Free..?

Can I ever be truly free? How far can I run away from the cesspool of consumerism and capitalism? Is the free market truly giving consumers a greater choice or is it neo-colonialism?

The way love is marketed to us and the way travelling is viewed as an activity that will open our minds, do you really believe it’s true? To me, it seems, these are tools that have been directed at people so as to make them feel they’re missing out on life. That their experience is somehow not complete without having a love life or traveling a lot. 

I don’t need to get lost to find myself. I think I’m always lost in a world of my own. And I would never want to lose that. But I think it’s terribly hard for me to see where I’m going or what am I going to do. Would I have to lose my little world so that I can see what’s in store for me? 

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Whispers&cries.

He was the sadness of a rainy sky pouring down on the dark wavering ocean. With every echo of the thunder and lightening he made himself and the others realize that he was still alive, but the strong seas only reeked of death within. Just like the waves crashed on the sandy shores wanting to be heard, to be held and to be touched, he tried his best to hold on to happiness. But then again the waves had swept him away from his happiness, taking away the weathered rocks, which were now tiny grains of sand, with him. His memory is fading but the storm is still brewing inside. He can’t recall what happened at that one time but he still feels those emotions that show up so unflinchingly. 
Just like the grains of sand, the ocean would deposit on some other shore he too gave away pieces of his soul to strangers in a bid to find something that he lost. But the storm drifts away only to meet sadder skies and lonelier horizons. 

The shells on the beach were enamoured by the rising tempest. A cold breeze would hit them every time his waves crashed on the unsuspecting shores. Little did they know that he was ready to destroy everything that admired him. After all, destruction had always been easier for him. 

I wish

I wish I could be all the lovely things you thought I am. I wish I could live up to the youthfulness that my body exudes. Or just ask my thoughts to leave me alone for a minute and smile like I have got no care in this world. 

When I passed that neighbourhood again, this time for a different reason, I found myself wondering, again, that how I am no longer who I was. And what I am right now is not what I will be next year. As for the million times I feel embarrassed and ashamed for the things that I’ve done and the people whom I’ve wanted, I still can’t forgive myself for it. For every time I’ve fallen back on substance abuse and every time I’ve felt pangs of anxiety because of my warped up self image, I feel this stinging pain that travels from the recesses of my mind to the locked up crevices of my heart, but instead of making me cry it makes me want to sink inside a bath tub all day or never leave my bed.

People have called me frigid for never not knowing what I want. They’ve called me reckless for not feeling comfortable in opening up to them. Cold, distant and detached perhaps were the right words for my ‘sun-sign’ (do they really work?). 

So for every time you ask me to smile, I would wish it was just that easy. And for every time I faked my laughter and excitement, I wish you could see the devastation my existence bathes in. Everyday it becomes harder and harder for me to absolve myself of the crimes that I’ve never done. 

There are still brief moments of clarity and freedom. The moments where I say to myself that life is so beautiful and I deserve every last bit of happiness. But when you’ve been sad for this long and have been told that something’s wrong with you every time you bring it up, your sadness becomes a part of who you are. It will crawl up your skin the minute life catches up and all you can do is wish, pray and hope for things to be different.