Month: November 2014

What You Leave Behind..

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Andy Warhol

We all want to do something significant. We want to leave a part of us behind for everyone else to remember us by. We buy all these things and then we write a will about who’ll get what. That’s the part of us we leave behind for them and they’ll leave behind to their kids and for generations this will be passed around and you will be known as the person to whom it belonged. You will be remembered through that object.

I was at an Andy Warhol exhibit in Singapore a few years ago. I loved the art, the creativity, the small facts I got to learn about him. Spread across many different walls were quotes. His quotes. As a writer, I love reading quotes and thinking about what it might have meant to that person when they said it but when I read this particular quote, I didn’t care. I didn’t care what it meant to him or what he was thinking when he said it because this quote was all about me. It spoke to me in a way that I can’t explain. It was every thought I had ever had about death – My death. Andy Warhol had read my mind before I even existed.

Death is one of the most commonly occuring thought processes in my mind. Last night, right before I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about the number of people that would be affected should I die that very second. My close family is a given and I can’t stop them from feeling miserable about it but the outsiders. The friends I’ve made and the people I affect. The ones that choose to love me and the ones I presume our affectionate towards me, though I may be wrong. How many of them will actually have a day when they pick up their phones just to realize I’m not alive for them to call? How many will miss me? This was the best thought I have had in a very long time.

I hate to admit this to anyone because it always rubs off the wrong way – I’m a control freak. If something is a certain way, it has to be that way. If you make a plan to meet me, you better show up. Do not call me in the very last minute and say “I can’t make it.” I’ll understand. But I will also be so so annoyed because that just completely wrecked my day. A few years ago my brother and I were supposed to go birthday shopping. He ditched me last minute. Even today, I always call him ten minutes before I leave to ensure he’s going to make it. And it’s difficult to find a friend that is not annoyed by this. Someone who understands and accepts this part of you.

They say a friend is the only person who doesn’t judge you for your choices and sticks with you no matter what and I got to realize exactly who they were in my life last night and I felt bad. Because when I die, I affect some of the kindest people I’ve known. Is that really what I want?

This is why I think suicide is selfish. It’s not cowardly. It’s not stupid. It’s selfish. When a person decides to take his own life, he is only thinking about himself. He is only thinking about ending his misery. He doesn’t stop to think just how many people around him, how many loved ones will suffer for the rest of their lives because he chose not to care about anyone but himself. They will live forever wondering why they didn’t see. Why they didn’t help. Don’t you think Robin Williams’ daughter wonders that? His friends? His family? His colleagues?

A long time ago, I had this plan – When I’m old and done with all my responsibilities, I want to throw a party. A big one to invite everyone that’s ever known me. And if any of them ever wanted to write a euology, they can write one and read it to me at that party because seriously, what’s the point of saying nice things to me once I’m dead? So I just want them to read it. And I’ll say goodbye and I’ll take a little bit of the money I’ve earned in my life, pack my bags, erase or throw away any object that could remind the people that love me that I’m no longer there and just leave. They won’t know where I am. They won’t know if I’m alive or dead. I’d have vanished. Like Andy Warhol said he’d like to do.

Because we can’t live in fear. We can’t keep away from the ones we love, the ones who love us just because we’re afraid of the scar we’ll leave behind. We can’t not make memories in fear of those incredible moments turning into nightmares someday. But there is something we can do :

We can stop spending our times accumulating materialistic things and instead just care and be compassionate. We can learn to be kind and show others what living can truly mean. We can save something that five generations wouldn’t just pass around but would talk about. Would want to live upto.

Because the things you leave may rot and fade but the memories and life lessons – they’re here to stay.

The Bigger Problem

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Glossophobia. Do you know what that means? I didn’t. In my first year at university, I stood in front of my entire class and instead of flawlessly explaining the cultural differences, I froze. Two weeks later I wrote a very long paper on that word. Glossophobia – The fear of public speaking.

We humans do this very often. We tend to not notice something until we have the need to do so. There aren’t a lot of things on this planet we learn about willingly.

Unfortunately, the people that aren’t a part of our lives fall under that category.

If you had looked at my History book at the end of an academic year, it would have looked brand new. I hated history. I was very clear – Somebody killed somebody. They’re both dead and I couldn’t care less.

And I know there are a lot of people that agree with me about that but even they cannot deny the fact that though History may be insignificant, the future will always matter. And I don’t want to wait until I am left with no choice again. Because Glossophobia – it is the smallest of our problems. There are bigger problems with fewer support groups that nobody talks about. But I want to talk about it.

