ladynancelot

[ladynancelot]

Limbo

If there’s one thing that has stuck with me, in spite of the madness that has ensued in my life in the last couple of months, is this powerful line from Todd Philip’s ‘Joker’: “The worst part about having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don’t.” When I first read the line in Arthur’s notebook, I was taken aback by the sheer potency of the statement. Not only did it ring true, and harshly so, given the current scenario of the lives we lead today, it also opened doors for questions and discussion on how mental health is viewed by society. Sure, we’ve made significant strides in the field, but it has come with a hefty price for those who are affected by it the most.  Which brings me to the aforementioned madness in my life. Now that I consider it, perhaps that isn’t the right word for what has transpired, but it certainly borders on the ‘chaotic’. No one told me what was going to happen when I took the step that I did because not everyone experiences it the same way. And that sucks donkey balls because I sure as hell would have loved a manual to follow to the T.  You’d think shifting to a whole other hemisphere would make me humble enough to not want to toot my horn about how brave I am being through the whole ordeal. You’d be thinking wrong because I am so tired of downplaying things in my life that certainly deserve more attention than they currently do.  I moved to Canada. The land of maple syrup and casual hypothermia, sprinkled with just a dash of loneliness. But that dash is, what we call back home ‘swaad anusaar’ or ‘according to taste’. Why? Because I am certain this loneliness stems from factors that I want to hide from the rest of the world. Things that I can’t let everyone become familiar with because they won’t like it. Because it’s not “nice”. Because you are expected to behave like everything is okay. Because the worst part about having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don’t.

[ladynancelot]

Skin

Ever had a dream you couldn’t quite tell if it was in your head or if it was a hazy version of something that’s happened before? I have been having some of the most intricate dreams lately, and since I don’t have the patience to keep a dream journal (I think faster than I write and it’s agonising to physically pen down every thought and image before it starts melting away), I think this space would be the best outlet for all the high definition dreams I have lately. This one has been my most bizarre dream yet.

This happened before I slept one night. I was drifting off, and I could feel my body getting heavier. I wasn't acutely aware of this, but I realise now that I wasn't dreaming that bit. So, I let myself get heavy enough that I felt my bed take up all of my weight.

I wake up shackled to my bed. The very same one. There are a lot of lights and a lot of people moving around. One person comes around to my bed, unlocks my shackles, gives me a towel, a couple of metallic objects, and a small duffel backpack. Without saying much else, the person leaves. I sit up on my bed feeling giddy, and realise that the entire bed behind me is drenched with some kind of liquid. Not sweat somehow, but just..liquid. It’s a little thick for water but still runny to be some kind of lube.

I use the towel to mop myself up and make my way out through my bedroom door. It isn't my house anymore. It’s an elaborate institution of some sort, that is made entirely out of glass and metal. Tubes, elevators, and lifts run parallel in chutes, and more people are around, just doing their work. Something out of the Men In Black headquarters, if you remember the scene from the movie. I turn right, into a washroom, and walk into an automated shower-like thingy. I strip completely and the shower cleanses me, melting off my flesh in the process. I don't feel pain, but I feel tugging on my skin when the melting happens. I look down and see my skin a shade of grey-ish black, but entirely smooth. No hair, scars, fat, skin, or pores. Just a very smooth grey finish that you expect on a new vehicle. All my limbs intact, but not..human entirely. 

Instinctively I place my hand on my chest and I can hear my heart. I have a pulse. And this makes me incredibly sad right then. I feel this overwhelming sensation of grief. Like..a sadness that washes in and fills a shallow crevice inside me. I shake it off, though, and step out of the shower thingy. I have those metallic objects, that I was given earlier, fixed on to me. So, they're like cloaks, metallic still, but flowy and made of really smooth fabric. Kind of what you'd picture the veil to be, in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, where Sirius falls through.

The duffel bag that was handed to me with the metal cloak has a lot of money in it. Too many notes to count, and in a currency I do not recognise, but you can tell it’s money with the way it looks and feels. I take it with me and deposit it into a storage space, much like a locker, on the far edge of a corridor. The whole corridor is as long as the great wall of China, maybe bigger. And at random intervals you see several people like me, filling their lockers with similar bags. Others are walking around. They all look sad. Every single one of them.

I shake that unsettling feeling off yet again, and move along to the huge hall where people are assembled and there are screens lined along the walls of..random things. I can't see what's on them, but my feet make way to the one in the extreme right of the hall. I sit on a chair in front of one screen and I see a movie or a clip that is playing. Again, random scenes of birthday cakes, kids swinging on swings, and then suddenly, I see myself on it.

