To ‘Once-upon-a-time’ friendship

Dear once-upon-a-time-best-friend,

It’s been quite a long time since we have been in touch. I remember our last conversation. You congratulating me on the gold medal, me accepting the wishes graciously. Very unlike us. I remember that night clear as day. Talk about paradox. I remember the days leading up to it quite clearly too. I remember writing that acceptance speech, trying to be all grown up. But the best part of that speech came the night before the graduation ceremony. When I tried to make up with you. But was met with empty corridors. The tears that night really burned a hole and the words were beautiful. I can never forgive you. And I know you do not seek it, do not even know the impact it had left on me. Well, you didn’t care. You never did. I shouldn’t have either. But I did. Foolish huh.

I know I was at fault. I had hurt your feelings. That is why I tried. But I guess it was too late by then. I am sorry for that. You do not know how much. But I am. Still. I wish I had done things differently. But the past is what it is. I can only work on my present and my future. I say this with all my heart that I hope I have matured since then. Although I don’t know for sure. One never knows. Until tested. And I hope I don’t get tested anytime soon. I am still fragile. Because I still can’t forgive you. This is the truth. I have learned to live with it running in the background, it has become part of the white noise inside my brain. But I still haven’t moved on. I don’t know if I ever will. Hence all the sad sob shares on social media. I try hard to make up for your absence in my life. Most times I don’t even care. But days like this leave me wistful.

Special days. I hate them the most. I like the monotony now. It’s comforting. Something I can depend on. Sometimes when I hear you being mentioned by our mutual friends, my heart skips a beat, I don’t always know how to react. So I choose the easy way, I ignore it. I still haven’t told my mom about us. She thinks we just drifted apart. Somehow it feels like if I tell another person about us, you will be forever lost. Somehow, someone else knowing we are no longer friends would make the fact concrete. As though it isn’t already so. I am such a fool sometimes.

I still miss you. I miss you most when I hear my new friends reminiscing about their college days like they were last night. I have no stories. Not anymore. I wish I could be part of theirs but I can’t. I am adrift. Sometimes I think it’s for the best. This way there is less chance of getting hurt or hurting others. I am especially cruel with people I love. Don’t ask how I got so screwed up. But I like running away from love. Just another damaged good. Let’s leave it at that. Nothing new. No use romanticizing this broken-ness. I have read enough posts to know how one can start loving this misery, this notion of being a victim. I at least have not stooped to that level. Tears still are a sign of weakness and if you can’t live your life just because of a mistake you made, you are pathetic. Tears are to be shed in the darkness of the night, only to be shared with your pillow. This is my notion of adulthood. Maybe because I look through a cracked glass. I like to know the other side of the story too.

I hope you are happy. You were always such a congenial person. I know life would be a breeze for you. Or I hope so. Anyway, happy friendship day to you and your friends. Late though I might be, my wishes for you are true.

From your once-upon-a-time-best-friend.

P.S – not really sure if I actually was your Best Friend or was it all just inside my head?!


the ‘You and me’ kind of confession

Dear you,

I have come a long way. But your memories, our memories still bring pangs of agony. I read everywhere that we should learn to let go. Learn to know when to give up. Learn to know when it’s time to walk away.  I did it. I walked away. But I still look back. And I still hurt. I don’t know if there will ever be a time when you are just a name in the list of names I no longer care about. I don’t know if I will ever be able to see your face in random friend’s wall and feel no tightening of the chest.

We are really far away from each other. And somehow it gives me a sense of relief, that there is no chance, no probability of me ever bumping into you. Because I don’t know if I have forgotten you enough to not care what you think of me.

You know what the trouble is with losing a best friend? You not only lose that one person in your life you thought was never going to leave your side, you are left with a huge blank in your life. A gaping hole in your soul which used to be filled with all the happy memories and time spent with your best friend. It’s like starting fresh in life. Only difference is, now you no longer feel comfortable enough to bare your soul the way you did with your best friend. Now you no longer believe you can find someone who is ever going to understand you or accept you the way you are. Now you no longer have a friend to lean on or share your happiness with. The trouble with losing your only best friend is, you are now all alone and no one has your back. No one to massage oil in your hair every alternate night. No one to go crazy with over a boy crush. No one to watch Korean dramas all through the night. No one to help you cross the road. No one to drag you along to watch the same movie twice just so your best friend could sit next to her crush. No one to be with while you grow into your own kind of person. Now you have nothing to look back on and smile. Because your every memory is tainted. Because all your memories are connected to that one person you are no longer connected with.



