Soaking in the moment

I feel safe. So safe; maybe in the corner of my mind – I just somehow associated openness with vulgarity. If I’m allowed to make the analogy, I feel like a flower. So soft, colorful, chaste. More like a bud. I like the secrecy. I want to embrace the world, yet see it fly away, while I’m left in peace – just me. Freedom.

I want freedom. Its all in the mind, agreed. I don’t feel like a slave to the system anymore (maybe that’s because I’m not doing anything according to the system – acads, time management, cordialities, people. Zilch) and the wheels are actually turning a lil slowly. But I can sing. I can sing down the house ;-) I can sing to a stranger, and revel in his appreciation.
I can giggle – and not feel stupidly girly about it. I can talk about ‘boys’ and then laugh with easy abandon. And finally, I can cry again. I’d held back for a while, god knows what I was trying to achieve! I can go through the cleansing, thankyouverymuch!
And when I sing, I’m sure everyone’ll listen. I have a power chord in my throat.
In fact, in the phase when I wanted the boy back, I was planning to sing and unleash the latent passion in him, get him to say, “I’ll reconsider”.
Because once, I’d sung ‘kiss me’ by sixpence none the richer, and then heard him say the sweetest nothings. We never realize them when we hear them, but they are gosh darned ridiculous!!
I can even be brilliant. A friend of mine has christened me the Greek Goddess of Wisdom, Métis. While that’s an incredible exaggeration, by a long shot, it’s cool, yeah.
I don’t feel vulnerable, but I feel charming. I think it an excellent phase. I know I won’t be stupid and jump into any lecher’s arms, but I know I can handle myself perfectly well around any Casanova without feeling tongue-tied.
~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Ooh! And it’s the end of the year. When in school, this was an absolute fun time. Starting early November, we’d have endless practices for Annual day; I was always in the choir and usually in some other dance item or something. Good fun. And then, the Christmas Party! In school, we’d have this one day, when we’d all just dress our best, (back in fifth, I was trying to catch the eye of this guy, Pratik. Yes, infant perv, I know. And turns out, through 9th and 10th he liked me!! Teehee) wear party hats, get all our dance cassettes in the hope of dancing and prancing around, and Shweta would get this awesome fudge, which we’d all try to get the biggest share of. It was so yummy!
Then Dec 18th was Rekha’s birthday party, and practically everyone was invited. Another frosted cake and dance fest. We’d have our Annual Day around this time, even the District Carol Singing competition, which we always, without exception took the trophy for.
Real good fun.
The end of the year. I don’t seek anything symbolic. But things seem to wrap themselves up for me. For instance, February through December has seen the most important person for this sixteen year old heart come and go. I call it a summer fling now.
I have grown tremendously. Unfortunately, same cannot be said bout my physical status. I am, and will remain vertically challenged.
I digress. I have really grown. I lowered my shields, widened my circle of friends, got to know of a lot of people all around India. Observed a lot. I don’t want a new beginning this time. I don’t want to ‘forget the past’ and ‘start all over again’. I want all this, and what’s to come, to define me. If I made mistakes, then yes, I am stupid. If I didn’t; good for me. Of course, also note, dame luck may or may not have been smiling all through. I want to see, what’s to come, like a wizened, passive, experienced and silently happy person. I feel older. I feel experienced.
I don’t want to preach, just observe, and maybe smirk a little, giggle again, like I’m being tickled pink.

If it was aspired of me, to give myself up to one person, to feel extremes of happiness and the same steep valleys of sorrow, if I wanted it all in huge doses, if I wanted ‘the teenage feeling’, if I wanted ‘all or nothing’, then oh powers that be, now’s not the time.
I will take it bit by bit, in small measure, and look at the world, opening my window just a wee bit every time. I obviously have a lot more to see, feel and experience. And I have the world to travel! And it’s good to know I have the time. There’s time, there’s the world, and me.
Good to know. And the rest of you can kiss my ass! (dunno where this sudden surge of animosity came from)
Disclaimer: if anybody chooses to associate this with holiday cheer and goodwill to all and the rest of the b.s. that they say the spirit of Christmas and tidings of the new year is about, then I have this to say to them: “bah! Humbug!”
Have a crappy new year!

shine on you crazy diamond!!

Why must I know what I believe?
Why put it all out for the world to see?

Why is what I believe so integral to me?
Can’t I leave all of this, and presume I am free?

Because, as I have come to realize it;
I am nothing if not for my beliefs.

The crux of my existence, is the truth that I seek
The bolster for my breath, is the tale that I weave.

My entire being is a mélange of my words, and actions.
My beliefs, if not govern, at least oversee these.

I am a virtuoso, a scientist, and cool
I am a doppelganger of the fuckhead, the shrew.

And when I do, and speak and am as all this
The time is right, and so the words will be.

But when its not, the despair wins
Overthrown by confusion; frayed hair beckons

And so it goes, that believe I must not;
For mistakes are privileged by most of us.

But then, what do I become? A mist, a hollow
A thing that has no voice, and thus no soul

Maybe, believe I must – and see what comes of it.
Isn’t that what everyone does? Oh! Life is such a bitch!

a puff of smoke...