My 6th grade play - the first one I did in school. I see myself performing, and then it transitions into the prize winning ceremony.  It transitions again and I see the words 'Promising Actor' in the very same font on my certificate I have back home. Transition. The time I burnt my thigh. Transition. Standing alone in my bathroom and crying the night my ex broke up with me. And I feel it again, the sadness, and my heart starts beating frantically. Not a regular heart rate for a human. It starts thudding violently and I can sense a whirring in my head that doesn't sound normal.

The next minute, my body stiffly gets up and I sense it quickly making its way back to where I came from. But more urgently this time. My gut tells me to run, but my brain is making me very drowsy. I softly hear myself whisper, "She needs to sleep".

The next thing I know, I am being dressed in my human skin and being forced into my bed again. I finally gather the courage to scream, and it doesn't sound like me. My heart is thumping away to madness and I am petrified, but I still don't know why. I throw punches and manage to bang my limbs against the things that are straining to keep me down. It doesn’t affect them even a little. 

I see a doctor come over and calm me down. Somehow, seeing him in human skin calms me and I tell him "I'm dreaming. I'm sorry. This is just a bad dream. I'll be okay". 

He replies, "You're not dreaming. You're awake. But we have to get you to dream again because they can't know."

That’s when I look at my bed and see my body there, asleep, and twitching frantically like she's dreaming. They wake her up, and the exact same thing happens to her. She wakes in a puddle of liquid and is handed a bag and towels and the cloak. She looks at me sleepily and smiles. 

 "It's better when we're asleep. Dreaming is much better than this nightmare". 

My lungs finally gather the courage to expel all that pent-up air inside and I scream - the piercing shriek cutting through the darkness of my room. Before I can do anything else, I watch her glide away, as they replace her body on the bed, with mine. And I feel drowsy, my body heavy with sleep; feeling the bed take my weight. The room is deadly quiet as the doctor whispers, "Ssshhh.."

I wake up..twitching.

[ladynancelot]

My body is a temple, they said. Worship it, they said. But how do you not comprehend This temple is dedicated to the God in my soul You come into this work of art and admire its crannies and crevices But you forget why you left your sins outside it is not the curves of my arches or the sheen on my skin that will grant you salvation It's the deity you promised to honour and surrender to Do you remember prayers? Silent whispers of hope and smattering of wishes That once glazed your lips, when you first set sight on the temple you swore on What am I now, but a habitual place of redudant visits? You no longer arrive at my doorstep with your dreams and aspirations You come bearing fatigue and reluctance, forced to continue your facade

Who is your god now? 

[ladynancelot]

Hey. So you're amazing. I'm going through some really bad things in my life, and I just happened to scroll through your Instagram. You and Parth are amazing. Your photo together made me cry so much. Happy tears I think, maybe because I've always wanted something like that in my life. He's the first to comment on most of your photographs. It's beautiful that he's your best friend, and just generally, you guys are beautiful together. You're both such warm people! Thank you for being who you are.

Hey,I couldn’t begin to thank you enough for all the warm and happy things you’ve just said. Made my day, it did. But I am concerned about the bad things you’ve mentioned that you’re going through. Is there any way I can help? I totally get it if I can’t, because being omnipotent is not my thing. But if there’s anything at all that I can do to help you, I’d love to. :)If it makes you feel any better at all, Parth came along in my life as the perfect partner in crime after years of me feeling like I might as well give up on everything I hold dear to me. It was a very dark phase for me in life. But it always gets better. Trust me. When you hit rock bottom, the only way is up. You have a wonderfully kind soul. Stay strong and love always. <3

[ladynancelot]

All articles are written very nicely :)

Thanks so much, you are really kind. :D

[ladynancelot]

What no one tells you about failure

That maybe it won’t be okay.

You are told that it gets better. That you shouldn’t dwell on it and that it happens to the best of us. That it only means you are growing and that failing is the next step to success. Everyone speaks of what comes after.

We don’t need to be told to fight, or to wipe our tears away. We know it gets better. If there’s one thing that living teaches us, is that we always heal, even if the cracks are forever visible through the seams.

But what do you do when you’re knee-deep, knuckle-bled, black-eyed smack in the middle of it?

They never tell you how to spend the long arduous period between having failed, and success knocking on your door. How to deal with this painful lump in the pit of your stomach that refuses to separate your failure from your identity. How to bandage your soul, as you hover over the edge of the pool of self-doubt and loathing that is slowly, but gradually, making its way to your self-esteem.

