sole-soul-sold

[sole-soul-sold]

March 28, 2024

I miss my old self. One that could put time to good use. One that would not wallow in self pity any chance that she'd get. One that would make the most of all the time she had.

I miss my old self. One that would oh so freely love and let others love her. One that wasn't so sceptical of anything and everything in the world. One that could find joy in the littlest of things.

I miss my old self. She didn't cry in public. She didn't cry because of the public. People didn't bother her. She wasn't jealous of happy people. She didn't hate others for changing her.

I miss my old self.

[sole-soul-sold]

18/06/2023

There’s a Pride March happening in my city. I was so excited to be a part of it. I may not be a part of the community, but showing support to a noble cause, promoting healthy emotions should be a good thing, right? Makes me wonder why I’m doing this alone. Why couldn’t I get someone to accompany me today? My roommates had to study. A friend was meeting another friend. Half my class is severely…

[sole-soul-sold]

What will it be like?

07/05/2023 I hate this bloody question. Sure, I understand the concept of “curiosity”, somewhat. And yes, I understand the need of humans in general to “play safe” and “be sure”. I get it. I do. I’m curious too. I’m conscious too. It’s just that I have a threshold of sodium and I tend to be extremely volatile when someone else directs their, well, inquisitiveness at me. Don’t get me wrong. I…

[sole-soul-sold]

She Persisted

Her movement, restricted Sounds, she heard Words, she deciphered Within the walls of the womb she lived in She could hear her life being threatened She felt it. Yet, she persisted. She was welcomed to the world By a disappointed father, “ Dang it! It’s a girl!” Her toddler years, her years of infancy Were anything but happy or fancy Her tiny eyes witnessed her mother being…

[sole-soul-sold]

I'm Afraid

I finally realised why the thought of me having your number saved on my phone scares me. I’ll have an option. I’ll have an option to ring you in the the middle of the night telling you I’m scared. I’m scared of things that haven’t happened yet. I’m scared of things that might happen. I’m afraid I’ll tell you about all my fears. I’m afraid that you’ll know I’m a coward. I’m afraid I’ll scare you…

[sole-soul-sold]

22/04/2023

Tell me how you move on from something.

Tell me how you get over something.

I want to know how it's so easy for someone to just get on with their lives after something that might have deeply affected them, ends.

I understand it might not be "easy" per se. BUT! They make it look so simple. So lovely and breezy. Kudos to them, for being able to hide their emotions so well. I can't.

I try, but I can't. Sure, acting complacent, otherworldly, or like I don't give a shit, is every day's work now. Blaming my asshole-ness on stupid hormones, while convenient, is still exhausting.

And annoying! So annoying. I can't help it when my hands start doodling things in class. Sketching out people and words that I know will make me cry later. I can't help the way my mind goes into overdrive when I listen to songs that remind me of what things were like in the past. How normal things were in the past, and how badly I want to go back to it. Even when I know that would be my undoing.

That's the thing, even if I crave the comfort of history, I don't want a repeat. It's silly, because that also bars me from trying new things. And I know that I haven't been physically or mentally held back by anything that is not my mind. It's all in my head and I know that! And the apparent lack of time in my life is just a convenient excuse.

Everything in my life works in cycles. Stupid, monotonous, boring, incessant cycles. I just want a hiatus, if not a complete block. I want to be able to listen to 'formidable' without thinking about what someone else thought of it. I want to be able to go places without having to think about what happened when I was last there. I want to be able to eat vanilla ice cream because I want to, not because it was someone's favourite. I want to be able to wear pink and green and yellow, without having to think that they were once their favourite colour. I want to be able to look at a guitar without contempt, watch the last episode of FRIENDS and cry for the right reasons.

I don't want bits and pieces of my past erased from my memory, no. They've shaped me and I will forever treasure the way they made me feel. Good and bad feelings, alike. I just want them to not affect me as much anymore. It's been a long time. It's high time. I should get my shit together. And for the love of me, and solely myself, stop using the past as an excuse to shun from experiences of the present.