Because the fact that my mother wakes up every morning and knows I’m going to be fast asleep and not dead is actually a privilige – That is a problem.

I’ve tried to put this thought into words for a very long time now and luckily someone else did it for me. Because this – this moment when we realize that someone out there could be smarter, better and absolutely amazing at doing exactly what we do but with no means to show it – this is the truth.

“I have never understood why some people are lucky enough to be born with the chance that I had—with this path in life. And why across the world, there’s a woman just like me with the same abilities and the same desires, the same work ethic and love for her family who would most likely make better films and better speeches. Only she sits in a refuge camp, and she has no voice. She worries about what her children will eat, how to keep them safe, and if they’ll ever return home. I don’t know why this is my life and that’s hers…” – Angelina Jolie, Governers Awards Speech

And I have wondered for a long time how it is fair that I get to wake up in the morning and her innocent, darling child didn’t. And the truth is, it’s not and I would love to be the individual that changes that, that changes the world and brings about world peace but I can’t. I can’t do this alone.

I can’t stop poverty alone. I can’t stop wars alone. I can’t save those kids with amazing talent – the ones being shot in war zones, the ones dying of hunger, the ones struggling to jump from one refuge camp to another and the ones that might not wake up tomorrow – and help better their lives.

“She speaks more languages than anyone in the family. Because she plays with all the children in the street.”

This was a quote describing a little kid on Humans of New York. It makes me feel sick that a child has the ability to see something so simple that we as adults have failed to understand. That she has the ability to look at a child and see just that. She doesn’t see where they come from or who their parents are. And if only we could do that.

Do you know about the photographer, Kevin Carter? He killed himself after shooting a picture of a kid in starvation. I can’t count the number of times I’ve looked at my mother and said “I’m going to die of hunger. Feed me now !”

I wanted to put up that picture on this blog but I just can’t bring myself to. I can’t look at it. It may have been taken a long time ago but I assure you, there is still a kid somewhere in this world that looks like that and is going through that. And yes, there are people rallying about it and screaming about it but nobody with a life takes the time to listen and that is a problem.

Because..

Is it fair that we get to whine about not having pizza for dinner? Is it fair that I get pissed with the Universe for not letting me travel the world when some kid out there can’t even travel home? Is it fair that this life that I don’t do much with, some kid would have used to the best of his ability and maybe even cured Cancer with but he’s sitting in a little room made of plastic scraps and wondering where his next meal’s going to come from while struggling to ignore the mental images of his dead parents?

And should we really wait until we are left with no choice but to listen?

And Just Like That..

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… It’s been a year. One whole year of LoudThoughtsVoicedOut… I still can’t believe it.

The first time I ever read a blog, I was 16. I was fascinated with the concept. The fact that people read what some stranger would write was so interesting to me. I didn’t want to start one then. Because “Seriously Poornima, let’s get realistic. Who’s going to read what you write? NOBODY ! That’s who. Don’t embarrass yourself like this. It’s pointless. Go read something.” And that side of my brain won the argument.

When I was in school, there was this particular friend who encouraged me. Kept telling me that I should write for a living. That  writing is my calling. I’d like to thank her first for believing in the words I wrote when I didn’t think they mattered at all.

I gave in at 18. I started a blog. But what would I write about? My everyday life? Hmm. Let me think – I woke up. I ate breakfast. I hung out with friends. Dad and I talked about universities in Singapore. I ate again. I slept. – If that doesn’t make for an interesting blog, I don’t know what will. I don’t even remember what that blog’s name was.

A friend of mine writes blogs and I could relate to them so much. I enjoyed reading them and I always thought if I ever tried again, I want to write about something that people could relate to. The kind of things that would make the readers go “Oh yeah. I know that feeling.”

Last year, my best friend from university came to visit me. We went out for a ‘fun night out’. My idea of fun was never a party or a club and it became undeniably clear the night of November 8, 2013. So I just sat there and observed the difference between the crowd that had fun and the crowd that got wasted and used. It sparked a thought in me that I couldn’t push away.

It was 6 in the morning when I got home and even after a long nap, my head was stuck with how ridiculous the world of clubbing had gotten. How fun was no longer fun. The peer pressure to drink more. I still cannot get over it.

One thing I’ve learnt to do over the past few years is that when my mind refuses to shut up, I write about it. I didn’t have a journal. I just wrote on anything I found and it could get trashed and I didn’t care. I just needed an outlet, that was all. But this experience was different. That night – the most gorgeous view of my city, the best of friends and yet, instead of enjoying that, people were drowning themselves in alcohol. This deserved more than a scrappy paper. There surely had to be someone, somewhere that felt the same way.