This is where you come in.

You do what comes naturally to you. You let your feelings take control. Pretending that everything is okay never helps. If anything, it makes you oscillate between denial and violent bursts of emotion that you don’t know how to quell.

Distracting yourself from your failure only helps it to sneak up on you at 3AM, when you’re lying in your bed awaiting the Sandman, but the shadows of your disappointment come to tuck you in, instead.

You breathe in. Your breathe out. You lock horns with your failure and demand it to sit down and face you, like the no good super-villain it supposedly makes itself to believe. You ask it where you went wrong. You question its source; you figure out why it all went downhill in spite of you doing your best to prevent it from sucker punching you like it just did.

That’s when failure breaks. It smiles and holds your hand, as you walk along the path of clearing misconceptions. You analyze your weaknesses and how it paved the way for failure to latch on. You take as much time as you need to grieve for your loss, but mentally remember that failure is as failure does.

If you let it get to that beautiful heart of yours; it will swallow you whole and drain you to grief and beyond.

Tackle this. Right now.

Don’t cheat your mind and declare that it will get better; tell yourself you’re already making it better. Accept your failure. Acknowledge your loss. It’s okay to overanalyse it. Your frail little heart will want to tear it apart from every point of view. Maybe blame yourself for everything that turned against you.

Go ahead, my love, with what you need to do.

Just don’t let people tell you that you need to get over it soon.

Get over it when you KNOW you’re ready to get over it. Go for round two, challenging yourself to get back up again. Sit through every wound of failures past, whispering in your ear, reminding you why you failed the first time.

Hear it. But fuckin’ hell don’t you dare listen to it!

Failure can break you. It hurts. It destroys your will enough to never have you try again. You will weep. You will swear. You will cry till you feel like your tear ducts are no longer there. You will lose all hope and you will call yourself a lost cause. Maybe even reassure your demons that you were right to let them torture you this far. And it is quite possible that in spite of it all, you may fail someday again.

And again.

And again some more.

But look at you now, you magnificent warrior, the arrows in your back don’t make you flinch anymore.

[ladynancelot]

The Mumbai Local Series - Part 3

The final part to what started off as a fun writing exercise :) Part 2 Part 1 Base Campers: The absolute worst kind of people you can meet in a train; these are the ones who have built themselves a humble abode around the one-person-seat they are supposed to be occupying. They sit, legs comfortably stretched, and place their baggage on seats next to them, blatantly ignoring passengers who ask them to place their belongings anywhere but on the seats. This is what happens when “mah lyff mah rulezz” goes too far.. The Whiners: Nothing makes them happy. Everything is an issue. They also ensure they recruit as many people as possible into their perpetual state of crabbiness. “Trains are so late, the government should do something about more trains”. “The trains are so filthy, they should be taking more care of it”. “Kids these days have no shame, look at what they wear”. “Hawkers should be banned from compartments”. “My husband is of no use to me in my house; I work so hard and he doesn’t care”. “She was kissing ass for a promotion; you won’t see me dress up like that for a job”. “This woman is so huge; she should just travel where she doesn't get in the way”. “Aayi badi attitude lekar. Apne aap ko samajhti kya hai?” - this because the woman whose ‘attitude’ was being judged was wearing sunglasses tried to make her way, pushing through the crowd, to the door of the train to get down. Yep. That’s it. Sunglasses = attitude. *rolls eyes right out of sockets* Guardians of Doors: The word ‘sit’ is non-existent to this kind. While people around them scamper for ‘one-buttcheek-worth-of-space’ seats in the compartment, this resolute lot place themselves by the doors with the kind of dedication a moth would show to a flame. Their station may be a good half hour away and they’re clearly in the way of commuters who wish to get out of and climb in to the train; but that won’t stop them from compressing and contorting their bodies to let the crowd pass around them. Fourth seats may come, and window seats may go; the guardians will haunt the doors forever. Fresh meat: Out of all the types of individuals who’ve made an appearance on this list, nothing makes me happier than a brave lad or lassie attempting to board a local. As they gingerly step onto the floorboard and nervously look around to get their bearings, I can almost hear harps around them, commemorating the occasion with glee. The journey can traumatise them, excite them, or make no difference to them whatsoever. But it will be an experience they wouldn’t want to easily forget. After all that’s said and done, no matter if you’re a a whiner, a phone peeper, a sleeper, or a miffed aunty: when you see someone race to get aboard a train that’s already slowly leaving the platform, you do what nearly every single Mumbaikar will strive to do, like true superheroes that the city breeds. Be the Raj to their Simran. :) 

[ladynancelot]

Death - a luxury

Neil was a goddamn miracle. No, not because he was a medical marvel that had survived a rather complicated birth that left his parents wailing for joy. Neither was it because he was the reincarnated soul of Florence Nightingale that everyone loved and adored. Simply because, he should have been stone cold dead and yet the adrenaline in his veins told him he was very much alive and breathing unless this is what dying felt like – which was, as similar to life as he could comprehend.

