Be mad. Stay mad.

Don’t preach to me about balance, the concept of it is lost on me. I am a person of extremes, I always make a choice… to love or to hate, to care or to be indifferent, to say it all or to shut up, to either be hyper or dull. Yes, it always is either-or. It always is about making a choice. No compromises. I live, and I live my way. Some call it the mad way, but I have seen people existing the sane way suffocate in boredom and would refrain from calling that “living”. Take my advice… be mad, stay mad.

Assumption

She was determined to rationally understand what went wrong. Assumption, she thought, was the convict in their relationship. When he said that is “our song”, she assumed our meant “him and her”. When she said she wanted pure
unadulterated love and he said that is what he wanted too, she assumed the definition of “pure unadulterated love” was the same for both of them. When he said “forever”, she assumed he meant forever. It was definitely not him, not
him… yes. Assumption indeed was the culprit, the only guilty party.

Her first heartbreak

Heartbreaks make you stronger, said the writer in this very sensible piece. How true, she thought… and how incomplete. Her first heartbreak had beyond any doubt made her stronger. It had made her…

Someone stronger
Someone broken
Someone else

Living through the pain

Being a lover of words, she tried hard to bleed out her pain on the paper; but all in vain. All the writing and words in the world could not help her even come close to the pain she was enduring. It was madness. A permanent devastation of a part of her. A part that made her more “her” than anything else in the world. She wondered if her eyes betrayed her every time she tried to hide behind the perfect fake smile. She did not know, but they did unintentionally reveal the agony that gripped her… not to the world but, only to the man who was the reason behind her misery. The absurdity of the situation was the fact that he too was suffering in the exact same way, but they were not allowed to rescue each other. All they could do was live through the pain and hope that it would fade in the future, if not disappear altogether.

Her presumptuous heart

What could she do with the raging war between her mind and her heart? Aaaah! Every time her unassertive mind tried to assure her that she didn’t love him anymore, her stupid presumptuous heart jumped out at her saying, “Major denial issues.”

Art And You

In her bid to escape the mundane, she had reached a beautiful quaint town on an unnoticed Greek island. As she was sauntering around the charming little town, soaking in the beauty and peace of it all, she stopped outside a cafe noticing a pair of sad eyes of a woman staring at her from a painting; she could not help but stare back. “Do you like the painting?” a husky voice asked her breaking her concentration. She turned around to put a face to the voice and found a man in rugged light blue jeans and casual white shirt standing next to the pots of brushes and an easel. She responded with a question as she realised he was the artist who created this piece of stirring emotion, “Why are her eyes so sad?” The painter studied the inquisitor’s dewy eyes for a brief moment and then looked at his painting. After a few seconds of contemplation he demanded, “Why don’t you tell me?”

That’s the thing about art and artists, she thought. A piece of art only assures you that you are not alone in your wretchedness. It is always about your interpretation, your pain. It is always about why you feel a connection with it. Be it music, words, paintings, photographs or any other art form. The fact that she could sense the pain of the woman in the painting was only a reflection of her own misery.

She gave a knowing smile to the cute brown-eyed painter, decided not to answer this time and turned to leave.

After a few steps she paused, looked back, winked at him and said, “Efharisto.” This time he gave her a reassuring smile.

This too shall pass

She entered her room, it was unusually quiet and not in a good way. She loved her solitude, but not today.  She went through her normal routine around home craving distraction. Never did she feel so completely alone. Then the phone rang. It was her friend.

“Don’t use repression as a coping mechanism,  your behavior is unnatural,” her friend blasted in a concerned tone. “This act of being strong, stoic, calm and unbreakable isn’t fooling anyone.”

That was it. The realization of the pain ahead dawned on her. It was only going to get worse. She had asked him to disappear from her life for good. She was waiting for the “good” to show its face. The pain was unbearable. The harder she tried to conceal her volcanic emotions, the more they raged through her. Sobbing and wailing in all her brokenness, she kept repeating in her head this too shall pass.

And one more time she had to cry herself to sleep.