like me tend to lose their train of thought and end up making a mess of everything that follows.
We think something in our heads and say something else. So here's what really goes on inside our heads- the behind the scenes footage of a jury. Dedicated to all professors, with love.

Dear Sir(s) and Ma'am(s),
Good-afternoon. I hope you are all in a good mood today as your opinions will shape the rest of my future, so please don't say anything out of anger. Welcome to the display of my work. What you see before you is hours and hours of sweat, tears and sleepless nights. No, it's not just a piece of paper with some design on it, it's a glimpse into my thoughts at the time that I was making it.
You will now ask me why I picked a particular topic, trying to see if I've done my research. And I will fail to answer you as per your expectations. Not because I didn't do my research but because the fear of you not liking what I've made consumes my brain more than anything else. I will forget the answers to simple questions and you will seize that opportunity to try and bring me down just a little more to see if my self-confidence will waver. And yes, it just might.
The assistant will come in with some refreshments. And just like that, I will lose your attention. You have been sitting here for a while now and you're hungry, I know. I only wish that you knew even I had not eaten a single morsel of food since daybreak. It's okay, I will wait. I've put in a lot of effort, so I will wait. I stand there, fidgeting with my fingers as you savour your tea and snacks and with the most polite voice, I ask you- "Sir, may I continue?"
You nod in agreement, still not paying attention to what I'm so desperately trying to say. I make a mistake and suddenly, you are all ears. I flinch. You know I'm getting nervous.
I gather whatever's left of my confidence and continue to explain the rest of my work. But you are bored now. You sigh in exasperation. "Hurry up, we have many more students to finish" you tell me. My heart sinks. I think to myself, what was the point of rehearsing your explanation yesterday? Quickly I re-arrange my thoughts to suit the given time-frame. I finish my explanation and thank them all for for their time. They look at me, then at my work, then at me again and ask me "Is that all?".
I flinch again. Do they feel I haven't worked enough? Have I been a little to brief? Maybe I forgot some important point. Is this all I have? Oh god, everyone else must have shown them so much.
"Yes ma'am that is all" I reply, after a second.
They take a brief minute to write down my feedback, I ask them to sign my hall ticket, they ask me to sign the attendance sheet. Then they show me my feedback- "Could have done some more research"
I sigh. I ask them if I can leave the room, they nod.

As soon as I come out the room, my classmates will bombard me with questions. I will lie and tell them that the jury was great even though I know it was just 'okay-ish'.
Later that evening, my mother will call me and ask me how I did. I will tell her 'it was fine' just like I always do. She doesn't understand that this is not like an exam where there is one correct answer that applies for everyone. I end up having to comfort myself, even mom cannot help me with this one.
I have dinner, with no interest in actually eating, and go to bed.
Tomorrow will be a new day, I tell myself.
Just hold on, Mriganka, tomorrow will be a new day.

Things I wish someone had told me

Sometimes I wish
That someone would just snap me out of my thoughts.
I wish that they would shake me and wake me
And tell me things that I need to hear.
I wish that someone told me
That I don’t need to punish myself
When I don’t rise to my parents’ expectations.
Or that starvation was a terrible thing to do,
Even if it’s because you’re busy with work.
I wish that someone had told me
That I shouldn’t be ashamed of my name
 It’s unique, like me.
And I wish they told me
That there’s no pressure to know where I want to be
In the next 5 years, just because my employer wants to know.
After all, who knows if I’ll still be alive then?
Sometimes I wish that someone had told me
That it’s okay to tell my friend my problems
And that it doesn’t make me broken,
Because if I had just spoken to someone the minute I felt I wasn’t okay,
I wouldn’t ever have to say that I feel like I’m alone.
I wish that someone had told me
That the size of your bra doesn’t affect who you are
And your body isn’t something you should be ashamed of,
And that you should be proud of each and every cell that you’re made of.
And that you shouldn’t be afraid
That you wouldn’t live up to a boy’s expectation,
You owe no explanations
If what they assumed isn’t what they get.
Sometimes I wish that someone had told me
That it’s not okay to compromise with your self-respect.
It’s not okay for people to take advantage of your feelings
And then make you feel guilty about it.
I wonder if I ever even realised that I was being played (I doubt it)
I wish that someone had told me
That the cold touch
Of the blades I had used so much
In the hopes of relieving my pain were all in vain
And that no good ever comes from hurting yourself.
I wish someone had told me
That those chicken pox marks I have
Are just that. Just marks.
And I shouldn’t feel conscious about it.
I wish someone had told me
That I can trust men
And that just because one of them decided to molest me,
Doesn’t mean that they’re all bad.
And I know it’s sad
But ever since that incident, I’ve been influenced
Into thinking that every guy just wants to hurt me.
And I wish that someday, a man with real patience
Will break down that wall, take away the inhibition
And maybe then, I’ll learn to love again.
These are the things I wish someone had told me
And now I wish someone would come and hold me
As I fight back tears of bad memories and regret
That have scarred my mind for a little too long
I wasted time thinking about things that I thought were wrong
And if someone- someone had just come and said
All of these things I was thinking of in the back of my head
If someone had said it loud and clear
Maybe then I wouldn’t have those fears
Or doubts, or inhibitions or second guesses.
All this pain, could have been saved
If only someone had told me before, what I know today.