He opened his eyes rather reluctantly. He was lying in a pristine hospital bed with an IV drip leading into his arm. Unfortunately, he remembered exactly what got him here, even though he much rather he didn’t, because he now knew very well the meaning of the phrase “Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want to explain to the paramedics”. He had tried to end his life by flinging himself off the 44th floor of his office building and, well, survived. Why?

He didn’t want to live. It really was quite as simple as that. He found no joy in existing and was suicidal for as long as he could remember, which was way back to his 6th grade; an age where most kids are blissfully unaware of their own bodily functions, let alone acknowledging that there is no purpose in life but to temporarily occupy space and consume earth’s resources up until life decides your time is up. This nihilistic point of view had made him a rather forlorn kid all though school. Nothing much changed as he graduated high school, got into college, graduated yet again, got a job, bought an apartment, paid his bills, did his taxes and went about with his life like every other mortal on the planet. He wasn’t particularly upset that he was saved. But he did wish people had just let him bleed to death on the pavement than rush him to the ER and get him stitched up. “Mr. Chendell, how are you feeling?” asked the doctor that came in to check up on his vitals. “Quite alright, really” mumbled Neel, feverishly hoping for limited questions and interrogation from the concerned doctor. “We had witnesses recount the incident for us, and most of them say you willingly jumped off the ledge of your office window. Is that true?”

“Yes, Doctor. I was just..”trailed off Neil, not sure how to explain his existential dilemma. “Why don’t we get you to speak with our specialist, Mr. Westin, and see how it goes? He is a wonderful doctor and I’m sure he can help”. James Westin was the psychologist. ‘Surprise, surprise’ thought Neil. Like he hadn’t dealt with enough of them all through his childhood, and the better part of his adulthood. ********************************* When he was finally discharged and was ready to go home, Neil was extremely determined to finish what he started. His wallet was one “specialist” business card heavier and his unbreakable will to die was nowhere close to being shattered. Reaching home, he decided that the best course of action would be to try methods of pain, since quick deaths had clearly failed him before. That night, Neil slipped into the bath along with the sharpest steak knife he owned. After a quiet two minute thoughtful pause that seemed to breathe with the anticipation of what was coming next, he swiped the blade in one swift motion across the pale skin on his wrists. He stifled his scream and felt warm, crimson torrents pour into the tub, turning it into the perfect “bloodbath” he knew his aesthetic senses would be proud of, if he wasn’t dying rapidly in toe-curling agony. As he closed his eyes and welcomed the metaphorical light at the end of the  tunnel, he glimpsed a figure tumble into his bathroom, slipping on soapsuds on the floor. He heard a thud, a metal ‘thunk’, and a whispered “Shit, dude, no” before darkness and pain engulfed him into oblivion.

[ladynancelot]

Dear 20-something who’s still at work even when you shouldn’t be

You are not alone. I know you’d rather be at home, snuggling deep into the solitude of your blankets and falling blissfully asleep in a few short minutes. You’d rather be sitting on your laptop, feet curled beneath you, finishing that episode you’ve been thinking about since you left home this morning. You may even be sulking at the thought of doing overtime when your significant other is deeply disappointed that you cancelled on your date yet again.  Don’t lose heart. We have all been told by several people around us that we need not give as much importance to work as we do. That family/love comes first and that money is anything but permanent. That you’d rather be happy and comfortable than slogging off the way you do. And yet you sit there, staring at your screen, day after day, dreaming of all the things you would do with the money that you are trying to save as your life is slipping through your fingers, one report at a time. It’s a very fine balance to maintain. One that takes a great deal of perseverance and willpower on your part. Nothing great comes easy and nothing that comes easy is great. Money may not be important, but it is necessary. Comfort has a price. So does happiness and stability in life. Your late hours may one day pay off as you stand on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, breathing in the salt of the earth and knowing your savings made this happen. Or the gentle purr of your brand new car that you know came out of sincere EMI payments that you toiled for, each minute in that cramped desk of yours. Or even the jingle of the keys in your pocket that opens the doors to your brand new apartment that you know wouldn’t have been possible if you’d lost hope and given in to your sadness. I could go all philosophical and serve you well-placed quotes that assure you about life getting better when you’re finally “there” (whatever idea or concept the “there” holds for any of you), but I wouldn’t be honest because I’ve been searching for my ‘there’ ever since my first paycheck spiraled me into an existential crisis that I knew was inevitable, eventually. But maybe it gets better with time. The white walls of your cubicle don’t seem as white anymore. Maybe your boss becomes just another example of a human being who has seen their fare share of shitty experiences and now acts out on anyone he can manage, while at work. Maybe you find a silver lining somewhere, in someone, or in something. Maybe, just maybe, it will all work out someday. Maybe it won’t. But give it your all, and never back down unless you ultimately have to. Leave a light on. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQeMxWjpr-Y

