Mom

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How important can a three-letter-word be?

Mom.

She knew me when I didn’t know myself.

When I didn’t understand alphabets,

When hunger was an emotion and not a word,

When laughter was a face and not a joke,

When tears could mean anything,

When sobbing was a nightly activity.

Mom.

When school wanted to keep me away a few hours,

When I was but struggling to read,

When friends brought drama for free,

When boys developed a new identity,

When a bridge I crossed took her farther away,

When it was a struggle to not see her everyday.

Mom.

When life made me too busy,

When phone calls were made on necessity,

When a group of strangers filled up my time,

When she let me be and chose not to whine.

Mom.

When all my decisions went wrong,

When all my choices fell apart,

When love from him turned to dust,

When all I knew was not enough,

Mom.

When I was at my worst,

When I had given up hope,

When I had nothing but failure,

And she hugged me with love.

Mom.

She’s not magic.

She’s no superhero.

She’s a person

With never-ending love.

Mom,

It’s not just a three-letter-word.

She’s so much more.

Mom.

 

 

 

#IStandUp

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This is a problem. One that needs to be addressed.

I have an unshakeable memory of a moment in my life. A moment when my ObGyn suggested I see a therapist because she thought I might be depressed. The therapist was a woman in her late 50’s. And I’ll live a million years and never forget the way she looked at me as she spoke the words no emotional healer should dare utter to someone that might be on the verge of depression – “Imagine being at an interview. You and another girl are the last two contenders. You’re both equally talented. There’s only one difference. She’s thin and glamorous. You’re.. Well, you. Who do you think they’ll choose, sweetheart?”

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve wondered if that was true. I’ve wondered if I’d lose my dream job because of the way I look. I developed an inner fear towards interviews because of her. And you know what the problem is?

She’s just one of the many, many people in this world who, everyday of their lives, continue to make girls feel this way. Like they’re not enough. Like their physical characteristics are flaws that will haunt the dreams they’re building in their minds.

Why does a size 0 swimsuit model still feel fat? Why does Queen Bee feel the need to photoshop her thigh gap? Why does the covergirl on a magazine claim to be make-up free when every inch of her skin is carefully airbrushed?

Have you ever been so uncomfortable in your own skin that you’d pay a man thousands of dollars to alter it? To look in the mirror and want features that aren’t yours. Her nose. Her hair. Her cheekbones. For what?!

The 70’s boasted women who are now considered too fat to have a life. Bigger women were considered beautiful then. A new mother’s pregnancy fat is considered a disgrace now.

But why?

I was having a conversation today and suddenly, something struck me as ridiculously abnormal. When taking a picture with a friend, it is no longer important that only you look good. The person with you has to look that good as well. A human being no longer makes a friend based on emotional attitudes. They’re solely formed on the physical characteristics. He looks decent. He’ll make it look like I have decent friends. She looks hot. She’ll make me look so cool. If I take pictures with them, I’ll get more Instagram followers. This narcissism fuels the concept of “Look Good, Feel Good.”

Fifteen pictures later, there’s always that one person who comments, “Who’s your friend? She’s hot!” And just like that, out of nowhere, your insecurity appears. You stare at your mirror and you see flaws. The girl with a happy-go-lucky smile finds that nonexistent flab and picks at it. Workouts. Fitbits. Walk more. Eat less. Smoothen your hair. Get side bangs. Curl it in the bottom. A Brazillian wax. Inch after inch, your body is carved to the world’s concept of perfection when it is anything but. Only, it’s no longer called an obsession. It’s called “Being Healthy.”

Have you ever stopped long enough to wonder why the men, who’ve always spoken about a “thinner” woman, are suddenly asking for more meat in their women?

It was a few days after the floods hit my city. We were finally out of our houses and in a safer, more drier part of the city. My mother looked at me and said, “I realize now that maybe it’s okay for you to be fat. Some people are meant to be the way they are. You’ve really helped at a moment of crisis. I think you should stay as you are. You’re a nice person.”