Did any of that make sense to you? Dear God, I'm going to need mind maps for ranting too now. Wish me luck?

[sole-soul-sold]

6th April, 2023

Is being yourself as confusing to you, as it is to me?

I mean, how easy is it to tell a person that they can just "be themselves", at an interview?

Well, what if I don't know myself? What if said "myself" is someone who shouldn't even be an interviewee in the first place? What if said "myself" isn't real?

More often than not, I know and understand my reality; "I" being the key word. You don't. You don't know the clusterfuck that is, my mind. You don't know whether what I'm telling you is true or not. You don't understand the logic behind my answers. Nor do you understand the fiction it stemmed from. I could feed you anything, ANYTHING, and make it about me and you would have no clue. I know. I know because I do that more often than I'd like to admit.

Maybe, just maybe, the version of me that you know is what I aspire to be, what I wished I were or what I want you to THINK I am.

Or.

Maybe, just maybe, you do know me, fantasies and alter egos be damned. But maybe, you know a part of the real me and I made the rest up to keep things interesting.

Or.

Maybe, just maybe, I've lost track of my actual personality in all the aliases I've been busy creating.

That thought scares me. Who's to say that I actually I like chocolate and I was not just influenced by a version of me in a fancier, richer, happier verse that was but a figment of my imagination. One I chose to keep around.

The thought that I might not be able to distinguish my dreams from my reality is extremely frightening. But, the thought of those dreams coming true or hell, I don't know, never coming true at all (?), is scarier. I'm confused.

[sole-soul-sold]

March 13, 2023

Yesterday was weird.

Not the unfamiliar or new kind of weird I usually look forward to. No. Yesterday was the kind of weird I avoid. The angsty restlessness I felt yesterday was immensely uncomfortable.

I couldn't get work done, I couldn't enjoy fresh air, I couldn't bear to listen to any sort of music, I couldn't talk, I couldn't laugh and I couldn't eat. Eat well, that is. I gorged down some pretty questionable entities that I refuse to talk about. I couldn't cry either. And I tried. Shut bathroom doors, silent corners, sadly squatted down body, hair covering my face and everything, I tried. But no, tears refused to give way, mind refused to cease it's tumult and I tried to persist in the wretched wickedness of it all.

*tried*

Now, here's the thing about bad days, or "weird" days as I'd like to say, I don't know I'm having one till someone tries and talks to me. It's the more than apparent energy level difference that tips me off eventually. It goes further downhill from there and there's no saying how long it'll last. Dips like these come and go. Moods change within minutes. I've failed to understand what triggers all of this though. It just happens. Fickle little shit, my mind is.

What irks me isn't the fact that I'm low or not as efficient as I should be, or that the frequency with which this keeps happening is probably putting med school life to shit, no. It's the people around who seem to think they need to mellow down to accommodate my self being an unfeeling, self absorbed, prickly asshole. I mean, I understand where they're coming from. They're my friends or well, almost friends and they care about me and they want me to feel nice and be happy and all the shazam, but it doesn't work like that. That'll only make me feel worse, and I'll spiral as I always do. And spirals don't end. Or as John Green so nicely puts it, "You don't understand! It's turtles all the way down!"

What I need you to do is force my ass out of bed, keep my phone out of my sight and tickle me to tears or take me out and make me do stuff that takes the zombie out of me. Don't make me talk about it. I never will. Make me forget about it. I'll be extremely grateful.

Now, I've lost sense of what I was trying to say, but I'm hoping you get it? I also don't know how to continue. Probably a good time to take your leave, huh? Until next time then,

Much love.

[sole-soul-sold]

I feel so dumb.