[ladynancelot]

Yep.

And Now Repeat After Me

[ladynancelot]

“Get your shit together”

Before you go any further, know that this is a rant. I spend a lot of time reading about other people’s lives. And I mean a LOT of time. It may be a wonderful piece on self-realisation, a personal quote about overcoming obstacles, rags-to-riches tales of miracles, you name it. It gives me all kinds of hope for (what I think is) my unfulfilling life. The one quality that stands out most is probably my head going: “Wow. They have their shit together so well”. Imagine my slacked-jaw, wide-eyed, noticeably astonished face when only recently, one of my several carefree friends sighed and told me “I wish I was as put-together and sorted with life as you are”. Oh boy. I consider myself the last thing from “sorted”, in my life. 'Sorted’ wouldn’t approach me with a 10-foot-long javelin pole. ‘Sorted’ would be the one who wouldn’t touch me because I am the first and last slice of bread left in the loaf. ‘Sorted’ would be the crush I’d pine for on a Tuesday night with my speakers blaring “You belong with me” as I watch Bridget Jones in my underwear and accidentally wipe my snot on my wine glass.

I digress.

That’s when it hit me though. I may not be my ideal definition of ‘sorted’. But hell, someone thinks I am. Is it possible that maybe none of us are ever going to have our shit together? I am all of a “young and impressionable” 23-year-old now. When I look back at what I have been through as a bubble-happy child, moody and angsty teenager, and now a woman (snort!), I can safely say that ‘my shit’ back then is nothing compared to the shit I know I have to wade through now. Don’t our troubles grow in intensity as we age? From worrying about zits and underarm hair, to now loans and paychecks, it’s an endless mound of trouble and inconvenience that doesn’t show signs of slowing down, ever. It’s how you emerge through everything you’re wallowing in, that perhaps should be more of your definition of sorted. Problems don’t shrink in size; we just get so good at taking a hit and brushing ourselves after we’ve fallen, that they seem to get smaller in size as we march along on our paths. ‘Been there, done that’ gives us the much needed boost to power through our shit in one piece (no pun intended). I am no extraordinary human being. And I don’t know you, wonderful person reading this. This may also be a note to my future self if she ever stumbles upon this post some day when she needs it most. To anyone who needs this right now, always remember: It’s going to be okay, it really is. Keep your head above the water and your strength against the tide. Fight, darling. With every breath you need to take to steady yourself. Cry, if you must. Let your knees buckle under you and feel the wind knock you out with a sucker punch. You will probably NEVER have your shit together. You may not live the dream, never own that luxurious car, not have the nerve to date that hot chick in your year, not have the self esteem to ace that interview, not successfully get over your first break up, or even be able to hold in that fart.

But what you WILL do, is never give up. Don’t you dare stay down. You owe this to yourself. That little boy/girl who cradled his/her eyes full of stars and a heart full of adventures is counting on you. Pat yourself on the back for making it through life 100%, up until now. Remember the time you slept in that extra hour that day and felt wonderful? That cupcake you feared would hamper your weight but the thought dissolved when you devoured it all? That fluffy doggie you patted on your way home? The warm chai on a cold winter evening? That birthday present you honestly thought would explode your heart with joy? That person you knew would be there for you, and they proved their worth in every way they could?

Life is in the little things. Always. Breathe. Be kind. Believe. The rest will follow.

[ladynancelot]

*sigh*

city of stars, are you shining just for me

city of stars, there’s so much that i can see

who knows, this is the start of something wonderful

or one more dream that i cannot make true

[ladynancelot]

Talking to the moon and feeling like sunshine

I have had rather mixed experiences with people over the age of 40. Most of the elderly that I come across are so staunchly set in their ways, that I often find myself consciously avoiding the constant complaints of how “kids these days are terrible”, “kids these days have been given too much freedom” and “kids these days come up with the worst kind of ideas to amuse themselves”. While my grandmother is awfully sweet and one of the nicest people I have known, I can’t say the same for my older aunts and my mum’s friends who find every little reason to whine about their kids, the company they keep, and how ‘back in the days’, kids were disciplined differently.