Ladies and Gentleman, the most incredible blog of the season – Clubbing – A sober choice? Or a social need? I thought it would go off the roof. Everyone would love it and I was going to be blogging sensation. I had one visitor and one view.  Hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day. But, I got excited and though it was supposed to be an anonymous blog, I had my closest friends read it.

I will be honest here – when I started this blog, I told myself, “If you do this for one year, and you have 10 followers at the end of the year, you’ve achieved something.” Today, there’s more than 400 of you reading what I write, giving me such positive comments and feedback and I can’t thank you enough.

I’ve said this over and over again – I was miserable when I started doing this. But this blog and the comments you all write has gotten me through so much. Like yesterday, when all I could do was cry, someone commented something nice and I smiled. So many of you have shared your struggles with me and you have given me hope, courage and wisdom. I mean, I’ve even learnt new words. Thank you.

This blog has gotten the man that said “You will not pick writing as a career” to say “There’s ways to make a writing career work.” (Totally you, Dad)

So, Thank you, Thank you and Thank you so so so much.

These are some of my favorite posts over the past year :

Fear | What are you afraid of?

Beauty…

Homosexuality – Love in its purest form : Illegal

Way Too Much Sex, Everywhere !

The Woman I Admire The Most | A Dedication

“I’m Not A Girl Anymore..”

Trust In Time

I am going to kick off my second year with a post I’ve been working on for months now. So until next week.. 🙂

P.S – THANK YOU ❤

It’s One Of Those Weeks

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I’ve tried and tried for the past three days and I’m just having one of the longest writer’s blocks I’ve had in years. I’ve written a first sentence twenty times and I can’t get my thoughts to flow. So this post you’re about to read is called “Unanswered questions of the curious mind”. A long time ago, I wrote this post on the Notes section on Facebook.

Difficult times give you the need to believe in something and I am no longer an atheist (not very spiritual either) but this is a pretty good look into my teenage version’s brain. So, here goes :

Unanswered Questions of the Curious Mind – January 1, 2011

I was at the temple with my dad this evening. Considering how it’s New year and there are very few temples around this area, it was extremely crowded. I being the person who doesn’t pray was looking around. If there were approximately 100 people, I saw 70 of them with eyes closed, praying like there was no tomorrow. I thought, does God answer every single prayer? That was when I remembered, someone told me, We are all God’s puppets. If God is making us do the things we do, then why do we put ourselves in a situation where we need such desperate help from the unknown power?

I remember the times when my mother told me, Pray to God before you go for your exams. How does that help? He helps me in writing my exam better? If God was going to help me, why did I have to study? Why not play more?

I saw in front of a church,’ God answers all prayers.’ If he does, why the war widows? Why not let a happy family be a happy family? Why the infinite amounts of orphans? I could swear, most of their parents died during a happy period.

Why the number of families who commit suicide?

I’ve heard stories that said “Lord Shiva is the God of death.” Really? So how come Yamadharma exists?

I tell my sister a story, and the tenth person who hears it, hears a completely different one. We’re the hundredth generation. What makes everybody think the story is true?

They just found the place Krishna lived in, underwater. Where is he now? Heavens? How did he go there?

Who told us about heavens and hell?

Psychiatrists can prove through hypnotism that people see a light when they die, that they see souls and a soul master who can predict the future. Is that God? Which God is he?

5th grade History text book says, Man came from monkeys. Were Adam and Eve monkeys?

Who were early men? God had kids. God had clothes. So Adam and Eve came into existence before God?

In that case, Who put them here? If you tell me that the story of Adam and Eve is just a fantasy, how can you believe that the story of God isn’t ?!

Who has seen God? Who saw the way they dressed?

Ramayana was written by Valmiki said my comic book.

How about the other stories? Who wrote them? Who saw them? Which of them is still alive to prove it?

I saw David Blaine’s magic on tv yesterday. He survived doing the kind of magic, most people would die doing. Is he God? Does he have supernatural powers? How?

A confused soul I may be. But if one person can answer every one of my questions with proof, I’ll believe that God existed.

Yet again, this was written a long time ago and I don’t really agree with all of it right now, but I find it interesting that I would have given something like this so much thought because over the years, I’ve developed a very “don’t know, don’t care” attitude towards these questions.

Anyway, I’m going to find a way to fix my writer’s block. Until then, have a good week ahead of you 😀