I cannot overstate the joy of not being in a relationship with a cheating whore. Or a psycho. 

Or both.

Everyone you come across teaches you something. I once knew a girl who taught me a lot, and I owed her. And I always will.

But now it's time to thank another person, so...

...thank you. For teaching me to take the good with the bad. To reconcile good looks with mental vagaries. For reaffirming that if someone can't respect their parents, they'll never respect anyone else. For reminding me that bad isn't how you think, or what you say, but what you do. For making me understand the emotional turbulence normal people go through. For showing me insecurity is an STD. 

For showing me the strange paradoxes of being. For shaving your head and donating your hair to children with cancer. And then metastasising in much the same manner. Spot the irony. For working hard on your education and career. And stamping all over your soul, tearing mine in the process.

For showing me that your mentality and insecurities are your crosses to bear. For not having the courage to apologise. For leaving things unsaid, because in the end, nothing you say can make it right, and you don't have the right to say anything.

For teaching me that good packages are sometimes rotten inside.

I'm not bitter. 

I'm better. 

:)

It occurs to me when I look at old photographs. Of when I was younger, goofier, possibly more in love. 

It comes when I stumble upon old emails. When I wrote them to people whom I was actually friends with, and before that, whn i splt dem like dis.

It sneaks up on me when I'm cooking, and humming a song that's playing in the background. A song that I once heard at a concert, or in a nightclub. Or one that I yowled out in a car, the stereo valiantly attempting to drown my screams. A tune that takes me back to a time, a place, a person.

It even strikes me when I read some of the old posts around here. I'm sure there's some appropriate German word for it, this sense of bewilderment/nostalgia/wonder that I feel. I don't so much wonder what life's sliding doors would have opened into instead, but I do ask myself one single question.

What happened?


"A feeling at my fingertips
That's pulling at my skin..."

Every single time I hear it, I think that 'You Can't Always Get What You Want' sums up my life pretty succinctly.

I'd rather have Hypnotize, though. Just sayin', yo.

"At her foot was her blood-stained man."

This blog, I often realise while reading, draws a rather succinct timeline of my mental and emotional states over the years.

I really ought to write more, if only for posterity. And of course, my own amusement.

"Don't," he said. "I'm weird."

"We all are," she replied. "It's what makes us who we are."

And that was that. 


"You know you should be glad."

Shakespeare said mercy blesses twice. Once, the one who gives it, and once the one who receives it.

Forgiveness is the other way around. Twice cursed.

Once by those you forgive, those who don't deserve it, those who hate you for being better than them. Those who you've cast out from your heart, but not from your mind. Those whom you've sworn off, and sworn not to think of. Those who occupy negative space, in the same way that a lint trap in a washing machine exaggerates its own importance in a spin cycle.

Then it comes to you. That bastard child of many fruitless conversations with best friends. Some of those best friends are yours, even. This child, this emotion, born of discussion, and of desperation to settle a mind.

And you curse it.

Because (and I know I'm not supposed to start a sentence with because) you don't get it. You don't get what you've done to deserve it. Your scale of grey is duochromatic - black and white, with nothing in between. 

So you sit up. Chemicals and manias course through you. You're in a strange land, drawing parallels to Latin. 

"Tu hi hai pyar, mahiya..."

Is it supposed to be this difficult?

But of course, you don't know. and you're supposed to not know, or care. 

Because you're trying to forgive.