sanss-trashh-42

[sanss-trashh-42]

"No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man."

By recognizing that both the river and the individual are in a perpetual state of flux, we can live more fully and appreciate the ever changing beauty that surrounds us.

---

You can’t blame yourself for the choices people make. Whether they stay, leave, or act a certain way, it’s ultimately their decision. No matter how much you meant to them or how good you were, they wanted what they chose—and that was never your fault.

People don’t make these decisions lightly. They’ve already considered everything that’s been running through your mind. Their actions reflect their own wants, needs, and reasoning, not a reflection of your worth. So don’t carry the weight of their choices on your shoulders—it was never about you, to begin with.

Stop holding yourself hostage to a decision that was never in your hands. People do what they do, not because you were lacking, but because they were seeking.

And in the end, all we can ever ask or seek for is but for a choice to freely make.

[sanss-trashh-42]

Up until the age of eighteen, life feels like it’s on autopilot — your needs are met, your preferences considered, and your comfort ensured by the people around you. But the moment you step into adulthood, everything changes. Suddenly, it's no longer just about you. Yet, many of us fail to realize this. We forget that the world doesn’t revolve around our desires anymore, that we must now consider the needs and feelings of others. This isn’t just about being polite; it’s about giving back the same care that was once given to us. It’s the simplest, yet most profound, way to show love and respect. It’s not just kindness—it’s a responsibility we owe to each other.

"People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." — Maya Angelou

[sanss-trashh-42]

Oh God! do I thank you for this mirror's sight,

or curse, for it brings shadows to light?

The feeling persists, no matter how I try,

That I'm fooling them all, living a lie.

Some days, a whisper, easily tamed,

others, a storm, leaving me maimed,

the mental torment, a weight I bear,

In every muscle, I feel despair.

In daylight's glare, I play my part,

Yet doubt's cruel grip, still tugs my heart.

Amidst the crowd, I stand alone,

A fear of exposure, never outgrown.

So let me unmask this shadow's guise,

And see my worth through clearer eyes,

No longer chained by doubt's cruel song,

I'll stand tall, confident and strong!

"My fear of being real, of being seen, paralyzes me into silence. I crave the touch and the connection, but I'm not always brave enough to open my hand and reach out. This is the great challenge: to be seen, accepted, and loved, I must first reveal, offer, and surrender."

- Anna White, Mended: Thoughts on Life, Love, and Leaps of Faith.

I have been recently struggling with imposter syndrome and trying to overcome it, so I wanted to leave this message to all the people out there who are feeling the same- the opportunity wouldn't have been there unless you deserved it, it is by no coincidence that you've made it this far, trust yourself!

[sanss-trashh-42]

i seem to exist in that universe, the universe where Doraemon didn't return from the future to find Nobita; the universe where my mom may have just had a one night fling with someone who wasn't a demigod; in the universe where Harry hadn't recieved his hogwarts letter; in the universe where Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy hadn't discovered the secret wardrobe...

[sanss-trashh-42]

quotes that'll forever be etched in my heart.

[sanss-trashh-42]

A teeming mass of inhabitants gathered and scattered,

all lost, all adrift, all in fear,

In a narrow strip of land,

blockaded on all sides and cut off from the world so near.

The bombs drop and the buildings fall,

trenches carve the streets once serene,

little food, little fuel, little water,

a symphony of pain, the tales unseen.

Morgues and hospitals brim and swell,

every room, every floor, every bed,

packed with men, women and young,

in corridors dim, hopes are shed.

the wounds of this soil, aching and sore,

the world watches, but can it truly see,

for in this narrow strip of land,

did no one discover humanity?

I write this poem as a homage to the ongoing Israel-gaza attack. I write this poem as a reminder that the world we live in now consists of an active genocide. A reminder of the warcrimes being posted on social media. A reminder of people being bombed, killed, starved and butchered. A reminder to stop having to sit back and watch in silence the outrageous attacks, a reminder that all the numbers seen in news headlines were of people, poeple who had dreams, passions and families, people who had names and achievements. Their lives are separated from our own not so much by aspirations, appetites and ambitions as by the relentless history of conflict, struggle and eduring sufferings for justice, peace and freedom.

[sanss-trashh-42]

There's always something wrong with that bunch of eccentric, closely-knit and insular circle of friends in an obscure institution....

[sanss-trashh-42]

I am very contrasting. An oxymoron myself.

#have been clearing up my drafts which I felt were cringey and unworthy of my feed.

[sanss-trashh-42]

Is it just me or when I say, "I have been crying over a book I finished not long ago", I meant it was my soul that was bawling its eyes out and sobbing while physically, all that's on my face is a blank expression!!!

[sanss-trashh-42]

Thinking about how in The Book Thief, the words of his enemy become Max’s savior by getting him safely to the Hubermann’s.

And then he paints over it (with paint from her father) and gives it to Liesel and that book with her writings becomes her savior.

He saves her. With help from Hans he saves her.

Words and love and companionship are Liesel’s saviors.