I smiled. Not because I’d received a compliment. But because my mother had finally understood something the world is teaching girls to forget.

It does not matter how you look. Nobody cares if you’ve got a thigh gap. Kylie Jenner’s lips are NOT real or natural. Who you are to the world is not about promoting the beauty you possess on the outside.

It is embracing who you are within. It is feeling like a million dollars on your worst day. It is knowing that you’re worth something because you’re kind. Because you’re caring. Because you think and act with your heart.

I don’t want to raise a daughter in a world where the person she turns to for help is going to teach her what that person believes are her flaws.I don’t want to let my sister live in a world where she feels the need to walk up and down the stairs because she ate a slice of pizza. I don’t want my mother to know that the world she’s leaving us with is polluting our brains with everything we’re not. I don’t want my grandmother to ever hear about how, if she were twenty today, she wouldn’t make the cut. Because her beautiful soul will never make as much sense as the perfect winged eyeliner, the close to nothing stomach and an unhealthy waistline.

Who you are today is everything your daughter will live through tomorrow. Is this really the world you want to create for her? Is this the example you want to set?

Because I’d like to believe that somewhere behind those fake eyelashes are eyes filled with tears at the inability to be who you are. And I’d like to hope that this post is telling you it’s okay. It’s okay to not fit in. It’s okay to have thighs that stick together. It’s okay to not have an hourglass figure. It’s okay if your nose looks weird. It’s okay if your cheeks are chubby. It’s okay if your chin looks doubled.

It’s okay. Because that imaginary standard they’re setting? That will go out of fashion within the next decade and all this energy you’ve spent fitting into that stereotype will become pointless. But a good heart? A kind soul? That will always matter. That will always stay in fashion.

So take a deep breath and wipe that makeup off. It’s time to stand up for who you are.

#IStandUp for You.

Who’re you standing up for?!

The Lonely Goose

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Facebook, over the past year, has been taking us down memory lane. A recent trip took me to this status message:

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Romantic as it is, it also reminded me of something – I haven’t been in a relationship in five years. I’ve been in love, of course, but it never grew outside of my heart.

And if you’re as emotional as I am, you probably understand the desire to avoid that grey area in your love life. The one where you’re with someone without being with them. The moment your heart flutters at their name but you can’t call them yours. The physical and the emotional Friend with Benefits.

I can’t do that. I’m too serious. Too emotional. Too insecure. I need that security blanket we call a relationship. It may not last forever. I may know that the term ‘girlfriend’ will never turn into ‘fiancé’ or ‘wife’ even. But I still need that promise. That commitment. Even if it’s just for a little while.

And so exists those evenings. The ones we all have. The ones we can’t avoid. The ones we, as single people in our twenties, endure without a choice.

Yes, I’m talking about all you single people struggling to make ends meet with that all-too-insufficient money you’re making while working four times harder than the guy who makes four times the money you make and would just love to come home to someone for that oh-so-amazing hug but you can’t because you don’t have the time for a relationship and when you do, there isn’t someone who wants to date you!

I know how that feels! I know those long evenings where you’re struggling to not make that desperate call to that person you know is the wrong one. And it’s not because you’re horny, no. It’s because you just want to cuddle up on a comfortable couch and watch that crappy series finale of How I Met Your Mother and use that as an excuse to make out like teenagers who’re too afraid to get to second base while in the real world, they’re getting everywhere we aren’t.

It’s torture, isn’t it?! Your arms craving to hold someone. Your lips tingling to be kissed in that comforting, not-ending-in-sex way. Only, you’re sitting alone and you tell yourself – This is better. This means I’m going to end up with someone right. All this will make sense when I’m old enough to find the right one. When I have the time to find the right one. – And you believe it! You believe that little pep talk about the future and decide to distract yourself by logging on to Facebook and Voila! She’s not pretty. He was always an asshole. But here they are. Happy. In love. And you hate being jealous but “How does this person who is just not nice in life find love so fast and I can’t even find a boyfriend pillow?!”