Which is why, you can imagine my stunned silence when my best friend’s mum expressed her wish to be tattooed at the youthful age of 55.

Aunty has forever escaped the label of an ‘old’ person. While she doesn’t even remotely look her age, she has even refused to even let her soul age beyond that of a 23-year-old. The only way that I can come close to describing her soul, would be that of an immortal nightingale. Her palms carry the songs of her ancestors; it’s really not a wonder that those fed by her have music running deep in their veins. It was the very first time that I saw myself speak to a mum with wisdom beyond her years and yet the sparkle of a teenager dying to burst forth from the shackles of age. A born storyteller, she holds your attention in the clutches of her gaze and much like a serpent, you can’t help but follow the sway of her words over you as she charms her way into your heart. She now proudly wears three tattoos on her skin, each a personal memorabilia to the elements that make her unique to the world she lives in.

I can’t stress enough on how beautiful it is to find the lack of a generation gap with someone as wonderful as her. She is an example of how every mum out there can actually shatter the Indian misconception that your mum can’t be your best friend. Often, strict parents go as far as obsessively telling their children off and reprimanding them to the point where you no longer feel the need to share your feelings with them. This leads to isolation and children then tend to hide one thing after another, slowly detaching themselves from what could have been a wonderful parent-offspring bond.

Aunty is my absolute role model for someone I would have treasured to have as an older sibling. Kind, a heart full of warmth, a compassionate and empathising mind, and the willingness to understand what ‘us kids’ go through, she needs to seriously take classes for all the eyebrow-furrowing aunties and uncles out there who are quick to judge the youth and point hypocritical fingers at all of our faces — pfft like they haven’t been idiotic teens and young adults themselves!

A published author of a travelogue, a true musician with the knowledge of expertly handling three musical instruments, a phenomenal homemaker, an avid adventure seeker, a wise mum, a sensational conversationalist, a sincere listener, a spiritual giver, and an embodiment of the near perfect woman; you are the person everyone old and young must aspire to be, Aunty.

 And for everything I’ve learnt in the shortest time I have spent with you (hoping to genuinely spend way more time as well), I thank you.

[ladynancelot]

The Love Child

Everyone you know speaks of Life and Death like they were always meant to reside on the opposite sides of the spectrum. Even your first response to come up with descriptions for Life and Death would be happy and sad, or joy and grief, respectively. Living and dying are antonyms. It’s obvious. As plain as day (and night). What if it wasn’t always that way? Once upon a time, in a galaxy not so far away, there existed Life and Death, but perhaps not as we knew them. There was no mistaking that they both had pure, deep feelings for the other that neither could deny. But both were forbidden from getting too close to each other; their love true, but of disastrous consequences. While Life was known to take such warnings seriously, Death wasn’t as cooperative. He was always flirting with her, pushing Life over the edge every now and then. And every time they even accidentally kissed, souls on earth were picked and thrown in a coma; car accidents by the dozen, head injuries in thousands - everyone knows that they aren’t meant to be together. Coexist, yes. Canoodle? Oh god no. Most of the time Life would come to her senses and push Death away, hence the reason for people in hospitals stating tales of "miracles" and claiming their loved ones were "as good as gone but saved by God" . But of course there have been times when, Death has seduced Life just enough for her to surrender one human, and Death has walked away with a soul. Until THE day. Life, frustrated with how her souls treat her, killing themselves and playing with her gift to them realized how unfair it is for her that she's giving up the love of her life for those who couldn't care for her. She feels her rage taking over and just as she marches out her door, things start getting really bad for souls. People start getting sick. The weather is changing. It's getting hot and cold and hot again..fast. Life is in a rage and the souls are helpless. They can't control her and she's on her way to get what she wants. She marches up to Death's door, fuming as she calls out to him.  Death knows. And he's been waiting. Life throws herself into his arms, locking him in a tight embrace. The blood rushes through her veins, her passion ablaze and dormant volcanoes start dripping lava, destroying souls by the thousands. As Death makes his way through her body, souls are ripping themselves apart in ways they wouldn't have imagined. Storms and hurricanes aplenty, rising seas and oceans wreaking havoc on everything in their path. And as Life and Death are losing themselves in the throes of passion, they are both aware that the end is near. In one final act of lust, Death holds her to his heart and the universe implodes -  wiped out in one quick and loud flash of light and noise. Life, now lying motionless, knows that she will soon be with child. And that until then, she must rest, gathering her strength until her child is born. Death takes over until then. Making sure nothing else moves in the universe but him for years on end. 500 million years later, Earth is born. Life is ready to thrive again. Why else did you think it’s called "the Big Bang"?

