Category: Thoughts

I Feel Like A Failure

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There. I’ve said it. I’ve said the words I’ve been afraid to say for weeks, months now. This is what I feared. This emotion that I do not know how to process. This emotion that I do not know how to rise from. This emotion that I can’t make go away. This emotion that consumes me from the moment I wake up. The one that keeps me from sleeping at night.

We all make plans. Long term plans. I made a five-years’ plan. I was going to graduate university, get a job at an advertising agency and work my way up to one day be the Creative Director. Get my own apartment. Call my mom when I missed her food. Have this life that was so perfect and filled with flaws that were sprinkled all over it like tiny little snowflakes. I was moving forward and there came a point when I could see everything I ever wanted right there in front of me. All I had to do was grab it with both hands and never let go and I almost did. But then..

..The Universe happened.

I can be naive and childish about a lot of things but the very big decisions, I put a lot of thought into and I insist about sleeping on it because I believe you always see things more clearly after a good night’s rest. So that’s what I did. After a lot of thought, I made the decision to drop out, not because it was the right thing to do for myself but because it was the right thing to do for my family. I told myself it was a temporary situation. What I’d forgotten was that my five-years’ plan didn’t have enough wiggle room for that break. Because when I made that plan, I told myself it was all or nothing. I aimed for All. Life gave me Nothing.

In two months, it’ll be two years since my life stood still. When everything around me came to a screeching halt.

I’ve written five versions of this post. Nothing sums up what I’m feeling. I have no words to explain this thin line I’m standing on. This feeling where the smallest of pushes will turn me into a crying mess. I have lived all my life with insecurities that I locked deep inside me and some time over these past few months, they’ve been set free. I avoid conversations. I ignore successful people. I refuse to acknowledge happiness. Not because I’m jealous or negative. But because I long for that. Because it was so close and now it feels like a faraway dream that I might never have. I am the Titanic right after it hit the iceberg. Filled with chaos. Falling apart.

The most success I’ve had today is that I swallowed my tears. I didn’t let myself cry like I wanted to. And that’s not ok. Not by a long shot. This cannot be my life. I have made so many mistakes but the biggest one so far was the moment I let myself sink.

When talking to my father about a potential groom, I always said – “He has to be the kind of person that started his life from scratch. He can have the smallest apartment and we could be saving not more than $10 a month and I will still be proud of him because everything he has came from his hard work. I will remind him everyday that he’s worth it. Because he is all that matters.”

This was the mistake. I had so much encouragement and pride towards someone I’ve never met and yet, I didn’t have it for myself. I didn’t tell myself it’s ok to fall. I didn’t take pride in having the strength to live through that. I didn’t encourage myself enough to want to rise from this and make a life for myself. I didn’t value my life enough to do something about it. I just let myself go.

When I started this post, it was going to end right here. But as I pour these thoughts out, I’m starting to see things with clarity.

And now when I look back, I feel like I’ve paved the way to my own depression and I’m afraid that if I don’t do something about it, this will be the rest of my life.

So this is where I will start. Today, right this moment I take an oath to myself that I’m going to turn this around. I’m going to pick myself up and dust myself off. I’m going to find a Plan B and leave enough wiggle room for a Plan C. My cousin is getting married in March. When that wedding comes, I will not hide behind a fake smile. I will not avoid conversations. I will not find excuses to not go. Because right now…

I feel like a failure. But it’s not who I am and I won’t let it be.

Failure J.K Rowling

Because I’m Happy

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Happiness. That’s the ultimate goal. We all want to be happy. The moment we throw our heads back and laugh without a care for the world. When we cry with joy and sigh with contentment. When everything feels calm. When life feels serene. Sounds so perfect, doesn’t it?

So what does that for you? What makes you happy?

My mother’s friend was planning on sending her son to university in a foreign country. Unfortunate for them, the plan was cancelled last minute and he got stuck here. During a fight about the whole situation, he said “I cannot live here. This place does not make me happy. I need to go there to be happy.”

Do you remember a time in your life when you were so happy that it was undescribable? When nothing you will ever say could sum up what you felt at that very moment? Was it the place? Was it the people? Was it you?

I remember, when I was a kid, my grandmother and I used to play cricket with a plastic bat and ball in the living room. There were only two rules. When I held the bat, everything was a winning hit. When she held the bat, she lost in the first play. I was so happy. It was a tiny house with a living room the size of my current bathroom. We didn’t have a lot of money and we didn’t have a lot of things. It was the happiest time of my life.