I know how that feels. And if there’s anything that makes this worse, I know what it is.

LOVE SONGS AND ROMCOM MOVIES.

Adam Sandler, with his egg shaped head, goes on FIFTY first dates within 3 hours. You.. You can’t find one date if you lived to be fifty. So you turn off the TV and put on some loud music and try to dance your woes away. There’s only one problem.

Your playlist’s agenda of the day is to make yours worse. So your time away from all things that remind you of your singledom completely and utterly destroys you the moment your earphones blast Landon Austin, in all his glory, singing Once in a Lifetime and you’re wishing. You’re praying. That in that moment this would all fade away. That the Earth would open up and you’d be sucked into a vortex where it’s never lonely. Maybe become a part of NASA’s sleep for 72 days program so the need to walk becomes so high, you no longer want to cuddle. Or maybe take a family vacation! Surround yourself with enough drama and at the end of it, you’d scream at the idea of people!

Yes, I know what this feels like. This evening of being so miserably single that you’re almost ready to just give in and call that person who will be the biggest mistake of your life.

And I’m here to tell you, don’t do it.

Because right now, it sounds about perfect. But tomorrow, when you’re in the middle of an important meeting trying to embarrass the guy who makes more money by working less and your phone buzzes constantly getting you cold stares from every person in the room, you’ll wish you’d listened to me.

Better a lonely goose than an underpaid office clown.

 

 

 

 

 

Dear You

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Dear You,

You’re probably wondering why I’m writing this. You’re wondering what could be so difficult to say in person that I have to write about it. You’re maybe even wondering why you’re the one reading this. But bear with me this once because I can’t explain clearly what I don’t really understand. Yet here I go, trying to do just that.

It’s been six years. Six years since I looked at someone and thought to myself I think I have a crush on this guy. Six years since I wondered what it’d be like to go on a first date again. Six years since I’ve felt anything but love that terrifies your very soul. And I don’t really know how to do this. But I’m trying.

I fell in love. The crazy kind. I went on a first date. I felt butterflies. I texted all night. I giggled silly. I blushed through the day. I fell in love. And I had my heart broken. Ruthlessly. I told myself, “Never again.”

But then I fell in love again. The one-sided kind. There was no first date. There were no butterflies. I cried all night. I begged him to say Yes. I fell in love again. And I shattered into a million pieces.  Irreparably. I knew in my soul, “Never again.”

Dear You,

It’s difficult to rise from a lost love. I’m rising from two. I had the man dreams are made of and I lost him. I had the man I couldn’t stop dreaming of and I never stood a chance. You see, it’s not been easy for me.

But you know what they say. Time mends a broken heart. Maybe they’re right. For, I don’t wake up in the morning and think of him anymore. But somewhere along the day, I think of you.

I’m not in love. No. But I’m still scared. I have scars that run deep and a heart that’s healing. And I don’t know how to make sense of it all. I don’t know how to tell you of all the ways you’re helping me get better without scaring you away. I’m nervous, I guess you could say. But there’s so much more to this.

Dear You,

He said I have that look on my face. The one where he knows it’s your text I’m reading. We weren’t even flirting. But you bring about that smile I haven’t felt in a while.

And it’s not like you don’t know. I’ve said it in so many words and more. Yet it feels like there’s words to say that haven’t been spoken. Emotions that haven’t been felt. And I know you’re healing too.

But Dear You,

Waiting doesn’t help. Longing doesn’t make this better. You may think I don’t understand. But I do. I know this isn’t easy. Rebound never was. I know we both need time. Patience at most.

Patience to take this slow. Patience to understand. Patience to figure this out.

So I won’t ask you mighty things. I’ll ask you the simple ones.

Dear You,

Hold my hand. In the middle of road. In that all-too-awkward way.

Dear You,

Send me a text. In the middle of the day. And surprise me beyond say.

Dear You,

Catch my fingers. In the middle of a conversation. I promise I’ll blush all day.

Dear You,

Ask me out. In the middle of this sentence. And I swear I’ll say Yes.

Dear You.

