suno na
dil ye mera tumse kuchch keh raha hai
I have noticed a thing about me. Things hit me later than they should. My best friend told me he was proud of me about ten days ago, literally said it out loud to me, and it has come back to me today, on a day when I feel like everything is simply going to shit. Maybe what is coming back to me is his faint, lovely, soft memory, and I miss him.
Do I have a praise kink? Do I like being rewarded verbally by older people? Do I like it when authority figures regard me with respect and tell me how smart I am? There is venn diagram potential here for sure. But ultimately, I just do things and move on. Everything in my life is crumbling as soon as it’s made. Maybe because I am twenty and I have not had anything solidifying happen to me. As soon as I find someone liking me, I pull back. As soon as I am done with something, I put it past me and never look back. Until I do. Not the ideal way to exist. Please refrain from this.
Anyways, hello. This is all over the place. No format. Consider this an exorcism, a post-Diwali cleaning ritual.
December is here, almost. Or depending on when you read it, it has established itself on the porch, on the couch, in our laps, on our cold fingertips. If you’re not from my hemisphere, sorry, I do not think you should read this issue. It’s cold cold cold. My fingers will turn blue by the end of it, I cannot tell you whether it will be because of the cold or because of how I am feeling - sometimes I like writing such easy stuff, but please remember it’s always in a self aware way. Sad is sad no matter what synonym you replace it with. And I carry my Sad with me everywhere no matter how dressed up I get, more layers to unpeel that’s all. It’s like the thing I am running from is my own skin. I am not even running anymore, but I have not made my peace with it either. In winters, there are more layers between the world and my heart, but ultimately everything is covered with a layer of sentimentality, and everything is slow. It’s like god is up there, poking and stabbing us and sewing and needling us in winter. Little rag dolls. What if we all collectively got stitched onto a blanket of love, little patches. I hope my friends are stitched around me, I would like to have some company.
A thing which I keep close to my heart is the concept of goodness. Here’s what all I have collected about it over the years -
You can be good but you can end up not being good enough. And that’s okay. There’s no uniformity in this world, so you will never be good enough. So might as well let that notion go.
I personally think if I am good, I won’t have to do good. It’s kind of like how pretty people have this weird privilege, even if it’s superficial. So I have made a deal with myself, I will be so good that people will be terrified of me and they won’t come close enough to see how bad I actually am.
Similarly, if you’re doing good, you don’t have to be good. Kind of what fathers have going for them, you know.
If I am good at being a certain kind of person, I will keep playing the part as long as it’s needed. See point 3.
I ultimately want to be good for someone. Not just for their general existence, but I also want to make them the center of my universe and wake up every morning and tell them how I am going to be a lovely person that day, for them, because of them. Of course these are all pipe dreams. Going to carry all my pipe dreams and make a drainage system for the house of my dreams which is in my head so that my roof does not get flooded. Dreams should be of some use, no?
There is this hindi song (of course), from the movie Gupt. There’s this lyric in it - Ada, nasha, nazar, badan, sab kuch tere paas hai/ magar tu wo ghata nahin, jiski mujhe pyaas hai.
It translates to - Grace, inebriety, vision, a beautiful body, you’ve got it all; yet you’re not the nimbus I have the appetency for.
It’s actually a pretty nice song, good rhythm and all, but besides the point. The thing is, everything in my life seems to be this way. What am I longing for? Am I longing for anything at all? There is beauty around, I am sure of it, but none of it seems to move me these days.
But also on the other hand, I want to be this woman he is talking about. I want to have beauty and grace and a hot body and it’s okay if you don’t want me, as long as you know I am beautiful enough. Enough - such a stupid measurement quantity. Enough is a two faced bitch, a golden coin, you will not see it without Never Happening.
Are you tired of me complaining about being ugly yet? Well I will give you something else then.