Listen.

Hey, human!
So um, yeah- that's me. The girl with the Lennon glasses. You know up until now, I used this blog as a journal of sorts, I knew no one really reads it, or even cares for that matter. But sometimes my laptop starts feeling like a person, a person that only listens- and that can feel really good sometimes.

Is it just me or do you all wish that there was some sort of a machine or (by the grace of God) a person who would just take time off to listen to you? Without interruptions. Without judgement. Because more often that not, we don't need people to give us solutions to our problems. We need people to just listen to us till we figure out what to do ourselves. I mean, I think we can all agree on the fact that we never do what we're told to do in bad situation in fact, we do just the opposite.

It's easy when it's a friend- you can listen to them talk about their life without feeling burdened or feeling like "You know I really have better things to do". Or at least that's how it is for me. I love being a friend. I love being that shoulder to cry on, that hand to hold onto, the hug to comfort you. But even I can't help myself from suggesting solutions or forming opinions from time to time. But I'm working on that now.

The hardest thing though, the very hardest thing is to listen to the one whose words shoved a knife up your heart. To listen to the ones who at one point made you feel like you were walking on broken glass. To listen to those who've done you wrong, who've hurt you and made many nights nothing but swollen eyes staring at a fan. It takes real patience and courage to do that. To forgive, to move on. But to be able to forgive, you'll have to know how to listen.
I had to listen to someone like that once, just a few weeks back. I had to swallow my ego (my rather fat and stubborn ego) and chose whether or not to listen to that person. That person because of whom I cried myself to sleep on multiple occasions. That person because of whom I just stopped feeling good about myself. THAT person.
And you know what? I couldn't.
At least not on the first try.
Life went on, and the unresolved issues I had was like a backpack filled with bowling balls stuck onto my shoulders. And I knew that unless I chose to listen to that person, I'd always have that backpack following me around.
So I did it. I listened.
You'd be surprised at how much of a relief it is to finally talk about a problem with the person who caused it, ironically enough.
I talked to that person, listened to their side of the story, saw that I wasn't entirely right either, apologized for the same. I admit, I may have lashed out a couple of times, but nevertheless having heard her out I felt like I knew all that I had to know. It felt liberating.
We sorted things out, and even though she and I both knew that it would take a while for things between us to get back to normal, we both felt happy knowing we did what was right. What was the mature thing to do. We listened.
And both of us left our backpacks right there in that same spot. It wasn't our burden to carry anymore.

~The End~

It's been a while

Well, hello.

I literally do not even know who's reading this. That's kinda cool.
It's been over a year since I last posted. What a shame. But I think it's time I got back to writing again. God alone knows it's the only thing that's going to keep me sane.
I just read my old posts and I can't help but laugh. What was I thinking? (LOL)
Perhaps you too would be familiar with this feeling that I'm currently feeling. You know, that time in your life when you feel like you have something to say but you're not sure what it is, so you just go with the flow. But then I also feel like I'm a shitty writer so we're that leads us no where I guess.

Okay, you're spending your time to read this. Let's get back to the point.

The title of this blog post says 'It's been a while'. Why, though? Why did I stop writing? Why did I almost let go of the one thing I've loved ever since I was 8 years old? Seems strange.
I used to write poetry. A lot. Like all the time. I would literally pen down lines in the middle of class at the back of my notebook. And now? Gosh, I don't even remember the last time I felt comfortable enough in letting my thoughts outside of my head and onto the paper. Like I was almost too scared that someone might find out. How weird is that?
I don't mind sharing what I've written. I never have. Then what was I so scared of? What was I hiding my feelings for? Or rather, WHO was I hiding it for?
Don't you just wish we all could just get the answers to all of our questions, just like that? Just out of the thin air. The last year and a half I'd say had been pretty happening. And it sure as hell changed me a lot- for better or for worse. But I'm beginning to take control of my life again. Starting right now.

So, to the person who is reading this- you probably don't know me. Or maybe you do. Either ways, you should know that over these past few months, I've come to realize that we all have a whole lot of strength that we don't give ourselves credit for. A whole lot of bravery that we fail to appreciate. And a whole lot of beauty that we tend to ignore.
Embrace it.

This is your life.
And it starts today.
Right here, right now.