Wednesday, March 15

In the battle of love, I am nobody’s doorstep

The bittersweet truth of late night conversations are the words that make love under the sheets of thunderous reality and the solace that comes with 3 am wishful thinking. Of all the modal auxiliaries, can is the most disappointing. Your self deception wants you to keep living the present, stretching it slowly to make the moment last as long as possible, whereas the excruciating pain of reality keeps coming back in form of WH questions. Reactions and responses carry a certain amount of weight; I don't wish to carry some along. The idea was never to relinquish what we have, but the weight of the aspect that we can't. Once you've tasted authenticity, there's no fear, there's no doubt. Certain people become a part of your story and your life is never the same. You are allowed to miss the person you once were without wanting to be them again. No feeling is final, so let us flow with the tide, whether into or away from each other, until we find a box and name it 'safe place' so that we can throw our worries in there, instead of everywhere else. No matter when we let go, it will hurt, so shouldn't we float in this moment longer and make it worth the pain?

Thursday, March 9

War In My Mind

I was reminiscing all those nights when your vulnerability touched me more than the warmth of your skin. You know the feeling when you know all you could possibly do to someone is damage them in the end, yet all they want to do, is to cling on to you with all their love and you can't let go, because you love them too? Flesh is the tool of the weak, so you can't see us bind this love of ours by holding hands in public places. It's 11:11 and I'm in his bed torn between holding on or letting go. He has a peaceful place in his soul and a restless home in his heart and I find myself lost in his array of words that just keep calling me home. He hates the sunsets, but I tell them that the trees never miss it, so shouldn't we. He has a name for this chaos of desire and wishful thinking, but I have somewhere else to be and we'll probably make a mess of everything in the process, but we aren't remorseful cause we are only growing. In the end, we all become stories. Here we are, going nowhere with all this love, so writing about it.

Sunday, January 1

01/01/2017



I don't usually do throwbacks; I'm that person who once leaves things behind and leaves them forever like they didn't exist. 

We usually tend to be runners because we often aspire to conceive poetically devastating memories, slowly sulking in the warm abyss of spotless mind. Often rebounding. One person at a time. Blame it on massive, deep dwelling passages of literary works of art. However, this time, it's unprecedented and I've been reminiscing about how purposeful the past 300 odd days have been for me.

Last year for me was all about focusing on directing positive energies, into actions, into people, into life in general, and in turn filtering the same back into my energy circles.

2016 was an amazing year; mostly uphill and filled with journeys to new places, meeting new people and finding newer versions of old people. It has been a year of learning and self discovery. It has made me hopeful and slowly stirred in me the cream of good vibes, overflowing to radiate out to anybody who has touched my life meanwhile. This was a year of introspection in it's most literal sense, changes, monumental changes in my spirit and psyche and plenty of reflection. The people that met in the beginning of this year inspired me and pushed me to become the best version of myself because they believed in me. I found love again. A kind of love that subtly tames the hurricane in me. With love, I feel calm.

Sunday, November 27

How Freedom Tastes Like: Birthday Dresses, Pretty Boys and Choices

I have, as a woman, always struggled with the idea of freedom. When I was little, it was about choosing my birthday dress. I wouldn't ever know of that, because I would sit silently in my room making everybody wait by the cake, until my father got home with the dress. I would happily put it on as if it were it, it were exactly what I wanted.

Until I was about fifteen, I could hardly apprehend choices. When I was in grade seven, I liked two boys at the same time and they both would drive me equally mad about them both physically and emotionally. I just couldn't choose. I wanted them both equally. Is this normal to not be able to choose between two people you love? But, why do I have to choose at all.

Sunday, October 2

We speak of monsters as if we aren't one.

If you aren't content with where you are, leave. If it doesn't feel like home, they aren't your person. If you constantly crib about how tough life is, look around often. If you believe that love was always meant to be unrequited, think about the people who loved you, but you couldn't love them back.

We are often clouded with this idea that our wants are unlimited. Yes, there is a word for it- Desire. Humans are fueled by this unreasonable idea of 'limitless wanting' to an extent, that they start believing it. When we want something and later get it, we want more. Desires don't increase. We just tend to want something new, something different. Humans tend to achieve a false sense of accomplishment by trying to obtain what they don't have. The tougher the battle, the better the rush.

We cling on to false hopes, we seek pleasure in misery. Now that's not your life battle; that's your struggle with self. You and I have read enough spiritual books that tell us how our problems are self inflicted and have no connect with what our lives could have been, had we attracted positive things. Nah, I don't want a good life. I only like the bad boys.

Tuesday, September 13

Delicate

Certain voices make your heart smile. His was one of those. The thing about past is that you want to fuck it off, but it's so integral for what you've become. The thing about past is also that it makes you want to treasure some of it forever in your beauty box, but it it is no longer valid.

I felt weirdly drawn towards saving his little text messages, reading it in my head to the sound of his voice. His voice was caramel sauce topped on whipped cream and my mind inevitably demanded his name on my phone every weekend. 

