fortheloveofthis - Tumblr blog

[fortheloveofthis]

Shoplifters (2018) Dir. Hirokazu Kore-eda

[fortheloveofthis]

It’s been a while.

Warning: I mostly write like I speak. And this can be a tad bit....meh. I ramble. I punctuate these ramblings with what I consider existential questions and burning thoughts. Mind you, existential not just from humanity’s perspective but also from the perspective of the thing it self. Eg: A Blog. You’ll see what I mean in the upcoming post. You’ve also now understood to some extent how much I ramble. 

I haven’t blogged on a public platform in, what I consider, a long time. (”What is ‘blogging’” I asked myself, but that’s for another day.) (THAT WAS BLOGGING EXISTENTIALISM, YOU SEE) But this past year, I wrote a lot. The notes app on my phone is filled with posts. They’re not ideas. They’re bursts of emotion. And they’re all primarily sadness or anger. Not the good kind. (Yes, I do believe there is a good kind. You know, the kind that fuels you to write, create, change your current situation etc.) Today, I sat down to wonder why I haven’t ‘blogged’. (Now, you may wonder, standing up, how I have the time to sit down to just wonder about such things. Interestingly, so do I. That’s wonder-ception on many levels for you.) The easiest answer of course, was LAZY. But I disagree (with myself. You can do that. It’s healthy to do so apparently. It will also drive you nuts.) It’s exactly like making time for people in your life. If you wanted to, truly wanted to, you would’ve done it. Procrastination, meh. A little. Self-criticism (”must you contribute more garbage to already garbaged world” sort of thing). Oh well. 

What I’m trying to say is, how about you treat this as long-ass disclaimer that I’m probably going to be writing (RAMBLING PUBLICLY) lots from now (hopefully), and you take it, if it serves you some purpose, or leave it, if it does nothing for you? (anyway, I do hope I see you around. Ta. X) (X is for hugs. I can be cool also.)

[fortheloveofthis]

I could have danced all night.

(via russhnoise)

[fortheloveofthis]

My dog left me when I wasn’t home. I had gone away to another city, to study. She fell sick. She was in pain. We got her the treatment she needed, but it wasn’t enough. She was asleep when she left. I was in college when my mother called to tell me. It didn’t make any sense to me.

She had been sick before, but she was cured then. How did she fall sick again? Why did it spread quicker than before? But this cannot have happened. I haven’t seen her in 4 months. I have to annoy her for a bit, before she needs to go. When shall I get my tickets? I can ditch class now.

My dad interrupted me.

You’re not coming home.

I was silent for a second, because I was sure I had misheard.

I’m sorry, but you can’t come home. You have classes. Tickets will be impossible at this last minute.

More silence.

Shradha, I don’t want you to see her like this.

I hung up. I just sat in my classes and allowed the tears to pitter pat on to my shirt, my notebook. The tears were supposed to be the pain, the guilt, leaving my body. But they did no such thing.

I was told we had a ceremony at home for her. I can’t remember when the pain started fading. But it doesn’t matter, because it didn’t fade away. It just took a backseat. The pain never really goes away. Every time I see a pair of kind, coal-ish eyes, I think of her. I can’t forget, I have no closure. And I don’t want to.  

[fortheloveofthis]

It was her shoes that caught my attention. They were emerald green with maroon laces. It was odd, because she's tied the laces from her left shoe to that of the right. Her legs were awkward and they were doing a little tap-tap beside the steel chairs, outside the library. I was sitting across from her, waiting for my friend to come get me. As my eyes wandered up, I took in the ripped beige stockings, denim shorts, oversized black sweater that was falling off her shoulder, wildly curly, brown hair, bunched up in a knot, loose tendrils framing her face. She was tan. Not muddy tan. That golden tan you cannot procure from lying around on beaches or from the best tanning salons in the world. You have to be blessed with it. She was holding a cigarette, between her fingers, flicking them every few seconds. Her carelessly-coloured ruby-red lips were being mauled by her teeth. A solitary drop of water rolled down toward them.

Which is when I looked in her eyes.

They were the saddest eyes I had seen. They were beautiful, green eyes, almost the colour of her shoes, only, more mellow; and full of melancholy. It was one of those things-you know you should stop; it's very rude. But I just couldn't stop staring. And then she looked into mine.  