I feel like, as we grow up, we begin to feel more miserable by the day. What we feel no longer depends on the people who love us or the moments we have. Our happiness starts being defined by the person sitting next to us. She has an iPad. He has a Ferrari. They have a Phd. His family is bigger. They are more in love than we are. I don’t have those things. My life isn’t like theirs. I have nothing. I don’t feel enough. My house is smaller. My car is older. And I won’t be happy until I get that particular iPhone with the slow motion capture or that fancy car with those amazing speakers. I won’t be happy until I am loved as much as he is.

“You wrecked my happiness by not giving me enough !”

That is not right. I do not agree with the concept that I will only be happy when I have what someone else does too. That I can only be happy when I’m loved like someone else is. It’s not how it works.

I’ve had some very unhappy moments. But they came from within, not from the outside. When I’m upset, I can’t blame the next person for it. I will always have more than someone else and if I don’t know how to use the opportunities presented to me, that’s my fault. There is always someone looking at us and thinking “I want what they have so I can be happy.” Instead of gloating in that feeling, wouldn’t it be nice to set an example ?!

And often, people get the feeling of happy and lonely mixed up. They presume that if you’re lonely, you’re depressed. But that’s not true. You can be so utterly happy and yet feel unbelievably lonely because you don’t have someone to share that happiness with.

We don’t need that man, that woman, that mansion, his car, her earrings, their life – because you can have it all and feel absolutely miserable. You can be sitting on top of the world and be the most unhappiest person on the planet. Take a look at a poverty stricken area in your neighborhood. I will assure you there are more people laughing there than in that of a fancy gated community. They are not happy from the money. They are not happy from the fancy phones or cars that they cannot have. They are happy from within.

Any moment of joy you will ever feel has to come from you. Because I can give you the best of the best but know that with time, something better will come along and you will be exactly where you were all over again.

I’ll say it now and I’ll say it always. Life is shitty. It’s miserable for the most part. There’s always the lack of something or someone. If we want to start picking on all the things that are wrong, we will spend the rest of our lives feeling so irrepairably miserable and depressed. There’s never a moment in your life when something is not right. Find that. Hold on to that little positive thought. And choose to smile. Be happy. Not because it’s what’s expected. Not because you’ve got something someone else doesn’t. Not because you’re loved like no one else is.

Be happy because you can be.

P.A.I.N

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Pain. That’s probably one of the most dreaded words on the planet. Pain. The sound of it makes me cringe. It’s emotional. It’s physical. It can numb you from head to toe and take away your ability to think or act rationally. Pain – that’s the word. But what is it really?

The doctors often say, “Rate the pain you’re feeling from 1 to 10, with 1 being the lowest.” I have never said 10. Because I know nothing I will ever feel is 10. There’s always something worse right around the corner. It’s like education. The older you get, the worse it becomes. But you also understand that everything in the past was just a preparation for the present. And the present is preparing you for the future.

Because pain is evergrowing.

Like the moment you watch your perfect family crumble and fall. Your world stops and you think the worst has happened, only to realize that it is a permanent fall and can never be rebuilt.

Like feeling hope for the first time in years when someone promises not to walk away and watching that hope crash as you sit on your bed, clutching your phone and sobbing silently.

Like giving up on a dream. Giving up on your five year plan for no fault of yours.

Like heartbreak. You think you’ve figured it out after the first time. You understand what it is. You can handle it. And then the second one happens and it’s ten times more than what you could have ever imagined.

Like the very second after you’ve said “I love you” for the first time and the person on the other end pauses. Your hope sinks with every tick on the clock and yet you feel so unprepared for the “Hmm” that you think you heard in a hallucination but was reality.

Like that little eight year old girl sitting on a couch while her aunt called her “a brave kid” and she grinned – a fake grin – to cover up the stab she felt deep inside her. The need to be anywhere but there. To wake up from the nightmare. To have someone tell her that this is not her life, this is not her childhood.

Pain. When you’re four, you think the scratch on your feet is horrible. Then you get bruised and it leaves a scar. Eventually it becomes ligament tears. And then broken bones. One fine day, you’re struggling to get out of bed because every part of your body hurts. Everything feels painful. But it doesn’t mean the world is over. You don’t give up on school because your classes got harder. Like you don’t stop living because the pain got worse. You go on. You learn to put one foot in front of the other and walk it off.

Because sometimes, pain is good.