*crawls under the bed*

[sole-soul-sold]

02/03/2023

Sometimes, I wonder what makes firsts so important. I lose sight of what makes them so special. I mean, I understand the entire part of not having a memory to refer to when encountered by a first, but shouldn't that be uncomfortable? Why does it excite you so much when I'm shit scared by the idea of it. I mean sure, there's a rush AFTER the thing is done, but is the anxiety and uncertainty that precedes it worth it?

This is probably the stupidest thing I've ever written. I might not even agree with it in a couple hours, but, this time around, I don't see a lot of prospective "good" firsts happening. And like I said, I'm shit scared.

It's just that, I don't have a plan to follow after something happens to me for the first time. Sure, the internet helps sometimes. But googling, "What to do after I fail an exam for the first time?", will only give me a truckload of motivational, self improvement crap I didn't sign up for. Sure, I might use it later, but I'm entitled to wallow in my misery without feeling judged, for some time atleast. Add to it the fact that deciding to do something good for yourself, and actually putting those plans to implementation are two very different things and I can't get started on either of them. Effectively, that is. I'm a few baby steps through both, and it's not moving me any mountains.

It's not just the academics either. It's all the stupid stuff that you could possibly imagine. Like, for example, using a menstrual cup! It's a large fucking cup that just won't budge and as much as I want to, the concept of folds ( mine and the cup's ) has me hiding under my blanket, trying to ward off any actual effort that I might have to put to set things straight.

Trying a new dish for the first time! It's so important?!! I mean, wrong place or wrong time or wrong company, and said dish is ruined for life. Bummer.

And don't even get me started on the romantic aspect of things. A guy says he likes me. First time I ever hear it said, I ask him to shake hands with me, because that is exactly the way to go about business! The first time someone holds my hand and interwines their fingers with mine, my hand DIES OUT ON ME! It stills, paralysed, loses the will to move at all. Amazing timing. It doesn't help that it sends my mind into overdrive and I can't help but spiral into the 'why, what and how' of things. Also, the fact that the majority of relationships within my core group of people are severely dysfunctional and make me want to barf, does NOT help me with prospect of starting one on my own, no matter how much I want to.

There's so much 'hype?' around the concept of firsts that the idea of not getting it right feels criminal. Imagine, the first time you fail an exam, it sets off a domino of a bad academic career. The first time you have fish, it gives you an upset stomach and you never try it again. Turns out, it was cooked wrong, and you just assumed that it doesn't suit you. The first time you kiss someone, it is not what you've dreaming about since you were 7 years old, and you can't help but question everything you've believed in, because yours truly is dramatic like that. The first relationship you have isn't the fairytale you always thought it would be.

Your firsts are standards that you set for life. Firsts set off cascades and cascades of reactions, as if stepping over a threshold. Everything and anything that happens to you from that point on, will be at all times compared to the first time something happened. The chances of not having an amazing first time at anything far exceed the those of having a moderately good one, compromising your standards for life.

Like I said, I'm shit scared. While I understand that the idea of firsts might be beautiful to most, undeniably exciting to some, to me too sometimes, it still scares me. I've said this before, change scares me.

But maybe, just maybe, I'm looking to be compromised, in the hopes that it goes well.

I don't think anything I said today makes sense, but bear with me and my nonsense for a while, will you? I'm sleep deprived.

Have a good day y'all.

[sole-soul-sold]

How do I tell you I love you without choking on the words?

Growing up, I never heard my family say 'I love you'. It was something people confessed in films and books and not what mother said to us or father told my mother. I love you was an exotic bird that existed somewhere in the world- too far away from us. I love you was a weakness that required immeasurable strength.