Illustration by Nika Akin

[fortheloveofthis]

Photograph by Ilya Kisaradov

[fortheloveofthis]

The demons threaten to surface their ruthless heads again. I clutch at the sheets in vain. They will not save me. They cannot if they wanted to. As I'm engulfed in darkness again, I can't help but wonder if this is it. It might be. That is something I need to be prepared for. I look up to see light. Bright, dazzling white light. Oh hundreds of books I've read, is this what y'all were talking about? My trusty nerves of steel have deserted me.  I start to shiver and the light hits me. My scrunched-up eyes feel a chill. Which quickly turns into a raging fever. I open my eyes to a tormenting sight-my dog, standing  at a distance, gazing at me, imploring me to leave. I long to go stroke her head. I know I can't. Even pictures of the subconscious won't let you touch that which isn't your anymore. Before I can even register what was happening, she begins to wither away, before my eyes. My subconscious is more cruel than usual today, I muse. Then I look up. Again. Boy, that was a mistake. A tall silhouette is approaching me. Recognition dawns. I step forward and something slices at my heart. I try again and *rip* across my waist. It starts to hurt. A lot. I don't understand. I try one last time before I hit the mud. All sensation creeps away from my almost-corpse of a body. And suddenly it occurs to me. Something someone said to me.

"It's what you do. You resist and resist until there is nothing left to resist. Until there is nothing left all together." 

At long last, clarity. With resignation, I close my eyes.

And then I open them again. Wondering why my subconscious didn't send me away, like she does in her cruel pictures. 

Artist: Russ Mills  (via colin-vian)

[fortheloveofthis]

You can’t fall if you don’t climb. But there��s no joy in living your whole life on the ground.

Unknown (via psych-facts)

[fortheloveofthis]

The hardest period in life is one’s twenties. It’s a shame because you’re your most gorgeous and you’re physically in peak condition. But it’s actually when you’re most insecure and full of self-doubt. When you don’t know what’s going to happen, it’s frightening.

Helen Mirren, Esquire interview (via katiic)

[fortheloveofthis]

The present changes the past. Looking back you do not find what you left behind.

Kiran Desai, The Inheritance of Loss (via observando)

[fortheloveofthis]

A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.

Washington Irving (via observando)

[fortheloveofthis]

You don’t need water to feel like you’re drowning, do you?

Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes (via observando)

[fortheloveofthis]

"Balasaraswati was a performer of music and dance in the seventh generation, and belonged to the professional women’s community with more than a thousand years of history. Evidence indicates that her ancestors were among the artists who have received the patronage of the royal family of Thanjavur in the mid-eighteenth century." 

[fortheloveofthis]

Wonderment

I have found more wonder in the eyes of an innocent infant than in the windows of a knowing soul. I look into her warm grey eyes (the first time ever I saw a grey that warm!) and I search for the joy she finds in clenching her grandmother's finger. I watch her trying to catch the wind and wonder if I ever did try to catch the chill that brushed past my cheek. I watch her eyes well up with tears, her throat struggling to voice her pain, as her eyes scrunch down in confusion. I watch her look at her mother and smile, a quick, heart-stopping smile and all I want to do is keep it safe for her. And maybe steal a pinch of that unadulterated wonder, unfettered love, pure happiness.

[fortheloveofthis]

<3

zenpencils:

BILL WATTERSON ‘A cartoonist’s advice’

[fortheloveofthis]

The winds of change are upon us

Stories of perturbed leaves and shaken branches

With terrified eyes, we look up to stars

But gone are they, in a flurry of stormy stances.

We realize a great deal of this-

All that is known and true, are now up to chances.

But the storm will be gone from within us

We must look up and take those chances.

For we will see a different sky, a dawn and dusk

With glimmers of hope everywhere, and the brightest star that dances.

Illustration - Kalen Chock

[fortheloveofthis]

In the folds of my soul

Darker than coal

Deeper than the pits

of the eternally damned wits

Lies a heart so heavy and scarred

with age and experience she's been marred.

I beg of her to let me go

let me find my freedom, set me afloat.

Claustrophobic shackles of memories and things

I reach for redemption, clutching at strings

"They'll never let you go." She chuckles and sings.