I know i'll be addicted to ciggies.
I can picture myself lighting up every, i don't know, very periodic intervals.
What is it with smoking anyway? In my dream-pix I haven't seen it as anything more than a style statement. I like to picture myself shaking a long lock of black hair, when i'm trying to convince someone of my point of view - while driving down this hilly road, in this really awesome car (it don't have a name yet, so advertisements do your trick!) and holding a cigarette between two fingers.
Or, squatted in a meditating position, pouring out my zen wisdom to some poor soul that's all ears, camouflaged behind my fashionable ringlets of smoke, as I smile, speak and puff away.
I was, as can be seen from the title of an old post, intrigued by the post-coital ciggy. For the uninitiated, its your nicotine dosage after the fornication. Sources tell me that's one of the best, even better than the one immediately after coffee. Lemme picture this one, naked sweaty body (my tummy's flat in the day-dream *sigh*) arms outstretched, hair spread on pillow, body, other body, one sticky kiss shared- and then out comes the lighter, and the sexy ciggy. Ooh! I think the tongue feels better then... puritans, this is your warning sign, out you go!
Its a wonder I haven't jumped up and tried one as yet, enamored as I am by the idea. I kinda want it to be special. I wanna try it one cold night, when I'm alone, out in a nice cozy place, when my hair is bra-length (grow bitch grow) and I'm preferably in a foreign country, I ask for the tobacco in this foreign language, and out comes the lighter. Just the tip of the cigarette, the candle and its reflection in my eyes lighting up my thought path...
I was a passive smoker maybe when I was 3 or 4. I've always been especially close to my roly-poly grampa, maternal. And he used to smoke. I would sit on his lap, there was this huge window which he placed his easy chair next to, and the two of us would stare into the distance - him exhaling, me inhaling. I loved the smell of smoke (that, and of petroleum) and made the mistake of telling people about it. I wasn't allowed to sit on gramp's lap since.
When my sis and her friends would smoke in their gathering, I used to chide her, ask her to stop, like this middle-aged aunt. I donno why, I always knew i was more sensible, so much so, that I must've begun to consider it my duty to 'bring her to the right path'.
But lookatme now!


Frasier: Oh now, Bebe, tell me. What is so wonderful about smoking?

Bebe: Everything. I like the way a fresh firm pack feels in my hand. I like peeling away that little piece of cellophane and seeing it twinkle in the light. I like coaxing that first sweet cylinder out of its hiding place and bringing it slowly up to my lips. Striking a match, watching it burst into a perfect little flame and knowing that soon that flame will be inside me.

I love the first puff, pulling it into my lungs. Little fingers of smoking filling me, caressing me, feeling that warmth penetrate deeper and deeper, until I think I'm going to burst! Then - whoosh! - watching it flow out of me in a lovely, sinuous cloud, no two ever quite the same.

- from Episode 3.21, Frasier, "Where There's Smoke, There's Fired"

**************************

"I like to think of fire held in a man's hand. Fire, a dangerous force, tamed at his fingertips. I often wonder about the hours when a man sits alone, watching the smoke of a cigarette, thinking. I wonder what great things have come from such hours. When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind--and it is proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression."

- an excerpt from Atlas Shrugged

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the seven stages of life!

waah.
eww.
ooh.
aah.
peh.
aaw.
sheesh!

La-di-dum, ho-hum, ummm....

So, i've been meaning to blog. Have lots to tell myself, yet don't make the time.
I just ate a milk choco, (don't like those much, with the exception of milk treat) and i'm blogging in sheer want of something better to do. Not that i don't have anything better to do, i can study. But no, the princess will study feverishly only one week before her exams.
aaaaaaaaanyway, gawd, normal life can be boring. Reminds me, gotta watch a life less ordinary
I'm finally over the boy. Turns out i can be wrong. Why didn't i figure it out when he broke up with that other girl only after he started going out wimme?
I mean, we were all in different cities, so no chance of seeing things and all.
but eww!!!
And I even kinda found out, that it wasn't exactly him i was still hankering for, just the sadness that i'd made a wrong decision, and couldn't believe it at first. and desperately wanted to right all wrongs.
So, i'm finally over the boy. And in commemoration,

LINES FOR THE BOY, THE LOVER, AND THE BASTARD.

If it is asked of me,
whereof my time was spent,
and so where i gave most.
I'll have nothing to say,

but "a day that is past;
a joy nearly forgotten,
and a love that fadeth away"

~Moi

Well, its not really a man-bashing poem. But for man bashing, look up Alanis Morissette's You Oughta Know 've been listening to a lot of that. Feels good to be single.
Mmmm...
(btw, i recently discovered the joy of hyperlinks, so am celebrating)

A lil more serious now. I'm not gonna get into a relationship for a looooooooong time. I'll be more on my guard (subconsciously, its no punishment) and much more acidic. Lotsa people flirting now actually, i flirt back. Its such good fun! and those silly guys are sooo sweet!
I gotta take care o' my hair. Dandruff's recurred.
D's dead. or that's what i suspect. Hasn't turned up for college, tuts, not even a phone call.
Wow!