So, I pour my love in the morning coffee. And in the evening, I peel an orange for you, I love you. And I send you 15 cat pictures an hour, I love you and I hope you see it. And I text you good morning at the same time everyday, I love you, I love you, I love you. And until I learn to swallow it and live in it and whisper it, I hope you see how much I love you.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

[sole-soul-sold]

November 25,2022

What does a touch mean to you? What do you think when I brush my pinky with yours? Or when we try and hold hands while walking? Or when we hug? Or well, I hug you and you just stand there and try keeping balance. Or when I move my fingers through your hair? When I tug at the hair at the base of your neck? When I caress your cheeks? When I kiss the the tip of your reddened nose in the cold? Or when I snuggle into your lap at the end of the day? When I nuzzle into your neck at the end of the day? When I brush my lips with your?

What does it mean to you?

Does it mean the world to you? Do you look forward to it too? Do you feel the emptiness without it too? Does it make you happy too? Does it make you all warm and fuzzy too? Does it make you feel loved too?

It's not just me, right? Do you feel it too?

[sole-soul-sold]

09/11/2022

There's a storm raging outside. Thunder, lightning and rain. It's loud enough to make my windows tremor. It's cold enough to make me want to disappear under my covers. But, I can't quite bring myself to do that. I've been in this weird state of unrest for a few days now. External factors are just adding to it. I think it's a post-menstrual dip, or it might be the fact that I missed an earthquake last night because I was too busy scrolling through Instagram. Shocker, I know.

Honestly, I can come up with many reasons to try and explain what's going on right now. I have too. It's a waste of time too. I'm just trying so hard to ignore real reasons. The reasons that I'm too scared to admit out loud. I fear what the truth could make me do.

The truth scares me. Always has. I've come to accept that now. Denial feels easy. Denial feels safe. I'm too much of a coward to voice some facts lest they should come true. Fear governs such a large part of my life. It's unsettling. I crave to do new things. I yearn to be spontaneous. Alas, I yield too readily to logic and reasoning. I succumb to rationality, which honestly, should be a good thing. Only, it doesn't feel like it. I've been taught and trained to always do the right thing. It's just that, doing the right thing sometimes takes the living out of life.

I'm pretty good at remembering events. Again, I think I was conditioned that way since I was younger. The downside to it though is that I usually have a hard time letting go of the past. I don't hold grudges or anything like that. Just the fact that whatever transpires between us might live longer with me than it will with you. And because of the possibility of having to live years with something that happens between us, I tend to tread with a little too much care. I find myself lost in thoughts of the past too often to admit. It was easier when I was younger and did not understand things. It was easier when academics and games were my only concern. Can you blame me for living in the past, though? The past is home. The past is familiar. The past is comfortable. Sue an adult for trying to be comfortable. It's cruel out here.

But, what happens when things change? When I finally get over and move past? What comfort do I reminisce about then? Which past self do I turn to for shelter? The one who knew nothing of the world or the one who broke into tears trying to make sense of it? Change scares me. I'm a creature of habit. Change and its inevitability frighten me. At this point, I realise that I can't help but blindly dive in. I also realise that I'm not the only one going through this. I'll always have company. But, why would they care? They're strangers. They have their own lives, and their own issues to deal with. At the end of the day, It's my fight and my life. How far is blind faith and sidestepping the truth going to get me?

You idiot, when are you going to grow up?

[sole-soul-sold]

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

[sole-soul-sold]

PMS is a bitch

[sole-soul-sold]

06/09/2022

I feel claustrophobic. Suffocated. Entrapped. Oppressed. Limited. It's the same room. It has been the same for years. My room. My space. The Safe Place. I don't feel the same comfort anymore though. I don't feel the same warmth in the sheets of my bed. I don't feel the same happiness that the pictures on my wall reflect. At one time, it used to be a bright, sunflower like yellow. Now, it just seems like a mouldy green. It makes me nauseous. There used to be so much space between these walls. Space to live, laugh, dance and create. Now, the walls are getting closer. The roof is caving in. I can't breathe anymore. It's eating me up. The fear. The foreboding. The guilt. I don't like this. Any day now. I'd be buried under the debris. It's happening. I know. Slowly. Gradually. It's taking me in. It's swallowing me. It's killing me.

I feel claustrophobic.