Another truth this new year. 😉
When I write I am always the victim. The truth is I always try to write stuff from the prospective of the other side of the story. And I was always so engrossed in looking the other way and trying to find why someone would do wrong, how someone who does wrong is also suffering, I forgot to look at the side where people actually get hurt. Mostly my stories are about some emotions I am feeling and writing kind of exaggerates it. I build up stories and maybe in some way try to prove to myself that I am not in the wrong or that, if I did something horrible it’s because I had a valid reason behind it. Reasons which no one could see and hence no one would ever understand. I always tried to find ways to play the victim. But the thing is I did hurt people. No matter what my intentions were, what my back story was. I am hurting people. I have hurt people. Because I was too stubborn to see the things as they were. Maybe because I thought I could never do anything wrong. I tried too much to romanticize every situation. And I got fed up of myself.
In reality I am a cruel person. Maybe it’s the only way I can hide my hyper-sensitivity. Maybe I am just not a good person. I don’t know. There is no excuse for being this way. I just don’t like appearing weak and needy. I hate asking for help, for favors, for anything which would put me in someone else’s debt. I hate owning the imaginary ‘IOUs’. I think everyone should just shut up about themselves and just bear their share of emotional burden and everything they think is wrong with the world.
The way I do it is through writing. I forget that not everyone is like me (And thank God for that!). Everyone vents out in different ways. They do not have the same outlet to vent frustration as me. And they don’t need to. My way is no ‘righter’ than their’s.
When I look back and go through stuffs that I wrote, I see that I am always the one being wronged. The fact is, I can, and no one can stop me from writing the way I want to, from being who I am, for feeling the way I feel. It might not be conventional, but it’s me. And I don’t care if they judge me. And in the same way, they too are right to use any means they find comfortable to share emotions. If they want to whine their heart out or if they want to keep it quiet and gulp down that shot. I am no one to judge them. I don’t know how to get over this judgmental attitude. Is just ignoring them the right way??!
I guess I am kind of obsessed with the right thing the right way and the right everything!
I forget that there is no one right way of doing stuff. I realize that I am not here to find the right or the wrong ways. It’s neither my responsibility nor my place to play moral police. I should learn to just live my own life the way I see fit and the way I enjoy it the most. What matters is the right way for me. I only want to be proud of myself, what I do and look myself in the mirror and love myself and sleep with peace at night.


There are people in our lives who push and pull us towards or from our goals. I don’t think destiny is a fixed design of our future. I believe I am capable of changing it with every choice I make. I don’t know how to write exactly what I feel. There are so many emotions churning inside of my head.

Coming back home this time felt like coming out of the eye of the hurricane. I see all the distractions which are keeping me away from my goals. It’s not their fault. It’s all because I am weak. I have allowed them to pull me away from my dreams. It made me realize how temporary our feelings are, how easily they can be distracted, manipulated or played with…

Before I met him, I believed myself to be a strong person. I thought I was in control of my feelings. I thought I was good at building walls. I guess I was wrong. I had all these misconceptions about myself because I hadn’t met a worthy opponent who could break me down.

I guess now that I have put into words what he is to me, I can start to fight him. He has turned me into a person I never thought I would be. I know he is cruel, ruthless and selfish. But I AM STRONGER. I am stronger than him and I am going to overcome the chains of his bonds.

I wanted us to be friends. I thought he was someone who understood me, who viewed the world as I did. I thought we had a lot in common. I didn’t realize, he was just acting the part to fit my perceptions or expectations. Of course now I understand him. I feel sorry for him. Now I know he is lost. He is cannot help it. He is sinking. And if I don’t let him go now, he is going to pull me down with him.

Once upon a time, I would willingly have drowned with him… to be with him. I guess I did grow up after all. He has been the best teacher I could expect from life. Thanks to him I now know myself better.

wanting more…

I broke up with him. I know I love him. More than I have ever loved any other man. I can live, without him. I can marry someone else and be happy. But I also know, I will never find someone else who would love me as much as he does.

I didn’t do it because I was being brave for both our sakes. I didn’t do it because I thought I was doing both of us a favour. I didn’t do it because I thought we didn’t have a future together. I did it because I am selfish. Because I want more than love. I want recognition. I want to be able to climb the 4th ladder of the Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. I need to have it. I am too selfish to be satisfied with just love. My dreams are too big, too big for anyone else to be in my life except it. I have tried ignoring it. I have tried to pass it off as just another unreachable dream. But I can’t. I want it, more than anything else in life. I want fame, power, glory. I want my parents to look at me and be proud. I want to go beyond boundaries. I want to explore. I want more… more than anyone else… I know I am being greedy.

It’s a dangerous combination… or maybe the perfect one. I need to learn to be harder. I am going to be harder. No more sniffling around for people who will soon enough leave my life to never come back to it anymore. I need to be stronger, a better actor, a better pretender. I need to learn to hide my hatred along with my love. Its weakness, as the professor rightly said, to let anyone come close to my emotions. I too need to build those walls stronger, larger than before.

