We have:

gnarled, veiny hands and forearms,

(and feet too, from too much walking),

an interest in the blues,

a propensity for hedonism,

a love for the written word,

an appreciation of beauty in stretches of untamed road,

contrasting views of the world,

and an unceasing fascination with each other.

– dug up an old tidbit I’d scribbled sometime earlier this year. Inspired by something Shalmi said.

For N- who complains that I only write depressing things about him

dropped into my life

with whiskey-blood and a mouth full of smoke.

my feet forgot the pull of gravity

for months afterward.

i should have paid more attention to what the storm was singing.

the happiest i have ever been

is struggling not to fall asleep on strange living room floors,

on make-shift beds,

beside lights strung in bottles

losing track of which of these limbs belong to me.

Look, the heart of the matter lies in

Look, the heart of the matter lies in a little worm. The worm eats away at your core, day by day. Little by little, it crawls into your brain and nestles there, spinning away. It is a monster worm, this one. It spins a glowing black cocoon out of doubt, and misery, and old patterns. Again, and again you try to spray it into oblivion. Futilely, you throw drops of happiness, and security at it. “Shut up, getout, leavemealone!”
It merely grins its hideous grin, and oozes its way into dark corners. It will resurface; it always does. It knows this and you know this.
I will claw your heart out, and suck the marrow from your brains. I will lick my lips with great relish as I tongue back an artery dangling out of my mouth.
“Man, I love it when we tongue”.
How many other tongues have you loved?
I will cut off your tongue, garnish it with salt and pepper, and feed it to my little giant worm. I have a gremlin little cat, who likes to listen to electrohouse. He climbs onto the drawer by the record player and cries in time to the drop. Little cat, little cat, little black cat, won’t you please eat up my worm?

Every little hair knows your name

So today I discovered that my relationship has been built on a foundation of deceit, theft, memory loss, weed and alcohol.

Well, you know what they say…. actually, I don’t think they’ve come up with a saying for this yet.

In other news from the week:

One of the grad students from work put up this Facebook status on Friday-

Intern tells her version of Genesis today:

“Eve eats the poison apple of temptation, and then God gets angry, and they are naked, and God casts them out of paradise and they need to work. Oh, and then they have lots of babies or something.”(5 minutes later)

“Clearly I am a heathen!”

(After posting this) Intern: “This is so embarassing. Public shaming. Hang on. Isn’t that what they do to heathens? Public shaming or something?”
————————————————————————————————————-
Also, A mentioned in a thread : Yesterday, R was on Skype, and I told her I could see Facebook reflected in her spectacles. She said– ‘sums up a generation.’ Truer words were never spoken. Ki pathetic.
The person in both instances was me, of course. For some reason everyone at work knew it was me because in their words- no one else would use the word ‘heathen’. The second I only bring up here to convince you that I am not actually a blithering idiot.
In less useless news, I have discovered Jens Lekman, a Swediesh indie pop artist. Your arms around me may just be the best thing I’ve listened to this side of alternate since The Stray Birds. His voice reminds me a little of Morrissey from The Smiths.

Watch out, the world’s behind you

It’s the strangest thing. I was going to write about separating the essential from the inessential. And disconnecting. Then I read something which made me rethink and shape my ideas with more honesty and clarity.

What I have been doing:

Separating the essential from the inessential.

Since the beginning of this year, I have turned (mostly) vegetarian, developed an easy camaraderie with people at work, stepped out of my comfort zone, and entertained the possibility that I’m alright.

What I have realized: I turn older, I run out of patience. I have no patience with people who are inconsistent, and who take more than they will ever give. I really love few people, and I love them fiercely. My time is limited, but I will give it without reservation to them. The rest I have no time for. I am not one for social niceties. I thought I was, but I’m not, and I’m strangely happy with this decision. I will not waste my time with people I don’t really want to any longer. It is my time after all.

I am a possessive little brat. Who tries very hard to be pretend to be a grownup. I’m not really sure what to do about this, but I do know that I need reciprocity when it comes to being essential. To be really free is to remove oneself from the need for anything, or anyone save the few biological requirements. You are then the sole master of your heart, your moods, your life. I do not want this freedom. Another kind of freedom lies in trusting someone else with the capacity to hurt you. In making someone an essential when they do not have to be. This is the one I instinctively choose, and prefer for myself, after having given it some thought.