 

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Write a love letter campaign by Chennai Bloggers Club

 

(Not) A Mistake

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Sex.

In my world, that’s a taboo word. It doesn’t matter if you’re married or not. You just don’t throw that word around. You whisper softly to ears that will judge. You blush when asked if it hurt that first wedding night. “You’ll be treated like a whore if you say that word aloud,” my parents taught me.

Sex.

I was 16 in a high school half way across the world. My only friend there said, “Oh my God. It was all about sex.” I looked around panicking. “Our Dean is here. Shh..” She stared at me like I had lost my mind. “So what? He’s married. He knows what sex is about.” Yet again, a word I wasn’t allowed to say was spoken for everyone else to hear.

Sex.

It’s the only way to grab a man’s attention I was told. It’s what a man wants from a woman. Dress carefully. Dress decently. Don’t let them see things you should show to only one man. Don’t utter words that aren’t meant for the one you’ll marry. Walk with your head down. Don’t giggle too loud. He’ll hear you. He’ll notice you. He’ll want you. And when he does.. “I can’t explain, darling.”

Sex.

“It’s nothing but an insignificant part of life. Lying naked next to a man is not what matters. It’s disgusting. How can you crave another body? How can you express a need that cannot exist? How can you want something you shouldn’t be talking about?”

Sex.

It’s what he saw in her. In that decently dressed girl who never spoke above a whisper. That girl who hid her beauty behind a mask of silent laughter and tied up hair. It’s what he needed from her until she was nothing but a ball of mess in a corner for anyone to see. Her mother’s words lost in ears that were filled with her own screams.

Sex.

All those lessons die within. When you learn from the world that sex isn’t sin. Because mother, there’s only one definition..

Sex is only sex when we’re both in it together. Everything else is just rape.

So don’t teach me not to utter words that are meant to create. Don’t tell me to hide who I am for a man who has no control of himself. Don’t taunt me when I dare say the words you’ll never approve of. The day you talk to me about it like it’s a mistake, you’ve enabled another man to believe it’s his birthright.

Sex.

It’s not what she had. She was raped. Don’t use her as a lesson. Don’t abuse what she’s been through for me to learn something that’s not true.

Teach me it’s okay to want another person. Tell me it’s okay to love a man, not just emotionally, but also physically. Taunt me when I ask you if I should let him do what he wants even if it’s not what I want.

Sex.

I’ll say it out loud for the world to read. Because it’s not a mistake. It’s not a crime, mother. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.

 

 

 

 

A Painful Addiction

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Like so many things I’ve talked about here before, this, too, is a secret well-kept. One I’ve often wondered if others have been through.
Doesn’t every addiction have company?

We were texting and it was a fight like all else. There was shouting. There were rude things. I told myself I’m going to block him. Then came the text I’d dreaded, right below his name – Typing…

Do you know that hammering in your heart when you’re saying goodbye? The one where you know it’s for the better while you wish something had been different all along? That’s how I felt. I stared at that word.

I knew in my heart I had to walk away. Block him now and never have this conversation again. But I stalled. I heard my mind tell me, “He’s going to type something hurtful. This will not be kind to your soul. He is angry beyond comprehension. Being nice isn’t what he wants right now. Walk away. You will break down over the words he’s typing. Press the button. Block him now and walk away.”

But I stalled. Because I wanted to see them. I wanted to see the names he would call me. The words he wanted to throw at me. I wanted to feel just how much he resented me. I wanted to feel my heart crash. My emotions sink. I wanted to hurt from within. To curl up and sob over the physical and emotional turmoil the words he typed would bring to me.

And for the first time, I noticed it. I noticed an addiction.

One I’d never known before.

Nobody talks about things like this. People don’t tell you this is a possibility. And maybe it isn’t. But it was there. Pulsing through me with a need that words cannot explain.

I called my friend and told him about it. I told him what I’d just realized about myself. And the more we spoke, the more instances I recalled.