And how these things save us too.

[sanss-trashh-42]

Re-reading books is great and good until it’s The Secret History by Donna Tartt and you realize that within Julian’s first lecture we are witness to he speaks of Tiberius, a flawed Emperor held in disdain by his people, partially on the account he followed Augustus- a savior, a god. He spent his life striving to life up to his predecessors name and when he couldn’t, he indulged his perversions in an effort to feel something, but ultimately “died, old and mad, lost in the pleasure gardens of Capri: not even happy there, as one might hope, but miserable.”

Re-reading books is great and good until it’s The Secret History by Donna Tartt and you realize that just like Tiberius tried to follow in Augustus’s footsteps, Henry tried to follow in Julian’s. You see Richard’s focus shift from Julian- who was at first a savior, a god- to Henry, a flawed student of his who, at his end, is held in disdain by the majority of his closest friends and is lost in the indulgence of his own perversions- his attempts (and, arguable, success) to finally live without thinking.

Re-reading books is great and good until it’s The Secret History by Donna Tartt and you get to the part where Richard asks Henry in his dream, “are you happy here?” And Henry responds, “Not particularly” and you realize that Henry, like Tiberius, had never known peace or happiness in life and certainly not in death and you were warned about it in Julian’s first lecture.

[sanss-trashh-42]

We are terrible.

Hypocritical. Disgusting. Pretentious.

When our inner thoughts are ripped apart and disclosed out open, we stand there naked, shameful, and humiliated. Even we ourselves dare not look into our face, ashamed, hanging out head low, wanting to bury ourselves deep into the earth.

But the fact that no one can read what goes in one's mind, keeps us fully clothed, hiding the monster within us, we stand there and smile beautifully.

It makes me wonder, Oh God! Should I thank you for this face capable of beholding one's true self or blame you for poisoning our lives with these grave thoughts?

[sanss-trashh-42]

Is it just me or I am oftentimes reminded that people around me are absolutely lovely for no fuckin reason. Like, today I was in a class, all my deskmate did was mind her own business writing and listening to the lecture and there I was, sitting beside, simply awestruck by her beauty.

I've had this theory all this while, to Stop complimenting people for the way they look, because they did not choose the texture of their skin or the curves of their face, they inherited it. Instead to always compliment them for being witty, funny, or for their honesty, for their kindness or for their earnestness. Because that's what they developed, acquired growing up, they are worthy of being praised about!

However, that moment, heck she seemed so ethereal, every part of her was glowing, the freckled skin, the prominent nose, the soulful eyes and those long eyelashes were so divinely alluring, I couldn't stop myself from blurting out loud, "Damn, so beautiful!"

In that instant, appreciating her beauty felt natural and undemanding, it bore no blame.

[sanss-trashh-42]

My Outlook for life ryt now: Enjoying the music despite the fact that you know it ends.

[sanss-trashh-42]

This reminds me of when Sylvia Plath said:

"I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited."

You see, sometimes we are overwhelmed with this insatiable desire to learn, yet the fact that it is impossible for us, in one life, to study everything that we ever desired, makes us stomped.

All knowledge existing is worthwhile, yet only when one realizes that all the knowledge he had accumulated in his life is how little, does he know that he is nothing but a mere fool!!

This sudden enlightenment has got me thinking ever since......

Oh but when Shakespeare said "the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool" and Socrates said “the only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing”

[sanss-trashh-42]

for everybody who totally believes Francis's story and thinks he's a victim who's tragically in love with somebody who doesn't appreciate him and uses him for sex, can you give me your honest read on the following scene? Because I think it's pretty clear confirmation that Francis was lying and has been abusing Charles's substance addiction to extort him for sex for years.

"I've seen you leave the top down in the rain before," said Charles curly. He was at the counter, his back to Francis, pouring himself a drink. His hair was plastered to his head and a small puddle was forming round him on the linoleum. "What," said Francis, through his teeth. "I never." "Yes you have," said Charles, without turning around. "Name one time." "Okay. What about that afternoon you and I were in Manchester, and it was about two weeks before school started, and we decided to go to the Equinox House for-" "That was a summer afternoon. It was sprinkling." "It was not. It was raining hard. You just don't want to talk about that now because that was the afternoon you tried to get me to-" "You're crazy," said Francis. "That doesn't have anything to do with this. It's dark as hell and pouring rain and you're drunk out of your skull. It's a miracle you didn't kill somebody. Where the hell did you go for those cigarettes, anyway? There's not a store around her for-" "I'm not drunk." "Ha, ha. Tell me. Where'd you get those cigarettes? I'd like to know. I bet-" "I said I'm not drunk." "Yeah, sure. I bet you didn't even buy any cigarettes. If you did, they must be soaking wet. Where are they, anyway?" "Leave me alone." "No. Really. Show them to me. I'd like to see these famous-" Charles slammed down his glass and spun around. "Leave me alone," he hissed.

To my eyes, this scene pretty clearly belies Francis's claim that Charles has been having 100% consensual sex with him and then pretending to forget it later but what are you guys seeing?