Pain lets you appreciate happiness. It teaches you the value of those small moments in life. It helps you learn the concept of empathy. It brings people with similar battles together. It gives you wisdom. It makes you stronger. And when looked at right – Pain gives purpose to life. Maybe pain was created, not to sink us, but to let us help others who are going through the same thing. Maybe pain was meant to irk a positivity that I have failed to see for a very long time now. It’s the only thing you can do about pain without creating a more traumatic experience for the people who love you. Maybe that’s why the word exists to explain that emotion.

Maybe PAIN is just an abbreviation of – Positive. Attitude. Is. Necessary.

Maybe that’s why, like positivity, pain cannot be killed. Pain cannot be willed away. Pain cannot be destroyed. Pain cannot be ignored.

“Pain Demands To Be Felt”

– John Green

Inspired by the comment by Ceolittle :

“I was feeling down today kinda lost what the real meaning of life is all about through all the pain”

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 😀

To The Man I’ll Marry

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When I was a teenager, I wanted that crazy love that makes your heart beat faster. When your brain stops working and in a room filled with people, you have eyes for that one person and only him. The cheesy kind with love letters and framed pictures. A love story that beats all odds.

I’m 22 now. I’m sitting in my room, staring out the window every other minute as I type this and I’m feeling rather confused. There are two kinds of people in my life today – The helplessly single & The hopelessly in love. I feel lost amongst them both. I feel lost in general. Maybe I know you now. But I can’t wait to meet you. To smile at you and know in my heart ‘This is it. I’m done looking.’ But there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to meet you right away. My life is too still and directionless that I’m afraid I’ll lose you when it begins to move again.

But then there’s this little voice in my head. The one that wishes we never meet. Abnormal for a fairytale believer but..

People teach you things in life. They teach you how to cook, clean, pay bills, do taxes. People teach you simple, unimportant things in life. But when you ask someone to teach you how to make a marriage work, nothing makes sense. Because that’s what I want. A marriage. Not a big, fat wedding. But a happy and healthy marriage. Something I’ve never seen before.

I grew up around dysfunctional families and broken marriages. Even the happiest of couples get bored with each other and there is not a day in my life when I’m not terrified we’ll end up like them.

I still remember the time when marriage was simply a concept I could day dream about. Today, everything feels realistic. Two years from now, I won’t have a choice if I prayed for it and I hope that’s not how I end up meeting you. I wouldn’t like you, wouldn’t love you enough because you will become the walking reminder that my parents won the unspoken battle I’ve been fighting with them for years, thanks to you.

I will warn you now, I’m not going to be the picture perfect wife. If I’m promising you otherwise, I’m lying to try and impress you. I’m lazy. I like sleeping in, hate cooking, have zero patience for anyone and anything, get lost in my own thoughts, cry in my sleep and get restless after mid-day naps. I complain about the smallest of things and I truly believe that I am always, always right. Any rule I come up with doesn’t apply for me. I talk in circles, nonstop. I sing out loud in a flat voice and speak in an Italian accent to my dog. I crack lame jokes. But I’m also unbelievably sensitive. Hurting me is very easy because when I care, I really care like a kid in kindergarten because I had to grow up too fast and I enjoy being a child when I can.

I don’t know what I’ve told you and what I’m not supposed to tell you. I don’t know if you’ve told me everything about yourself and the truth is, I don’t want to know everything. I don’t want to know about your hot, psycho ex-girlfriend or your drunken mistakes or the girl who broke your heart in high school. But I don’t want to miss out on stories about university and your childhood. I’ll smile when you tell me you miss them and I’ll hold your hand as you frown because you’re not PeterPan.

If I haven’t told you this, I’m trying not to freak you out – I’ve imagined our lives for a long time. I’ve imagined the normality of it. When I see an old couple in love, I’ve imagined us turning into them one day. I don’t know what we’re going to do about kids. I try not to think of that. But I’m sure when we get there, you’ll be the better parent. Please don’t hate me for that.

When they grow up, let’s be those parents our kids are super embarrassed of. The ones that never fall out of love. Let’s always have a smile for each other. The thought of you will always make me blush. Even if I live to be 100.

When you’re talking to my dad, don’t make fake promises. Don’t tell him you’ll never make me cry, you will. Don’t tell him you’ll treat me like a princess, it’s literally impossible. Don’t tell him we’ll never fight, we really will. Like crazy people. So when he asks you to take care of me, promise him this – Promise him that when the going gets tough, you’ll stand by me. Promise him that when I cry, you’ll be there with a box of tissues laughing at my horrible crying-face. Promise him you’ll never say no for an ice-cream run in the middle of the night just because. Promise him that we won’t have a prenup because what kind of a person gets into a marriage with even a sliver of doubt that it might end someday? And promise me this – No matter what happens, good or bad, we’ll figure it out.. together.