Like the time I sat in a car with a boy I was dating and waited for him to tell me what I already knew. He’d been cheating on me. But I wanted to hear him say it. To hear him say he was sick of me. To hear him say he’d upgraded. Even when I knew the stinging pain I’d feel right after.

And the time I had a fight with my father and, instead of walking away, I stayed so I could hear him tell me how disappointed he was to have me for a daughter. I knew he wouldn’t mean the words he’d say. I knew my heart would still believe it. And when it did, I knew it’d shatter into a million different pieces. But I stayed to hear him say it.

Or the time I had the opportunity to talk about it all. To end the misery of being the messenger in a broken marriage. To finally be just a child again. The time I chose to stay quiet. To not end what I knew would consume who I am for the rest of my life.

The time I chose to stand beside someone I knew was breaking from within. I wanted to absorb what he was letting out. To feel what he was trying to get rid off.

Because an addiction doesn’t have to be material. An addiction doesn’t need a physical form. It can be something bigger. Something more disturbing. Something more life shattering.

An addiction can be a feeling. Of heartbreak. Of emotional damage. Of misery.

An addiction can be something you’d never consider.

An addiction to an emotion.

Wanting to be hurt. To be emotionally ruined. Wanting to hear the words they’ll regret in the morning. Finding comfort in places you know you’ll crash. With people you know will wreck you. An addiction to an emotion so strong, it breaks you. Piece by piece. Until there’s nothing left of you.

And I..

I am addicted to Pain.

And I don’t know if someone out there feels this way too. I don’t know if this feeling is common. If it’s normal.

But it exists. Deep within me. And I can’t shake this off.

So there’s no positive end to this post. I’m not going to tell you how I plan on beating this or how I’m going to work on getting better. I don’t know if there is a way to get better.

But I’m talking about this because I know.

I know this addiction. And it’s not easy. It doesn’t make sense to many. It’s a battle everyday. A battle where you repeat to yourself over and over again to walk away. A battle you always lose.

So if you’re out there. If you’re feeling the way I do. If you’re addicted to the one thing everyone resents and avoids. I want you to know you’re not alone.

I want you to know that I feel it too. Everyday. Every moment. And I know how it consumes you. How it’s destroying you. How ridiculous it can sound. How real it can feel.

I know this painful addiction.

It’s mine too.

 

 

 

 

 

My Hometown. My Heroes.

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We’re not that city people talk about often. We’re not that city that’s constantly on the news. We’re uneventful. Nothing newsworthy ever happens here. Except, maybe, Rajnikanth’s birthday. We’re a calm bunch that sip our filter coffees and obsess over the neighbour’s daughter’s office hours and new boyfriend. Our lives are calm.

But not today. Not this past week.

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Dear Mother Nature,

I get it. You’re feeling hurt. Perhaps, a little betrayed. We’ve become those people we tell the world we hate. We made promises. Big ones. We told you you’re beautiful. We took pictures of you in so many different moments. We told you how much we love you. Promised to protect you. Promised to cherish you.

Some of us did. But it wasn’t enough. Because the majority of us forgot. Not just the promises but we forgot how much we need you. We turned our backs on you. Materialism and comfort caught up to us. We did things knowing it wasn’t the best of decisions for you. We did it anyway. We became selfish. Self-centered. Uncaring.

So you became the crazy ex with a need to kill. And kill you did. I have never feared for my life until the night of 1.12.2015. I saw the water rise and found myself unable to stop it. I was Rapunzel stuck in her tower with no way out and I’ll be the first to admit – It’s not as magical as it sounds. I was terrified. But I’m still here. I’m alive long enough to tell you this. But so many aren’t. And I’ve heard it’s about to get worse.

I’m not ready for worse. My city is not ready for worse. We’re not ready for your fury. We should’ve been. We’re the reason it exists. Maybe if we’d been more careful, more attentive to your needs. Maybe if we’d kept our promises. Maybe you’d have spared us. But I’m asking you today. I’m begging you today. Stop the wrath you insist on shoving upon us. We’re not prepared. I can’t watch one more person die at your hands.