[ladynancelot]

You are your Rockstar

The problem with being me is the highly unstable tectonic mood plates that threaten to shift and often complete change the surface of who I am. I try to deal with this as amicably as one possibly could. But I often fail. Today was going to be one of those days.

Until my teddy bear came solved my problem for me. I’d been gearing up for a test for a while now and upon finally giving it, I had my qualms about whether it had gone as spectacularly as I felt it did. The results were not going to be out for around 10 days, and I had all of my fingers, toes, rosaries, Xs and Ts crossed. Skipping forward to today, when I discovered I had scored much better than I anticipated it to have gone. Brimming with joy that threatened to spill over like happy tears, I called my loved ones to spread the happiness and was rewarded with just the right kind of enthusiasm. On a normal day, I’d spend the latter part of my day rejoicing and celebrating the fruits of my labour with my best friend with either a dinner/an ice-cream/ a chocolate or heck, even a hug that warms my bones and sucks all my negative energy out of my system. My best friend had prior plans that seemed rude to ask when it got done because hey, I am not the kind of person who’d ask or remind you to pay attention to me just because my achievements happened to coincide with your commitments. But..it does feel nice to be offered.

This is where expectations come in. I was never the girl who expected anything from anyone for as long as I can remember. Because I realised, very early in my life, that putting people on pedestals and expecting them to fulfil their ideals is NOT the nicest way to deal with life. But my best friend had swooped into my life, barely 15 months ago, and assured me that it’s okay to put that faith in him. And that even if he wasn’t around, he’d ensure that he fulfilled what was necessary to reignite my faith in the people I love.

I am not saying that this applies to everyone. But in my experience, I have learnt to ALWAYS rely on myself more than anyone else on this planet. It may be your lover, your long time spouse, your significant other. They are important to you, but YOU are important to you first. As I made my way home today, I happened to glance at a child standing right next to me who was clutching a little rag doll to her chest. It then dawned on me, the number of times (just in this month) that I have gone home to my teddy bear and bawled my eyes out onto his soft, furry tummy and cried myself to sleep. And as a smile crept on my face. I also remembered the one person who taught me to keep my expectations low enough so that when people come to your aid from unexpected sources, it will forever be the pleasant surprise you never saw coming.

I called my closest friend from across the seas and told him I will be celebrating my achievement with him, in spirit, because I know he would’ve taken me out today if he was with me. An hour-long conversation later, I hung up with moist eyes. This time, out of happiness, because some people don’t need a commitment to make your whole day. They just know who you are, and what makes you complete.

And just like that, a companion across the sea, without expectations upon him, had me gasping for air after a good round of laughter that he wasn’t obliged to send my way. :) Believe in you. Trust yourself. Empower your soul. Comfort your heart. And expect nothing. No matter how tempting the offer may sound.

As Phil Dunphy put it: “The most amazing things that can happen to a human being will happen to you, if you just lower your expectations” <3

[ladynancelot]

Wait, if you can

Sometimes you need to disappear to realise you need to be found again.

I am not saying this applies to everyone I have ever met. But to most people I have come across, I have always sensed this inherent need to take off and never return. Sometimes you can see it in their eyes when they’re talking to someone they love and it glazes over for just a second, before they blink and their focus is back on the person in front of them. Sometimes I see it in my mum’s eyes when everything around her is falling to pieces and the world is slipping from her shoulders. And mind you, she is one of the most selfless and thoughtful people on this planet. Maybe you don’t feel that way, maybe you do. But you can’t deny that escapism is a pressing mental state in a world where there is unavoidable instances of war, terror, hopelessness, and grief that we all have to face. It’s not unusual to hear of phrases like “Make it go away”. “Take me away”, “Let’s run away” or even “I don’t want to live anymore” in our lives. Some of the happiest people we know, in the past, have sought suicide as a “way out” of this world they deemed hell.

