Self Worth.

what happens when you are angry? what happens when you make someone feel so small that they wouldn’t want to live anymore? what if these people you ‘hate’ so much can’t die anyway but can’t live either? these people you hate and throw yourself on are people. they are people like yourself with difficult lives and  remain angry and hated upon. they are as broken and torn, as low and cold and as alone and little as you are. they are equally significant too.

i cannot and will not be able to fathom why you act like you do. you people who hate so deeply, i don’t know what it is you want and how you live doing what you do because these things break people, your attitude towards their little things within their little insignificant existence, it breaks them. it breaks them how it broke you when you were last at your lowest. how do you get yourself to be to someone what broke you to see and experience? i don’t understand you, you miserable but confident, rough but significant, stupid but commendable, survivor but dead of a soul.

imagine our self worth then. imagine the dept of our scars and pain. imagine the battles we fight together and see how difficult you make things. cruel, miserable little, you; your prayers are failing as days pass and the significance of you breathing is lesser recognised but you want to stand over the weaker of your kind because “God is omnipresent” and you think He won’t mind because what He put you through was worse, so, you tell yourself stories as ridiculous and pity yourself limitless  burying others around you alive; because your self worth’s more significant? no. it is because you selfish little thing can’t believe you could ever deserve lesser than what you’ve already received and you will be glorifying that for the rest of the time you’re going to be living.

i mind that, it has made me crazier ever since i learnt to comprehend you and myself; and i’m suffocating in this superficial reality you’ve built for me. i’m suffocating because i’m forced to break and deviate and slash and burn everything in my little ways and it only hurts more. it hurts because i know every second of my time doing what you expect me to do is not me but i can’t be myself because you will bulldoze me till i’m not breakable anymore. you’ll nod and crease your face and deny but you know who you are and all reasons why you could be a better person but you weren’t and aren’t.

so, why aren’t you? don’t you know it hurts? can’t you understand the same things you try to tell that significant other in your life? can’t you just excuse what’s happened and not further the cycle of your miserable dilemmas? i wish you could because people like me would not fight to smile everyday, people like me who love the sky, the waves, the birds and plants and huge trees that sway, the candles and floating lights and the wind with its perspective fragrance, the twilight and the dawn and dogs with wonder for world and all other things; i fight myself to look for beauty and reasons to live and for simple goals like these you make me pay my peace as price. i cannot let you have more of my peace because losing it will drive me to become you, you hated and hateful little; and i only want to love these precious gifts of my universe, the wonders of my beautiful Earth, i only wish to sit by a tree and talk about my greatest experiences with love, it only takes me a while to simmer myself in this nostalgia of my innate being and you are waking me up so quickly.

it is beautiful what i see and you should see too, stop the fuss and faff of rubbish and embrace what you look through. the crows at dawn make me smile even around the sound of horns in distance, the chill in winter nights that clench bones and generate the slow but sweet warmth, the sip of water that fills your brain with freshness and light, the push-ups that reach your goals, the smell of flowers and food and the compassion in a stranger’s smile and the warmth of your passionate self; respect your self worth, it is what drives us all, it sounds so generic , oh, but how we’ve forgotten it all. such self worth.

PS: Red Wine by UB40 is my only savior tonight.

Love.

 

 

ironically, sane… so they say!

like every other day, i’ve had almost the usual fucked up day. honestly, i was never this ‘real-diction’ writer. no, i never was and nor am i still; yet for an unknown reason, writing liberates me in so many enormous and gigantic ways.
apparently. i don’t have much in my life to be proud of and neither do i feel loved every now and then like my other college friends.. for a reason unfamiliar, i feel so lost and frightened all the time.
it’s like a constant war of issues, things and mode of being and i feel short of any energy already.
my test of self-control and tolerance are seen lacking and i cannot escape this bizarre feeling.
when i was at one of my most favorite and old bars of Mumbai, Sunlight. and it’s always a pleasure to be there because of my past memories (which might not be the same anymore yet blissful). however, i have indeed, noticed this constant fight between my ‘real’ self and ‘ideal’ self. it’s an ugly scenario, it really is, because of these rich-assholes and their nonsensical money it has always conflicted with my way of life and my ideas of happiness.
god, how money speaks without language and gestures, without even life, how money speaks!
i wrote down everything. my feelings, my pain, my anxiety, my relief, my shelter and my peace. on a paper napkin and my old unused pencil and a bunch of high scumbags who get sloshed every now and then.
the drink in my hand, the cigarette on the ashtray lying nameless, the paper and pencil in front of me and the meaningless smiles around; i swear i had the option of writing and only writing because that did make sense. after tissues and tissues of writing i stopped, wasn’t i feeling better already? i realized how liberated i really was. the words i wrote on a piece of paper with the ever-most dimmest light, made so much sense.
this world is such a meaningless and an unarguably senseless place. it is one of those things you don’t want to comment on, it is that that you don’t want to rely on, it is something you would never want to believe; yet it’s alive. around you and within you. haunting your every move.
how the hell are you then free? just, how?
i am not free. i am not rich. i am but not with the crowd. i am a single-handed success and failure. all my good and bad belong to me. all my sorrows and smiles belong to me. all my burdens are pushed around to be heavier and all my love has nevertheless gone to the dogs and the tragedy is, i still care about these things.

you must be thinking, just what the hell is your point, Disha?
but i don’t have one. i don’t have a valid point. that is what troubles me. i don’t make proper sense in words but in my mind, i make complete sense and i make magic happen in my life when i let my imagination set free like an uncased bird ready to fly like never before. it makes me smile, just the thought of it.

i cried at marine drive today. in the twilight that i guess, expected me. i spoke to the twilight sky, the stars, the sea and the breeze, to help the demons of me.. out in the open and leave. and just when my eyes were filled with tiny little high tear-diamonds and i began to think i was alone even with Gaurav, i found a stray dog staring at me. Gaurav said, “look at him, do you see God in him? i looked into the dog’s eyes and i did see God. i cried till he understood what i wanted him to do, i wanted him to tell God that i wanted to meet him and talk to him. converse with him about me and his people and this world.
i don’t know if it was God but i thought i did meet someone who knew exactly what i was screaming inside.
i was alright at home, ironically.
i don’t know if this entire blabber made any sense to anybody ever reading this, but it’s completing soothing me right now.

PS- when a white guy, wearing a white ganji and a bandanna around his neck, sitting in a bar, tells a girl who has never felt special about herself, “please join me!” pointing a chair in front of him and then being refused by the girl again, dares to ask her again expecting a no yet trying; and watches the girl till she leaves the place.
really makes the day! it does!
i love bald men. preferably black, but anyway, as long as he is a man of steal balls.. i’m alright. 🙂