We may not all learn from this. We may not all learn our lesson. Some of us have seen what you can do. We’ll behave. We’ll keep our promises. Not for the fear of you. But for the lives of the others. We’ll protect you. But Mother Nature, forgive the ones who don’t learn their lessons. We’ll make up for it in years to come. Forgive the ones who continue to build houses where the water needs to flow. Forgive the ones who dump plastic when the world insists on cloth bags. Forgive the ones who’ll criticize you from this day forward. Forgive mankind for the flaws we’re born with.

You are called Mother for a reason.

With all my love and promises I intend to keep,

Human Being
Chennai
2.12.2015

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I remember waking up on Wednesday morning and demanding coffee to my mother like it was my birth right. I remember mentally complaining about not having an espresso machine. I remember wanting to go buy a few outfits during the weekend.

Then it all changed.

I happened to live in one of the most affected areas and I watched my city drown. I heard screams and cries all through the night as people missed a boat, a chance to get to safety. My neighbour drowned and died in the water while going to check on his brother.

I’m a hydraholic. I love the cold weather. I’ve never been more afraid of the water. I’ve never prayed harder for the sun to shine.

I’ve ranted numerous times about the lack of humanity in this world. This past week, I’ve seen enough humanity to last me a lifetime.

My hometown is filled with unsung heroes.

The night this began, I watched people open their homes to strangers and drain their batteries on their phones to protect the ones they didn’t even know.

Srilakshmi, Sriram, Kavipriya, Sindhu JP, Mahesh, Bragadeesh, Uma, Nandhitha, Prason, Deepak, Sharada and all of The Chennai Bloggers Club – You have brought so much happiness into my life over the past year and the past week, you’ve done the same for so many across this city! I feel blessed to have you in my life.

My jaw dropped at Swarnamalya Ganesh and her mother’s desire to help people who were stranded on our streets – the watchmen, drivers and maids – with food, water, tea and coffee. She walked in 5 – 6 feet deep water to give biscuits and water to a Tribal school.

The other family in her apartment. I hate to bring this up at a time like this, but I have to. For anyone that bullied Islamic people and judged them all by the actions of ten – here’s a newsflash for you. The man walked in neck-deep water to rescue older people stranded on lower floors and gave them a place to stay in his house until the water drained. How’s that for an incredible soul?!

A part of me wants to curl up and cry with trauma every time I’m in my room again. The smallest of sounds make me jump wondering if people are crying for a boat again or if something’s wrong or if someone’s dying.

The other part of me wants to cry with gratitude every time I see a volunteer. Chennaiites have brought this city back to life! I’ve seen a side to my neighbours I’d never known before. My judgements were thrown away as they lugged buckets of water from our terrace so I didn’t have to. Every little help counted.

And for all the nights I’ve complained about the lack of aircon, I spent 4 days without electricity. Books kept me company. Ellen Degeneres’ Seriously.. I’m Kidding made me laugh on a dark evening. I lived with candlelights. Food wasn’t for taste. It was for staying alive. Water wasn’t to waste. It was for necessities.

Today, someone told me that I’ve survived. That I have lived to tell the tale of how I made it through a natural disaster. But the truth is, I haven’t survived. I’ve been lucky. I had a stable roof, decent food, a loving family and the kindest of souls around me to keep me safe. I didn’t have to survive because I was lucky enough to not be in danger

But the rest of my city can’t say the same. And if it wasn’t for every volunteer, every Government worker, every human being that decided to help, we would have not risen in a week.

Thank you aren’t words enough for you.

Today morning I woke up and I asked my mother for coffee. I ensured I added a please. I sat on the swing, looking at the dry road and the shining sun. I was grateful for coffee. I was grateful to have clean clothes again. I was grateful to be alive and breathing fresh air inside the comfort of my house.

And deep within me, I knew normal would never mean the same again.

But we will survive. Because we’ve got each other. Like no city will ever know.

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Everything For Her

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I still remember those days. She was laughter. She was joy. She was as adorable as life got.