Which brings me to: Sometimes taking a step back is necessary. A slight shift of the frame brings back the perspective that was hard-won and then discarded- slowly, and then all at once.  I have realized that you do not really need anyone. Not really, you don’t. Allowing yourself to is terrifying, but it also brings with itself the second kind of freedom, that can make life immeasurably richer if you let it.

I have realized that I do not want to be a doctor. And that I want to teach and get my hands dirty with the children. That I am not a cynic, and I never want to be. That it s important to differentiate between what you really want and what you think you should want.

I have realized that I have a choice now between viewing my life as a straight trajectory of what I could do, and what would suit my career best, or letting it become slightly unpredictable and geared towards experiences I would like to have. Not having a straight career path is borderline terrifying, and such a choice would be something that I would admire in someone else. Using myself as an experiment, is both something I long to do, and something I’m incredibly nervous about.

I’m a clingy monkey, lazy and irresponsible. I want to be the opposite.

The old motto of the lab I’m at used to be “Do something”. I think I shall try very hard to adopt it as my own. Do something.

I partied away the last two days, and felt really old. Today I woke up without a hangover to a phone call from the mater, and listening to my thamma’s quavery voice over the phone. She is not amused with the vegetarianism. I skyped with Upi and had a brief glimpse of Mishtu and shared virtual hugs with Shalmus. I also devoured the majority of a pumpkin pie.

What I want to do moving forward:

gain some perspective. take a step back.

get the ball rolling on life after undergrad

take greater care of my hair and my body (time to read that damn yellow book again). i’m thinking it’s time to get a haircut that always brings a change.

unpack my life, and set up house properly.

stop feeling obligated to do things and meet people and spend my time on things because it seems like I should.

be productive and a step ahead at work. do something.

Willy Wonka almost-fiction

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I will whisper it into the pages of a book, and sigh it into the crook of my arm as I slip my hand underneath my neck at night. Curled up in the fetal position I will sleep. Dreaming is a distant land whose stories I can barely remember when I wake. The sun creeps in through the blinds at my temporary window, the wind howls and moans at night. It wails about things I think I’ve heard before, but long forgotten. It threatens to spill over, and reach right in and snatch me away into the night.

Somewhere in the world there is a lanky boy with unruly hair and a wicked grin. As he ambles about his day, he leaves footprints in my heart. There’s a pitter-patter, and if you squint you can almost see the tracks before they disappear.

Something tangible

there are nights on which i crave you. i can almost feel the soft wetness of your tongue, as it traced  the outline of my lips. i remember licking mine in return (something which was most uncharacteristic of me). but i cannot feel it anymore; the memories are fading into pictures, losing their tactility. i have told you before that sometimes all of it feels terrifying unreal to me. like it didn’t happen. like i never went to that house with green walls or got pulled into the rain. like i never nuzzled up to you in my drunken haze, for godknows what reason (i noticed you. i noticed you and thought you were nice). i remembered an evening the other day, it rose up in my mind unbidden- i hadn’t even been thinking of you at the time. i’d come over to steal an hour between the time i finished my work at the slum, and the time i returned home to the family. i was exhausted from the long sweaty bus ride and metro ride, and my libido was working overtime, whispering things in my ear. i got there and i remember we went into the bedroom and found roommate number two passed out on the mattress. we went back out into the living room then, and spent that evening just lying next to each other, swatting away the mosquitoes, talking, occasionally kissing. the dog was in the same room as us, tied up next to the window, where she eventually settled down. i remember the walls vaguely (were they green?), and the slow whirring of the ceiling fan. mostly i remember this sense of calm and peace. you fit me like one of those old, holey, threadbare t-shirts that you insist on wearing. no making out happened that night, but i remember feeling happy just to be next to you. i think this is the image or the feeling i fall back on at the times we react violently- like matter and anti-matter, as you said.

i don’t really get this open relationship thing at a practical level. theoretically, i’ve always been all for it, but i’m a lot less cool than i like to think i am. so i have a date, but the guy might just be gay (given my past streak with white guys), and i was really chuffed about it, but now i feel really weird. i mean, here i am, like completely fucking obviously in love with you but i’m going to grab a “quick bite” with him. i don’t know how to feel- i need to have a mental map of things, and i just don’t know where this situation charts. but you know, we’re on different continents, our lives may never physically intersect, and i’m only 21. i have to live and meet all the people i’m supposed to, right?

this is a nothing post, this is an “i’m frustated with the shitty boston housing market post”, this is an “i’m home on friday night post”. the truth is i just wanted to write something sexy. sexy is hard to come by from continents away.