Because if you’re reading this, I promise, I’m going to give this my best and try to keep you happy. If you’re reading this, I swear, I’ll always remember that there’s two people with hopes and dreams, not just me. If you’re reading this, I’ve spent hours trying to find this post for you because I want you to know. And if you’re reading this, I’m not going to run out on our wedding because..

When you’re reading this, I am hopelessly in love with you.

A Chance To Dream

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Last Monday, my father and I had a conversation about people struggling to chase their dreams. ‘Opportunities are created, not handed.’ But exactly how true is that statement if some of us don’t even get a shot at creating an opportunity?

On Tuesday, I went to see a movie with my friend. I’ll admit – I cry at movies. But surprisingly, I didn’t cry during this movie, I cried an hour after I reached home. The movie was called Jeeva. The story of a boy who dares to dream; the typical parent that says he can’t do it and a society that thrashes him for trying. As it was a movie, there were way too many nice people but that isn’t the case for everyone.

I am privileged to have parents that sent me to school. I am privileged to have parents that don’t depend on my earnings to put food on the plate. I am blessed to have parents that said “Ok. You can chase your dream. If you fall, know I’ll pick you up and push you forward again.” So many would kill for this life..

“Mahendra Singh Dhoni” – MSD – Captain of the Indian Cricket Team. I say his name with pride because I love him as a player. But there is a kid in my city, about 11-12 years old. When you ask him to say that name he will say it the way we say our deity’s name. With respect, energy and power. Because the man that is nothing but a cricket player in my eyes is that little kid’s idol. MSD is everything that kid aspires to be. MSD is the reason that kid wakes up at 5a.m and rushes to the beach with a bat in his hand to play the game he hopes to one day play for a living. MSD is the man that kid hopes to one day be.

And I don’t want to be the one to tell him that the dream he dares to dream of every night, the passion he feels when he lifts that bat, the joy he feels when playing – it’s not going to last forever. Because there will come a day in his life when he will stand in front of his parents and say – “I don’t want to get a job. I want to be a cricketer. This is my dream.” and his “practical” and “logical” parents will tell him “That is the most ridiculous thing we have ever heard !”
“But I want to be like MS Dhoni !”
“You’re not MS Dhoni. You go get a job and make a living for yourself. Be practical.”
“This is what makes me happy.”
“Happiness. You think if I’d chosen to be ‘happy’ you would have had the opportunity to stand here and argue with me? Go to those placement interviews. Get a job.”

His parents are not wrong. Every parent across the world struggles to raise a kid. To put them through school and university. To get their feet on the ground and have them move forward. It is never easy to watch your child make a career choice that might end in utter disaster. But that is the problem.

I meet a lot of people. When they tell me what they do for a living, I always ask – Is this what you want to be doing? The answer is always yes. So I ask again, “But if you could turn back time, you’re 19. You can pick any career you want to. Nobody depends on you. Is this what you would want to be doing?” I watch that person squirm and ask to talk about something else or tell me “It’s irrelevant to be talking about now.” But why does the next person not have the right to chase his dream?

Parents are taught to ‘let go’ of their kids after a certain age. ‘They can take care of themselves now. It’s ok to let go.’ I have watched my parents struggle with the concept. To them I will always be their little girl. But they took the chance.

I am not the next JK Rowling. I am not writing the next New York Times bestseller. But I know. I know the joy of sitting in a class and studying exactly what I wanted to. I know the joy of being able to excel in it because I loved it so much. I know the pain, the sleepless nights, the non-stop tears and the broken heart when I had to make the decision to drop out and give up on something I loved. And today, I know the peacefulness I feel deep inside me every time I sit in front of this computer and begin to type. I know the joy and the emotions in me when I write the title to this post because it may not be a publishing house, but I at least have a platform to do what I love.

One of my favorite quotes in life – “Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.” I’m fully aware that people might be suicidal when their dreams crash. Not everyone is strong inside. And I don’t have an answer when someone asks me “What if I let him/her do what they want and find them used and dead?” But I want you to take one second to think to yourself, “What if they came out with flying colors?” Precautionary behavior is never wrong, but telling them they can never make it, is.