It wasn’t the easiest of transitions. I woke up one day and suddenly my world wasn’t just about me anymore. It sounded so horrible. But she made it better.

Someone once asked me what my favorite day ever was. I didn’t have to think because I knew. I knew the moment it happened that I’ll never forget that day. It was a day I spent with her. She played on our pretend swing while I fed her every time she swung towards me.

I remember the first time she scared me. It’s still our inside joke. She hid behind a wall and waited for me to walk out of our restroom. When I took too long, she decided against it and went for a “Hello.” Little did she know, I was so lost in thought, the mere word scared me more than a scream would have. I may be scarred for life but the way she laughs when we reminisce about it makes it worth the fear.

She is everything I’ll never be. Always has been. She was a parent’s day dream. I was the nightmare. She knew what she wanted. She didn’t aim for the sky. She aimed for what she could do. And she did it. I spent my life being lost in one dream after another that I ended up living none of it.

We’ve shared a lot. We’ve shared a room. We’ve shared clothes. We’ve shared secrets. Gossip. Life stories. Late night thoughts about the future. My dream man. Her dream wedding.

We’ve been on adventures together. Lied together. Laughed together. Fought the world together. Fought with each other. Teased people together. Teased each other. She taught me to be responsible. I taught her to sneak out. We had our differences. But we found common ground.

We’re not as close as we once were. She became a teenager. She found her friends. She found people she could relate to. But it didn’t mean we loved each other any less.

We still had our movie marathons and long late night talks. She still knew how insecure I could be. I still knew how much of a drama queen she could be.

And I still can’t believe the day is here. After so many years of treating her like a child, she’s no longer a teenager! She’s twenty!

I, of course, got her a present. Or twenty. Each one a little reminder of a moment we spent together. A moment we laughed together. A moment we lived together.

And as I continued looking for more presents that would mean something, I found this from Stylori:Screen Shot 2015-11-22 at 11.24.09 am

The moment I laid eyes on them I knew I’d found the one that would mean the most. For she is drama, she is love, she sparkles above everyone and she is twice as precious as every diamond in the world.

Most importantly, no matter how big a fight we’ve had, how embarrassed we’ve made each other feel or how much she loses my stuff, we’ll never give up on each other.

Because she’s not just someone I’ve known for twenty years. She’s someone I’ve loved since the moment she was born.

She’s my younger sister.

And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. ❤

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Please note: Upon insistence from a very dear friend, I had written this post for my blogger’s club contest. While I was okay writing a post for my friend, I still wanted to stick to who I was and what my blog stood for. So every word in this post is the truth. I’ve been wanting to write about the most important person in my life for a while now and I took this opportunity to do that. She did turn 20 in October. However, I did not buy her a pair of diamond earrings. I got her a goodie bag with chocolates, t-shirts & more of the things she loves.

Thank you for taking the time to read. 🙂 Love,

Poornima

 

Winning the Loss of Lives

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Multiple terror attacks leave 153 killed in Paris. The word Jihadhis has been thrown around. Innocent people run scared. Border controls tightened. “Death count might increase,” say sources. “We’ve got five terrorists neutralized,” say officials. What is Neutralized? Nobody knows. Could there be more? Nobody can confirm. What about the dead people? “Our deepest condolences to the loved ones of the deceased.”

“This is an attack not just on Paris, it’s an attack not just on the people of France, but this is an attack on all of humanity and the universal values that we share.” – Barack Obama, President of The United States

Let’s rewind a little. Let’s go back in time. A whole bunch of people sat in a circle and planned the very last detail of this. They decided who will be where. Which attack at which place at what time. They shook hands on it. They did one last huddle knowing this might be the last time they see each other. But they’re going to do this. Because a message has to be sent! The world has to know!

Know what?

Let’s take a fictional book such as Harry Potter. So many lives were lost so Harry Potter could live. Did he spend the rest of his life sitting in a room depressed? No. He went on to have children and a happy life. Ronald Weasley lost his brother. Harry felt bad for those ten minutes in the movie. Then he was fine.