You’ve got the love

1. Invincible Summer. Vines. Morning slow dawning eureka moment.

2. Productive bus ride reading paper.

3. Discover old messages. Find unexpected peace, and subconscious calm acceptance. Let go of bitterness and regret.

4. Intelligent discussion with intimidatingly smart people. Fail to reject competence.

5. Visit MIT with colleague. Bond over rants and dreams.

6. Eat Turkish chocolate.

7. Decide to leave work early. TGIF!

8 Say goodbye, promise to let people know about party over the weekend.

9. Carry hand drawn map by coworker and find indie cafe on street corner.

10. Settle down with cappuccino and research paper and alternately read and eavesdrop on conversations. Initiation ritual to life in Boston.

11. Get up to leave. “You have a radiance about you. You’re going to do great things”.

12. Have long conversation with strange well dressed old man. Talk about life, Reiki, Harvard, and listen to all his advice about your life with pinch of salt, and some amusement.

13. Long train and bus ride home, listening to music and feeling at peace.

14. Find out that there’s been an accident.

15. Heat up chilli chicken, bhindi, and tortillas.

16. Call up friend and manhandle oven while laughing over life, love, and randomfluff.

17. Settle down. Receive goodnews about housing and the kindness of strangers.

18. Be profoundly grateful for the xx. Notice what a great bum Florence W. has.

19. Plan springbreak with friend.

Tuni bulb evening

So I’ll always be a little bit crazy just like you’ll always be a little bit dog-eared. It’s an unlikely meeting of sorts but stranger things have happened. This coming year I vow not to wallow in unproductiveness, and I vow to do things, and say things, and feel things without feeling ashamed about them. I’ve been making progress this year, mostly as a sort of fuck it, what-the-hell response to any shred of embarrassment or cringing that happens. It’s yielded mostly good results, but this coming year I’m going to stop feeling less valid. Whatever is not a reasonable response to life, your face is not a reasonable response to life, but I’m glad it exists. Just taking a breather and putting my hat on at an angle and setting forth without a care, with a “we’ll see”, and genuinely not thinking about it anymore has never been my style. I mean it’s been my style in general with adventuring and things, but life’s too goddamn important, y’know? Only this is life too, all the adventuring and whynot and it all wraps up together, not neat but all lumpy.

What I’m saying is, there’s a new year coming. It’s going to be full of new people, and new places, and new feelings and discoveries. I’m a little scared, to be honest. I’m a little less rootless than you said. I’ve always been a wanderin’ but I’ve always been searching for somewhere to – what I’m saying is I’ve been sinking my roots into people. You’re wrong, y’know; the tendrils slowly creeping around your ankles say so.

I read a cummings the other day, and I spoke to someone from the past the other day. It was all just a little strange, just a little familiar, just a little life.

Look, here is what I’m grateful for: a song, the memory of an eye, shots of milk and airmail-borne-understanding. The best things are not always the most obvious.

What I’m saying is, I’ll probably always be a little bit confused, but I’m a little less confused this year, and one of the things is gratitude. I found a piece of writing the other day from earlier this year and it was bursting to the seams with urgency and realness but I couldn’t remember this thing I’d written about. I looked beneath my collarbone, and there it was, a black dot, but I’d thought that was you. Perhaps I’d confused you and me, perhaps I’d dipped too far in and made a mess and couldn’t separate anymore. Bits of you trailing out and seeping in and making new colours.

I read an old email the other day. It wasn’t from you, it was another you at another time, and another me, only half-present. I was worshipped then, but the words ‘love of my life’ do not roll off the tongue easy. They sound untrue and make one uncomfortable. Life isn’t fair, and it moves on, and has a laugh. Look, I’m laughing. Look, I’m here. Look you’re here too. I hope you’ve come to stay.