#4: Letters to Sylvia Plath

Did you have a lot of friends, Sylvia? People who could console you on a bad day, people you could share everything with? Or was writing the only solace in your life? Was it only through writing that you could sort your life? Like for me, when I write down a problem, it becomes something real, like a real flesh animal that I need to tame. Writing helps me translate my problems from abstract to something tangible, something that is figureoutable. I write to understand the meaning of life, to decipher what I am feeling. I write on happy days so I have something to turn to on a sad day. I write on a sad day so I don’t feel too subdued by the pain. I write it down and it becomes okay, you know. It’s not a panacea, it doesn’t solve the problem. But it shrinks the size of the monster, it gives me courage to fight it till the end.

But I am not so courageous all the time. Sometimes when I fall down, I can’t get up. Sometimes I stay down for a long time. But eventually someone comes along, some friend, known or unknown, a confidant or a stranger, and they help me back on my feet. They pull me up, help me brush off the dirt, and tell me to carry on, to not stop till I am done.

We humans need humans like these. People who become heroes, people who have the kind of strength to have it all together. And no one, not one person is a full fledged hero. No single person can have life constantly pulled together. But on certain days, when some people break themselves, others might get stronger and wiser. It is on occasions like these, that the wiser person should help the broken one. It’s during times like these, the stronger person needs to step up for the weaker one.

Humans have been called social animals, and quite rightly so. We always need someone else to share our pain, our laughter, our irritation, our gratitude and sometimes we just need an assurance that we are not alone. That if we turn around right now, we will find our own cheering squad, people who are determined to see us win at life. Without these people, we all tend to break a little more, and hurt a little more. And to think all this could be avoided if we only trusted someone else enough to confide in them and just help each other out a little.

How many people have you looked at but never seen? How many people do you know, but not truly know them?  How many times did you take a chance, leapt up, crawled over the walls of your own heart for someone else’s welfare? According to me, that is real courage. To put someone else’s welfare above yours. Not many of us do that. It’s a real tragedy, I tell you.

I want to believe that despite how you felt on a bad day, or on a better one , you were lucky enough to have a friend. I want to believe that when someone else fell, you were there for them, in whatever capacity. I don’t want to believe you were just another member of an ignorant crowd. I don’t think you were another apathetic person. People like us who have so much hurt within our hearts, trapped within its confines, we can’t bear to see more people hurt. No one should. We just need more compassionate people.

At least that’s what I hope, that if I could be someone’s guiding light, then someone else would come along to lessen my burden of a dark, twisted soul. Everyone has a dark side waiting to be loved. Till then, we’re all desperately learning to clap for those parts of ourselves no one else appreciates.

Last edited: May 29, 2015


Christmas Traditions

Several years have passed since I thought I should discover for myself a handsome Christmas tradition. Something that I ought to do every year, something unique to me, something truly personal to me. In the past, I have had a hard time at keeping up with my proposals after some time passes. Gradually, the desire starts to fade or begins to shimmer with excitement a little less. So naturally, this Christmas tradition should withstand the currents of time and age. I should be able to follow it even when I turn 50 years of age. I gave it my constant thoughts, and could single on just one task which was reading! I have been an avid reader for as long as I can remember. I have solved murders with Hercule Poirot, I have taken the Hogwarts express, and I have been a willing listener to Emma and Eliza Bennet. I have grown up to rely on these books as my confidants and my eternal pool of happiness.

I always tell my friends I have been born in the wrong era, and possibly, a rather incorrect time zone. I was meant to trapeze in a floor length skirt in muddy parks with the Bennet sisters, perhaps. Well, never mind. Being with these very classics as my own Christmas tradition gives me great joy. Yes, it  might not be the most original thought ever conceived. But till I have a better social life-imaginary or real, I am content with this decision.

So I have decided, if anyone ever wishes to look me up in the holidays, they will find me curled up in my bed with a cup of green tea and an excellent book from the golden era. I am very excited to begin my journey into a new year with this resolution! Some years it will be me and Mr. Darcy’s pride dining together, other years it could be a sole date with William Thackeray, and on some occasions I might be discovered taking a train journey with Anna Karenina!

Everyone has a Christmas tradition, and now I do too!

When did we forget our dreams?

When did we forget our dreams?

The infinite possibilities each day holds should stagger the mind. The sheer number of experiences I could have is uncountable, breathtaking, and I’m sitting here refreshing my inbox. We live trapped in loops, reliving a few days over and over, and the same things each day. We respond the same way, we think the same thoughts, each day a slight variation of the last, every moment smoothly following the gentle curves of societal norms. We act like if we just get through today, tomorrow our dreams will come back to us.

And no, I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know how to jolt myself into seeing what each moment could become. But I do know one thing: the solution doesn’t involve watering down my every little idea and creative impulse for the sake of someday easing my fit into mould. It doesn’t involve tempering my life to better fit someone’s expectations. It doesn’t involve constantly holding back for fear of shaking things up. This is very important, so I want to say it as clearly as I can: FUCK THAT SHIT.

This is only a reblog of a post I saw earlier today. It reminded me of a simpler and magical time. Thanks for the reminder, Universe. :’)