That kid’s parents are not wrong. But they’re not right. He is not MSD. He will never be. But you know what they failed to think of? Yes he might fail, miserably. Or ten years later there will be a writer sitting on her bed in tears as she writes..

There is this kid in my city, about 11-12 years old. When you ask him to say the name, he will say it with respect, energy and power because.. that man, that man whose parents let him chase his dreams, that man is everything this kid aspires to be..

“Every child has a dream and every dream deserves a chance”

Rumor Has It..

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Those three words – they make a man, they break a man. They change lives forever. They bring people together, they tear couples apart. They make criminals out of common men. Those three words – Hollywood thrives on it. High school students crave for it. Adults are all ears about it. Because haven’t you heard?

“You’re nobody until you’re talked about”

The celebrities are fighting for a new law that states paparazzi cannot take pictures of their children. They’ve got it wrong. The paparazzi wouldn’t be there if some idiot on 5th avenue on his way to work didn’t look at a magazine that says “Ben Affleck’s family goes walking” and immediately fishes out $2 so he can read about it. In a way, doesn’t that feel creepy – that you would pay $2 of your hard-earned money to read about a family walking around the block? That you crave to look at pictures of them and read about their everyday activities?

When the media builds someone, they ensure that this person has always got the spotlight. When it vanishes, that person will do anything to bring that attention back. As a result of all this, we young adults have half-naked TV Awards, full naked music videos and the reigning queen’s photoshopped thigh gap. When someone posts a photo of themselves with another celebrity in a  sexy manner, they spark rumors. “Is she dating him?” “Are they together?” And just like that, they’ve made news again.

Imagine you’re a kid in high school and nobody knows you, nobody talks to you but everybody knows her. There’s two ways to change that. Start a rumor about you so it would put you on the map. Start a rumor about her so it would take her off of it. Where does that kid learn this trick from?

The parent that sits at home and gossips about one friend to another. “Did you hear she got a nose job?” Why do you care if she did?

I moved to a new house a few years ago. Every time I walked into that house, people knew. Every time I walked out, they knew. They knew the people that came to visit. They knew what we were doing. Even weirder when the landlord, who lived five miles away, turned up exactly five minutes after we got there because someone had called her. When I moved out of there, I informed her that her “contacts” could be sued for stalking and invasion of privacy. She smiled and said “People just talk. It’s gossip and rumors. Ignore it.” But why should I?

This is something that has bothered me for a long time now and I’m just going to put this out there in the universe for someone to answer – Why is it so difficult for one human being to not care what the next one does? Whether on a bus or a train, when walking on the streets, when living in the same block, when picking up a gossip magazine – why? If you have a lot of time on your hands, join a class. If you don’t have the money, teach one. Go walk around your city, pick up a new habit. Why does one feel the need to read about another person – rumor or real – and then comment on it and spread it around?

Because this is the truth – if you’re not hearing something from the source, you can be very sure it’s either false or exaggerated. If I told someone that we found a 2ft long snake in my apartment building, the third person that hears it will hear – “Did you know? There was a 5ft long snake in her apartment and apparently it was hissing at everyone. It almost attacked a security guard. They couldn’t even control it. I heard it was such a fuss. Such a pity. Such a nice building, yet no safety.” All I ever said was “There was a 2ft long snake in my apartment building.”

With so many different types of social media, the world is shrinking. And as more people allow strangers a sneak-peak into their worlds and into their minds through pictures, messages and blogs, it is very difficult to know where the line of privacy is drawn. But anything you say will turn into a bigger story five people down and that fifth version is what we call “A Rumor” ..

It is fake, it is made up and yet, so unbelievably juicy. It is an individual’s responsibility to check with the source before spreading it around. If the source is unreachable, then maybe it’s time to put a stop to that story.

There are, of course, times when the source is lying to look cool. These are the times when you have to trust your own judgement. These are the times when you have to decide if you want to be the person that has the juiciest story or the one that does the right thing.

When we say we heard a rumor, it feels like such a petty thing. But I assure you, it’s not. I’m pretty sure 7 out of 10 rumors ruin lives. They change the person and not always for good. Any rumor about me would make me close up and go completely anti-social. Some rumors put people through mental trauma. Regular people like you and me have committed suicide because of rumors. So think twice before you click on that website to read about her new boob job. Think twice before you pick up that phone and talk about that secret you heard. Think twice before you make up a story to look cool. Always remember, if they’re gossiping to you, they’re gossiping about you.

And oh ! I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you. I just heard that rumor has it