curlxxschroniclxnvi

[curlxxschroniclxnvi]

Time and time again i have thought really hard over what, and I say this with utmost aggression, the actual fuck could be the reason that some people will fill 80% of their glass with ice in the most ridiculous shape, size, colour etc etc and then add only a few measly drops of something else (and that something else is too much, like half of it is not even being used) for their drinks.

Is this a ritual? Is this something rich people do? Is this for aesthetic purposes? Does too much ice make it that much colder? Is this done so that you actually drink very little of what the product is for a high price? Is this for the cute clinking sound? Is this so that you can use bigger glasses while not drinking too much because you have a short appetite? What is the reason? Tell me the purpose of this!

Why?

Why?

Why?

[curlxxschroniclxnvi]

There is a sadness lingering in my chest, like a heart that is not home. There are some melancholic wisps around my fingers, like the moon is calling me far away from this world. Something is amiss.

So, I'm dealing with it the only way I know how.

I'm wearing my mother's old nightgown, I've put on my grandmother's too wide, knitted fuzzy socks, I'm wearing my brother's flannel shirt. I'm dressing myself to celebrate my human range of emotions and the ability to feel my emotions. I have a hand fan in one hand and my school books in the other. My hair is oiled with the oil my grandfather uses. And there are some colourful papers around me. I'm humming to, "Kahin Door Jab Din Dhal Jaaye" and I'm revising this sadness that my ancestors must have felt. I'm like the wife of an old rich man in my mansion, but I'm only eighteen. I'm remembering that one night at 2 a.m, my father stroked my hair as my family all slept. I'm remembering him pecking my forehead. I'm remembering crying silent tears in the memory of that night because we're cities apart. I'm remembering him listening to some old song but I can't remember the name. The tiredness of my ancestors is in my bones but that is my home.

Sadness, like all other human emotions, is beautiful. And this is an emotion that the moon and I share among ourselves. Melancholia is our shared secret. Only he knows and watches as I break and come undone.

How beautiful to be alive and to die all these times before death.

[curlxxschroniclxnvi]

I just took my mother for a shopping spree, something that had been dear to her heart when she was young and not yet broken by my family. I did everything as she liked and we had a good time.

Now, at home. She confessed to me what today meant to her. And I think we should take people to do the things they enjoy more often. It heals them. Like shopping, healed my mother. To think that this woman has given birth to me and sacrificed her life thereafter for me.

I wish I could give back your innocence and happiness, Ma. But I can't. So, I will be young and stupid like you wished to be. And I will wear trendy clothes and buy cute jewelry. And I will post on social media and laugh like nobody's watching. And I will share with you my life. So that we can both live in our feminine energy.

[curlxxschroniclxnvi]

Tell me, why does it hurt?

[curlxxschroniclxnvi]

Well, I'm aware how soft-hearted, humble men are all the thing! BUT, and hear me out.

I like my men arrogant.

Not the blind type of arrogant, the ignorant type of arrogant. No, I like the self-aware type of arrogance. The one where they are like, I know that there are many amazing people in the world but there is something irresistible about me because I know I have conquered something that will make people tremble. It is the dark, slow and quiet cocky confidence and arrogance that I like. And I like their arrogance towards everyone else, even me, when they don't know me.

But something very delicious about having that arrogant man begging for this pussy. Like, "Yes, boy, yes. I know, you have such amazing things to boast about. Yes, I know, I know, the world is on their knees for you. And yes, I know, poor darling, I know, you don't beg. But you will. Because it's me."

Something about having an arrogant man by your side that will smile at every look and apologize at every eyebrow raise.

[curlxxschroniclxnvi]

Everyone is born immortal. But every time any superstition is not followed, broken or not listened to, years in our lives decrease.

The superstitions are stupid things from different cultures, things people don't believe in. Nobody ought to curse you, you must not dream of eating sweets, nobody must dream of you getting married, nobody must have pinched your cheek when you were below one year of age, people must like you but you must not be praised, you follow the rules of morality as per a specific guide book, you must tell lies often, you must not give your name to anyone, etc etc.

This is the stuff everyone laughs at around you. But you have been specifically arranged to be immortal. Since birth, all the rules have been followed and you are an immortal being.

But one day a tarot witch curses you.

And now you don't know immortal minus one year, so you're hunting down the witch. It's been five centuries now.

[curlxxschroniclxnvi]

Enough with the fathers who are absent or emotionally absent, let's talk about fathers who are too present, too invested.

Fathers who are a little too invested in your school, a little too caring about your homework, a little too knowledgeable about what your favourite fruit is, a little too curious of what you think of certain people, certain songs, certain situations. Fathers who are too invested in your health, too worrying for your future. Fathers who will read your diaries to know your innermost thoughts, fathers who will eavesdrop on your conversation with your siblings and friends, fathers who keep count of your incoming messages, fathers who will make sure they know your every belonging so that you can have nothing new without their knowing. Fathers who will never let you make any mistakes or put a toe out of line because they know what it's like to be on your own. Fathers who will teach you everything about everything and expect you to live the life they didn't get to live. Fathers who will mould you to become what they could've been if they had been given the opportunities and chances. Fathers who see you as their doppelgangers or second chance at life. Fathers who are living through you.

And then let's talk about how guilty it feels to be upset over your perfect fathers while people out there are waiting to be acknowledged by their own. Let's talk about how society tells us that you are ungrateful if you don't think that you have everything in life, how you will be a disappointment to the human race if you fail in the pre-conceived notion of what a failure or success is.

Because, people, plants only don't die because of lack of water, they also die because of too much water. Cups don't only shatter when they fall on the ground, they also shatter if held too tightly, right in your hands. When you thought you were doing everything to keep the cup safe/ plant alive.