Very soon after this we get this scene:

Charles and Francis, who weren't speaking before the service, had managed somehow to make up during the course of it. After the final amen, in silent, perfect sympathy, they ducked into an empty corridor off the side aisle. I caught a glimpse of them speeding wordlessly down it before they turned into the men's room, Francis stopping for one last nervous glance behind and already reaching in his coat pocket for what I knew was there- the flat pint bottle of something or other I'd seen him take from the glove compartment.

So less than 24 hours after we have Francis using Charles's alcoholism to gaslight him, we have him exchanging alcohol for sex again.

Francis admits to this exploitation himself! These are his own words!

"Who's he been to bed with?" He brought up his glass and took a big drink. "Me for one," he said. "That shouldn't surprise you. If you drank as much as he does, I daresay I would have been to bed with you, too."

This is after we've already seen Francis try to have sex with Richard while he's high out of his mind and actively resisting, so we know he's not bluffing.

Just to be clear, I do love Francis as a character; I find him fascinating and funny and deeply flawed, like every other character in the novel. I just tend to find the fandom treatment of him, the tendency to infantalize him and make him a victim, bewildering. Where are y'all coming from, exactly?

[sanss-trashh-42]

Tsh analysis(*holds a magnifying glass and looks through the text with deep scrutiny*):

I have this little theory that made me sit up in bed like a thunderbolt and go oh! oh! oh!

"For, if the modern mind is whimsical and discursive, the classical mind is narrow, unhesitating, relentless."

Richard's description of a classical mind fits Henry ever so perfectly. He was unhesitant with his actions of taking down Hampden with six men, ruthless and relentless in killing Bunny and narrow-minded in the way he immediately denied the fact that people walked on the moon. He made himself an ancient, lived as such, completely denying the world infront of him to the extent of making himself totally isolated from it. He lived in the past, liked it that way. Ever only acknowledged the ancient world, learnt it's languages, believed deeply in their beliefs and relied solely on their resources.

"It was why I admired Julian, and Henry in particular. Their reason, their very eyes and ears were fixed irrevocably in the confines of those stern and ancient rhythms—the world, in fact, was not their home, at least not the world as I knew it—and far from being occasional visitors to this land which I myself knew only as an admiring tourist, they were pretty much its permanent residents, as permanent as I suppose it was possible for them to be."

To dwell deeper, he was more of an ancient Roman than of an ancient Greek. An opportunist who was deeply obsessed with greek ideas, strangely superstitious and idealized about wild enthusiasms. An orderly man and a pragmatist to begin with.

There's this paragraph where Julian talks about the Romans:

“The Roman genius, and perhaps the Roman flaw,” he said, “was an obsession with order. One sees it in their architecture, their literature, their laws—this fierce denial of darkness, unreason, chaos.” He laughed. “Easy to see why the Romans, usually so tolerant of foreign religions, persecuted the Christians mercilessly—how absurd to think a common criminal had risen from the dead, how appalling that his followers celebrated him by drinking his blood. The illogic of it frightened them and they did everything they could to crush it. In fact, I think the reason they took such drastic steps was because they were not only frightened but also terribly attracted to it. Pragmatists are often strangely superstitious. For all their logic, who lived in more abject terror of the supernatural than the Romans?"

“The Greeks were different. They had a passion for order and symmetry, much like the Romans, but they knew how foolish it was to deny the unseen world, the old gods. Emotion, darkness, barbarism.”

By bellowing Dionysus, Henry foolishly denied himself of the darkness and barbarism that would follow. He was thoroughly influenced and manipulated by Jillian into the beautiful illusion of loosing oneself, into throwing off the chains of being for an instant. He was so deeply fantasized by it that he turned a big blind eye towards the whole disaster that was to be ensued after. In a way, this was his, as well as the ancient Romans', tragic flaw, they had underestimated the powers of the mighty Gods. One had to know, Dionysus, The God of wine, theatre, worship and importantly, the God of letting go, had the ultimate power that allowed humans to let go of their troubles through wine, let go of their identities through theatre, and let go of their individuality through worship.

However, this letting go also had dark aspects as Dionysus himself, there was no inherent limits to the powers of bellowing him. Festivity could turn into destruction, without self control, his powers were capable of driving humans to let go of their sanity, to let go of their judgement and finally to let go of their very humanity!

During his lecture about telestic madness, Julian talks about the idea and the temptation of losing control over oneself and the terrible seduction of Dionysiac ritual, but he purposefully chooses to neglect mentioning the supreme importance of self-control, which is embodied by none other than Dionysus himself. In the play, Bacchae, Dionysus in the guise of a mysterious foreigner, was able to sting other men with madness while he himself was the picture of sanity. Hence, the tragedy befalls!

(Parallelly, while Julian himself was able to infect and influence the group into wild enthusiasms, he however stood there by the side calm and aloof as though all this had nothing to do with him. We shall discuss about this in detail later, this post is already too big!)