But suicide is definitely NOT the most efficient way out of this life. You’re leaving destruction in your footprints; your loved ones will live a life of pain after you’re gone. Do you really want to carry that kind of baggage with you after you’re dead? Instead, why not just disappear for a while? Not metaphorically speaking at all. Take a few days off and disconnect. If switching off your phone is too much to handle, just log out of your life for a while. Set your voice mail to “Won’t be available for a couple of days, if urgent, please leave a message” and sign out of your social media platforms. Some people may notice you are gone. But rest assured, they don’t dictate your life for you. You do. If you feel the need to alienate yourself from humanity and social constructs for a while, take a long hike into the unknown. Often, taking a break to retract into the familiar can only trigger your brain to restart your life the way it was. If you take off to some place you haven’t been before, it will use your brain to hunt, gather, search, and explore avenues that your brain isn’t trained to robotically reproduce every second of your life. The last thing you should worry about is losing out on something you can’t control. Fear of Missing Out (FOMO) is such a real issue in our world, you’d be surprised to see the mere ways we try and hold onto things that we have no control of. Your brain is constantly telling you that you are “MISSING OUT IF YOU DON’T SHARE THIS! IF YOU DON’T TWEET THIS, PEOPLE WON’T KNOW! PEOPLE’S APPROVALS ARE EVERYTHING!”

Try running away, love. The kind of happiness that you will come back to, is the kind of happiness that you should be aiming for, in life. Take me, for example. I either run away or dream of running away A LOT. I have the thought at least twice a week. Thrice, if it’s a particularly long or tiring schedule. Do I do something about it? No. But when my breaking point appears, I couldn’t care less if a tsunami wipes my materialistic possessions off the face of the earth. I will ride those waves and forget the world. I have, on several occasions, shut my phone and blocked out all the beeps, tings, rings, and tweets. People worry, yes. People try frantically to make sure I am alive. But as time passed, they have come to realise that they need to be okay with my disappearance. What I do, is in no way an indicator of the disrespect I have for them or their love for me. It’s who I am. It’s what I need to do. It’s how I cope with the life I have in this world and the only way I can assure that I won’t be losing my mind to the wonderful virtual world we have for our consumption. Sometimes, my disconnecting process involves something as simple as putting my phone on airplane mode for two days straight and sleeping for more than 24 hours. No thinking. No planning. No action. Just being comatose for as long as I can.

I can be in a loving relationship, I can have just won the lottery for a billion rupees, I can get promoted, I can acquire the fame that I have always wanted and the life that I have always wanted to lead; I will STILL want to run away for a while and not be found. I can never tell if this will ever resonate with anyone else who reads this. But if you do, thank you. Thank you for feeling the way I do and even unknowingly being a companion. I will never be the person who can ever constantly keep in touch with people. I will not remember your birthday. I won’t remember your big presentation that is due or the major competition you have coming in a couple of weeks. I have terrible memory and I fully use it as an excuse for everything in my life. Do I do it intentionally? Hell no. Could I get better at it? Probably. Will I make the effort? Probably not. My friend circle has dwindled considerably due to this quality about me. I used to be the popular girl who had a good number of friends who I kept in touch with. As time passed and as I grew, I slowly became aware that keeping a great number of friends is painful. I don’t have the memory. And I am always faking it. I don’t care if your baby just spoke her first word. I don’t care if your husband got a promotion. I don’t care if you think the government is spying on your house. Because if I cared, you’d know. If you haven’t seen me express concern about any of it yet, trust me, I don’t care. It’s not wise of me to expect people to care when I don’t. Which is why I have stopped as well. And the only thing I ever really look for, is for people who are okay with me seeing them once in a blue moon and still hug me as warmly as they did the first day they met me. No questions asked. No explanations to “Where did you go?!” or “Are you going to disappear again?”. I most certainly will. But I always come back. I do. 

And you gotta let me be, boo. 

I wish I could tell you I belonged to you, but I never did. And I never will. I’ll still love you. I will always think about you. And if you still want to stick around even after all the disappearing acts I have accustomed you to, you are the home I promise to return to. 

[ladynancelot]

The Universe decided to drop me yet another note that has me changing my perspective yet again. This is for any or all of you who need a little virtual group hug to remind you this world is a much better place than we think :) It’s all so precious, little one, and hopelessly romantic… I mean, just look around you right now. In your office, your neighborhood, down the street. There are people, right? Friends or maybe complete strangers. 7 billion people in all. And every single one of them have forks in the road of life, just up ahead, that even now swiftly approach. Adventures and choices that will take them, at least temporarily, out of sight, beyond reach, and eventually closer to “home.” Yet until then, they’re so incredibly near, you have so much in common, and there are still stories to tell. Treasure every beautiful second. Love, love - The Universe Picture courtesy: http://bit.ly/2bFZNz0