He always called when it was half past two; when he fell right into my routine or maybe I did. Every time I read his name, I knew what was coming and I gracefully engrossed myself in it, like embracing my own soul.  His body shattered me like a ticking time bomb. In the silence before the storm, we sat there in the quiet dark, waiting for the bomb to hatch a terrible thunder. You know how some lovers are like chains, pulling us back into dimly lit places.

Thursday, July 28

Stains On A Coffee Paper

My mind is dazed by a silhouette. She is just a blur created by some chemical in my head. Like a faded blot of jet black ink on an old yellow parchment. And that silhouette, has blurred my concept of importance of words. Because I can't take my eyes off off her. I forget all about the standard norms of falling in love. Stepping outside the boundaries set by society, I fell in love with the idea of a person.
A person I had never met.

At least not physically. But she has been through every cell of my being, leaving behind traces of someone unknown that puts me in a trance. And I am amazed at how an unknown shadow feels like a shot of dopamine. A kind of addictive joy runs through my bloodstream simply because of the thought of her. This is what love probably feels like. This is what home probably feels like.
Or not. 

Because no one would know what loving a blur would be like. We all build an image in our minds, of us with our lovers holding hands while walking on the beach or being in each others arms under the sheets or simply looking at our reflection in their eyes. While all I do, is smile faintly thinking about the person who will hold my heart in her warm hands and keep it close. No feeling has ever been so different. Love has never been more blind.
And I, have never felt happier.

-Kathan Shah

Saturday, July 23

Self Destruction Is Not Romantic

How convenient it is for us to try to find inspiration in things that destroy us! Listen to all the songs these days, about drugs, infidelity and running after people that don't contribute to our existence through theirs. The problem grows around how since time immemorial people have romanticized the idea of self destruction, making it look like art, like poetry. It is not.

Let me tell you about this man that I believed I was in love with for almost three goddamn long years. Oh, how he sung my favorite song at sunset and how my hips swayed to the tune of his guitar. Sounds straight out of a television box isn't it or more like a bestselling novel thrown in your bag; the one you got sold to when the leading media houses quoted '...tragic, captivating, sensuous tale of love and despair'. Well, here I was writing my ignorance in a journal full of love songs and un-posted letters for a man that would always call me after everyone else was gone. "Time for showdown, baby!"

Sunday, November 15

How The Desire For Something Better Has Wrecked Our Lives

Our generation has a tendency to never be content with what we already have, thus aiming to conquest more; something, anything. Obese people are being sold to miracle slimming pills promising a beach ready thigh gap. Skinny people want the curves. Women want bigger tits. Big tits want better push up bras. Lean women want a big butt. Fuck this, now everyone wants a big butt. Long hair wants to get cut short. Short hair wants a magic potion for the hair. Let's spend thousands of dollars to end up broke or spend thousands more for that perfect instagram picture because babe, my daddy is earning the shyt. I'm no where close to saying that you aren't allowed to choose how you decide to spend the money you have. It's the desire to be better that keeps the cash inflow intact. Everything can be summed up into a better version of what you already have; a better dress, better car, better phone, better face and eventually a better love. People believe there's always someone better, someone more compatible, someone sexier for them out there. This is why we refuse to settle down. We look for options because we have a continuous fear of losing out on something we don't have. In the process of reaching out for the stars, we've missed our diamonds. But we are all egostic little freaks yearning to satisfy our existence with a false assurance that we won't miss out on anything in life. In all honesty, is that even possible? We'd be foolish if we desired to rise up to a warm sun on a winter morning, take a walk in the rain after lunch and sleep to a cool summer night by the beach at once. I was one of those people; people who'd have an inevitable fear of losing out on something they haven't even lived. I'd think about all the people I could have fallen in love with, had I not spent an entire year being consumed by love that didn't even last. If I settle down with this one man, would I be able to kiss the other men that I once fell in love with, and still am ,with the same intensity or would I even see them again? Maybe I should have never spent the evening with him and instead partied at the hip night club the other night. I could have met interesting people with great stories to tell. What if the person who would have been an integral part of my life was right there but I was busy talking to someone else? Maybe we'd be in love by now. Maybe this love was the one. You see how crazy that sounds? The fear of missing out is engraved in our sub conscious because we we're afraid to make a choice. There will always be options; always be another road to home but the choice is yours: the choice of living one moment with all intensity or living it all with mediocrity. 

Friday, October 23

Don't Kiss Someone With Music In The Background

I've read that one shouldn't kiss someone with music in the background, because one day you'll sway in a different arm in a new coffee shop and that song will come on. The taste of salty caramel frappé will start to taste like them and as much as you hate to admit, the smell of new cologne in your shirt every morning wouldn't please you any more.
The other day when you're in the car driving home, after seventeen long hours of work, tuning the radio, that song will come on. The miles would become longer and even the exuberant sunset wouldn't be engaging any more. Suddenly the glee and glam, the spirit and spur of the moment will transform into a pensive polaroid.
When you're in the bed reaching the climax of  your current favourite book and it's only a few pages away, that song will come on. Every bar between reality and fiction will be blurred and all you'd want to read any more would be the wrinkles on their forehead when they tried to find you in the art gallery where you met for the first time.