I wonder if it’s possible to let go of everything for a dream… filled with doubts… with weaknesses… with hope… but still clinging on to this dream for more… greedy selfish me, I hope I survive it all.

paradox of reality

He fascinates me… I didn’t think it possible for a guy to be capable of having such complex character. It’s hard to decipher him, which is why I want to do it even more. It’s like a game we play, both of us, trying to understand each other… Trying to find who’s going to crack first. Guess I am the one losing here, not because I am cracking but because of this insuppressible feeling that I want to… what makes it even more frustrating is the fact that I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way in the first place. Trying to remember the point in time when it all started… This game of hide and seek, the time when it was possible to have given a different direction to our relationship.

It’s so tiring sometimes to always have to hide behind walls, to always have to listen to the reasonable side of me, to always be reminded of what’s wrong and right. Although I might add that lately these walls have been of not much use, as I tend to jump them at every opportunity possible and then end up in tears later when what I knew would happen actually happens… I wonder how many times I need to make the same mistake to learn to stop doing them. Blame it on my over-sensitive hyper-emotional heart! Fool that it is.

I can’t remember a time where I didn’t have to go through dealing with this big mess of feelings, when I didn’t have to always feel two conflicting emotions at all time. Even if I am doing something right, there is always a nagging feeling in the back of my head telling me, I really don’t want to do it even if it’s right. Does that make me a bad person?? Always thought it was a side effect of having lived too long in the imaginary world of knights in shining armour and princesses… where you could be sure of an ending which was satisfying at the very least, if not happy.

Huh, I miss the times spent melting into my bed and into the world of stories. I remember when and how this love for stories started… from colorful books of poetry… The jataka tales bought by parents and monthly edition of champaks taken from an elder brother’s room… remember the time I started to make a world of fiction of my own along with the famous five and the secret seven of Enid Blyton. It’s really hard to come back to reality after having lived too long inside my own head… people really are as bad, horrible, backstabbing as my parents warned me of. And equally unexpectedly kind, warm and caring… I feel I am living in a paradox…

warrior or victim…

I used to be a very stable person.. someone who got trusted a lot.. to do a lot of things… i didn’t suffer from  this emotional outbursts which has become a part of me now… mostly I kept to myself, never getting too involved in anything… books were all I had… and it was good. I used to look down on people being over dramatic… used to wonder why people went ahead and created their own problems and then cried over it. I never suffered from excess of anything. I had friends in the characters of my novels… I could be in the bed whole day dreaming up new characters… extending the story… Now, some how I feel I have lost that ability to dream up, like before… I was never the cunning, competitive, loud, attention seeking, backstabbing type… I guess time changes us… or maybe I was always like this, I just hadn’t realized it before now.

I never wanted anything too much… was more interested in learning others than in letting others know who I was… I used to think I was a traveler… moving from one place to another… gathering knowledge, experience, stories… I was never possessive or the jealous type… I had dreams… I just didn’t have a goal. I dreamt of flying away to some place where I wasn’t chained by boundaries set by the society… most of the time I just wished I was invisible. i wished I didn’t have the burden of other people’s expectation. of all the burdens, those are the hardest to bear. If I didn’t expect anything, in return nothing could be expected of me either right??! I just wanted to dissolve into the background of everything.

How did I change so much? For a really long time I thought I was strong. I didn’t know or maybe didn’t want to know the weaknesses I had hidden inside… I thought, if I could bottle up the hatred and hurt and convert it into something else… i would be invincible. But I couldn’t do it.

Emotion are harder to control then I thought. They creep up slowly, silently, without letting their presence be felt until its too late to let go of them. The only way to make up for the weaknesses in me, was to act the opposite of all I was. I had to be cruel, hard, unforgiving. I had to be Cold outside to compensate for being too sensitive inside.

We live in a harsh world. Isn’t that what everyone tells us?? I have seen it myself, what happens to people too weak to protect themselves, despised them. I cannot afford to let others know my weakness. It would give them too much power over me. Hadn’t I myself used that knowledge to the fullest, wherever possible. 

But somehow my guards weren’t as strong as I thought it was. I didn’t hide my feeling well enough or so it seems. I was doing it all wrong, some say. But I had lived too long this way to change now. I guess pretending it for that long, it just became a part of me… the cruelness and the unforgivingness in my nature.

I always thought myself to be more of a warrior than a victim. or was it the other way round. was I waiting to be rescued? a dame in despair… pathetic!! I thought I could control my future, or at-least my present. But there were just too many loopholes in my plan. I was never going to succeed anyway. Dreams are just that. Dreams…