This is how real life works too. So you’ve killed hundreds of people. Taken away mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, loved ones. You’ve taken away the bride who was to be married tomorrow. You’ve destroyed the life of the innocent child by killing the only family he had. You’ve broken the hearts of every family member there could ever be.

The person you’re sending a message to? He couldn’t care less.

“I’ll continue killing until I get what I want!”

Okay. Then what? You run out of civilians to kill? What happens when the person you’re trying to send a message to ultimately shrugs and says “We’re trying to stop this atrocity. We’re using all our soldiers.” ? You kill them all? Yet again, you’re killing people that don’t matter. Because the story isn’t about the ones who died. It’s the one you can’t kill. It’s the one your entire plan revolved around. And he will feel bad for ten days. Then his life will go on. He’ll be fine. He’ll laugh with his children. Love his wife. Enjoy old age. You’ll be rotting in prison.

And those lives you took? They become pointless. Because that message you sent was never going to have the impact you wanted it to. Your plan was a failure before it even began because people get over the guilt of losing even a loved one that ended their life to protect his/hers.

This is a bunch of people they’ll never meet. They’ll never know. Outside of the ones who love the people you took away, who are you trying to hurt? Who do you think you can hurt?

You’re not sending a message. You’re killing in cold blood just because you can. There’s no deeper meaning to it. There’s no bigger moment. There’s nothing but your stupidity and a lost life. So what’s the point?

Now fast forward to a day or two after the attacks. The countries across the globe will unite to bring justice for the ones they’ve lost. The terrorists will be sentenced lifetime or death. But here’s the thing. They already knew that. The moment they stepped out of that huddle, they knew their life was over. So that’s not really justice, is it? You’re simply giving them what they were already prepared for. So are you really winning?

The person targeted doesn’t win because what he finally does to the ones who were targeting was exactly what they expected. And what the person targeting is trying to communicate to the targeted is lost on deaf ears. So what was this entire ordeal about?

Killing 153 innocent civilians and robbing their loved ones of memories, moments and a lifetime of togetherness. Destroying venues that would someday be landmarks. Creating world news and hatred towards an entire community that really are very nice people.

So tell me. Who won?

#PrayForParis
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2 Years, A Novel & Thank You!

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TWO YEARS !

I remember sitting in my room typing away my borderline judgemental thoughts about the world of clubbing in a blog I created ten minutes ago and telling myself it’s okay if no one ever followed me. It’s been two years since that day!

If someone had told me then that I’d someday have so many of you reading the things I write, I’d have laughed. But it’s happened!

And I often find myself wondering. I understand why someone follows a fashion blogger or a movie reviewing blog. I never understood why you chose to follow and read a blog that has nothing but my thoughts and opinions on it. But you do. And you comment the most incredible things when you do. And on my worst day, when I feel the desperate need to give up, your comments remind me why I began writing. And why I shouldn’t stop.

For being my sole motivator, for helping me believe in myself day after day and sending me so much love,

Thank You!

The endless encouragement you’ve given me has been one of the biggest reasons I’ve taken up NaNoWriMo this November. For those of you who aren’t aware of it – National Novel Writing Month – do visit – http://nanowrimo.org

At the end of this month, I will have a novel done! Though I don’t want to publish this one, I intend to put it up on Kindle and Goodreads! I will definitely have a link up and all that. If you have other platforms you would suggest or you would like to read it on, please do let me know.

I still cannot believe I’m writing my 2nd anniversary post. Words can’t explain how amazed and grateful I am. This has been the most incredible journey and I can’t wait for more!

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU !

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Blurb of the book:

If love could be a person it would be him. The way he smiled. The way his eyes were always dancing with joy. He wasn’t a teenager lost with the world. He was a man who knew what he wanted in life.

He wanted me.

This isn’t just a love story. This isn’t a romantic comedy. This isn’t about the world’s greatest couple ever. This is just what it is. No genre. No category.

It’s exactly how my love for him was. It’s boundless.