I was going through my phone today to text someone about how I was feeling, and I realised that I don’t have a single girl friend in real life. I know, it’s very easy for you to assume that I am one of those pick me girls, but when you are twenty, it is not easy finding friends. You are not five anymore; you don’t get kissed on the cheek and promised that when you and your first girl bestfriend in this new city turn 23 (which seems as old as one can be), you both will get married to each other. You are not fifteen either, when there’s a bunch of you, all of you experiencing varying degrees of closeness with each other. If you are into girls, you’re dead meat anyways. They playfully kiss you or touch your breasts and you are like, yeah I am the most evil person in this world, they don’t know I am an intruder, an Imposter. Not normal like them, because you want to kiss boys but you also want to kiss girls. I like my guy friends, love some of them too, but it’s like, I am not man enough for them, or more like - not coherent enough for them. It’s okay though, we make do. This is not a serious complaint, but it is a part of me, what can you do. It’s not like I move through the world with a vehicular beacon attached to my skull gleaming and screaming, informing everyone - THIS PATIENT IS DEFICIENT IN FEMALE FRIENDSHIPS. THIS PATIENT NEEDS TO BE LOVED BY A WOMAN IN EVERY AND ANY WAY RIGHT NOW. PLEASE. PLEASE?
A lot of people have been telling me about their sexting adventures these days. I don’t enjoy the act much, it’s all words to me. And my own experience with it was very boring too. But I think I can be really good at emotional sexts. I think I am also really good at being emotionally sexy, if mentally closed off and distant is your thing, with once a week emotional outbursts I guess.
But, how to send emotional sexts? That’s the thing! You never send them. You write them or think them and keep it to yourself. You don’t want to be deemed a weirdo. Trust me. Let your emotions sit in your mouth like hard candy and hope that when you kiss someone, they understand how much they mean to you.
Here are a few examples though, because I have nothing to lose (say that in the mirror everyday in the afternoon: I have NOTHING to lose.)
- you make me want to rip my heart out and sew it inside of your skull and i want to get your hands tattooed over my breasts like an unlocking code only you can do it
- I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THAT YOU ARE NOW CONSUMING ALL MY THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS WHEN I BRUSH MY TEETH I THINK HOW IT WOULD BE SO NICE TO WAKE YOU UP WITH A MINTY KISS AND WHEN I EAT I THINK HOW NICE IT WOULD BE TO FEED YOU AND COOK FOR YOU AND WHEN I FEEL PATHETIC ON MY BED ALONE I THINK ABOUT HOW NICE IT WOULD BE IF I COULD SHOVE THE PATHETIC DOWN THE BED AND PULL YOU OVER AND ON TOP OF ME AND JUST HUG YOU AND THEN YOU BREATHE ME IN AND I BREATHE YOU IN AND THEN WE KISS AND KISS AND KISS AND THEN WE FALL ASLEEP AND WHEN I WAKE UP YOU ARE STILL THERE EVEN THOUGH OUR LEGS AND ARMS ARE ASLEEP AND THE TINGLING SENSATION IS ALL OVER AND INSIDE OF ME AND MAYBE THAT IS LOVE YOU KNOW?
- i wish i was a normal person and i wasn’t afraid of things because then i would give up everything and be with you and if you told me you did not love me anymore i would simply walk away because i would have given up on everything and that implies you were on the list of things i would have to give up anyways. so eventually i would be out there walking around like a madman, but content, because i did what i had to.
I think that’s enough. I think being emotionally sexy simply means being honest about your feelings.
Okay, time to wrap this up. I erased forty percent of what there was in this “newsletter” because being brutally honest is not going to save me for now. I am holding on for another month, I am going to try to be there, as much as possible. I can wallow in solitude when everyone has gotten what they want from me (please refrain from doing this also). But December is here, and it’s cold out there, and cold in here. Maybe I should start running for sure now.
You are going to get through this year, just a few more bruises to go. Love.
Will be better next time, promise.
love you very very much. i'm a few years shy of twenty and i feel similarly. we'll both find people we can be good for - in the sense that we help them become themselves and in the sense that we wake up in the mornings and decide to be good because they are around. in the meantime, all you can do is try, and you're doing an admirable job of it. <3
*holds you tight* *holds you tight* holds these words tight* *holds you tight*