I know it seems hard at times. Times like these when nothing seem to go in a right way. You seem to feel all the wrong feelings, mostly emptiness and nothing. You don’t like what you do or produce or feel and every night you wish it were to be the last one.

The thing is you never know how many people love you or were touched by you or were inspired. How many people are waiting to read your next poem or see your next artwork or listen to your next song. For you, these works might not mean anything but for them, it might be their only hope.

And it’s okay to die. That is the whole point of life anyway. Everything we do leads to death. But it’s nicer to live. To feel. Even the emptiness you feel right now. To sleep. To eat. To travel. To meet strangers on the road and have them give you some warmth of their fire. To talk. to drink. To read. To work on more shitty blog posts. For a change, it’s always better to live for oneself – for one more pint of beer, for one more story of your favorite author, for one more word you’ve not written yet. For one more night of warm blanket under the white ceiling where you promised to paint the universe one day.


Not sad.

Every time you ask me how I am, I have no idea what to say. “Fine”, is not in my vocabulary but I haven’t reached the “Good” yet. I hate saying, “Okay” but since I think today was better than yesterday, I end up saying, “Better”. Sometimes I might end up saying, “Great” but I regret it immediately because I would only be feeling great at that moment and not entirely in life. I probably was feeling great because I might just have had a chocolate cake or watched a good comedy movie or finished a good book. I must have felt great because Kaka took me out for lunch, or because I met my old boss or just woke up from a four-hour-long nap. I don’t feel great all the time. I don’t feel good even or even better or even okay. Most of the times, I don’t know how I am feeling and I don’t know if that is a good or a bad thing. What I know is that I am not sad anymore. I also know this is not emptiness because I can feel things, when I feel it. But am I happy? Is this a kind of happiness? I don’t know. So every time you ask me how I am, I have no idea what to say, so I end up saying, “Not sad” and maybe this is a good thing.


I finally realized what they meant when they said people will forget what you did or said but will always remember how you made them feel. Because right now, my memories aren’t haunted by what we did or said but how you made me feel when we stared at the tall temple counting the terracotta Buddhas and discussed about how lions must have entered Nepal. I don’t miss holding your hands or seeing your face or talking to you but I do miss how I felt – the feeling of being loved, cared and cherished – that there is a smile slapped across the face no matter how messed up life is at that time. I remember those feelings all too well, as we walked around the long narrow gallis of Patan, holding each other as you would pull me close. As you looked at me while I tried working, sitting in a cafe, sipping perfectly made chiya but couldn’t concentrate because I could feel your stare and thus my cheeks were warming up and turning various shades of pink bit by bit. What you made me feel that day, I wonder if I would ever feel it again. But what you made me feel that day also made me realize that I don’t miss you at all. Just the feelings. And the feelings will guide me one day to find what I have been looking for.


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Let me breathe.
In and out,
in and out.
Slowly and quickly.
There’s no hurry,
but I feel the rush.

Somewhere inside something cringes.
Somewhere inside something vanishes.
I feel lost,
not in my thoughts,
nor in feelings.
I feel lost in me.
And I know it’s not a good sign,
so I try to figure out,
what cringed in me
what disappeared.

There’s a calm inside of me,
hence I await a storm.
There is always a storm,
it gets nastier like a tornado,
as day passes by,
as second ticks off,
goes my watch,
I feel disgenerated.

Instead I wish,
I was disjointed,
flesh by flesh,
limbs, arms and body.
I was divided,
into more than head-body-legs,
I was symmetrical,
I was torn apart.

But I am one
and my body parts are one.
All they feel is what I feel,
calm but something’s going on,
deeper inside,

Hence I breathe,
inside out
in and out
slowly but quickly
yes, there’ no hurry
but there is the rush
of finding what cringed
and what disappeared.

Another VENT on the way!

It seems like I’m in a complaining mood today. Because that’s what I am about to do again. Just after few days of telling to my seniors at work that I don’t do those girly blog. *Sigh!

Anyway, do you ever feel like ripping someone’s head off even if they did no harm to you than coming in your way to your happiness unknowingly? Well I have been feeling that a lot lately. Not just one person but whole bunch of them. I want to grill them each and then probably sell their meat to some cafe and watch people enjoy them. ( Blame this one to DEXTER). I want to torture them each as I’ve been tortured today, feeling guilty and angry of not  taking that step. I simply hate that feeling, you know.

Remorse.*Another Sigh!

I mean I know that I always say heroes are sexy with remorse. But I am no hero. I don’t have any powers. I am an ordinary to abnormal level girl who loves throwing tantrum like a spoil brat (yuss, I just threw tantrums – again-to a friend few minutes ago) and have things her way. Maybe I have a bit OCD and BPD and others too, but come on, every one of us is insane inside. I only have lots of them in me and I love bringing them out. (Good for my dream of being a writer, I think)

Anyway, besides them, if I dig deep inside right now to search for what I am feeling is calmness. Strangely. Maybe it has to do something with this little girl I am talking to as I am jotting all my feelings down. She tells me to write it all down like I always do. Pen a story with anger and fear, end it up with love. How I miss writing them, these stories. Also, she tells me it’s going to be alright and calms me down as  I tell her about my hidden plan of destroying something (blame it on DEXTER again) and my dreams of travelling and writing, just like her brother.