tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29872621265218535032024-02-20T18:44:19.735-08:00Effleurer Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-19266363612070771852020-03-20T10:07:00.005-07:002020-03-20T10:07:52.208-07:00One more day<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The only way out is through,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tell myself over and over, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">trying to drill the fact into my brain.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The only way out is through, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I say as I soldier on, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">one foot in front of the other; </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">one more year, one more month, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">one more week, one more day. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">One more day. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">One more day. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The pile I carry on my back gets bigger, heavier</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">it gets more insistent, more demanding,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">it shifts and stretches </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">until I no longer just carry it,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">my whole existence is controlled by it,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">it shifts and stretches, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I recoil and drawback until I'm no longer my own</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">One more day. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">One more day.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">If anything I've become a phantom</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">pulled around by a thread that only gets thinner, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">an empty shell of a person who used to be something</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">but no longer is. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The incessant thoughts in my head keep pushing and pulling,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">they swarm around me like ravenous animals,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">waiting for their prey,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">like waves breaking on the shore,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">they never stop. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I move in the world precariously, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">the simplest things have become incomprehensible, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">words and sentiments go through me, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">unfathomable and distant. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've become fluent in ways to desensitize myself,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">my drawers and cupboards are always full, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">with one substance or another,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">as long as my mind is numb.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bitterness comes easy</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">when all I can think of is</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">the years stolen from me,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">the days I've spent confined and silenced,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Breathing, on the other hand, is not an easy feat</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">when claustrophobia looms over me,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">like a heavy concrete cage, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">in the most open spaces. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My body shuts down,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">my lungs threaten to collapse,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">"if we don't get out soon we're doomed",</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">they both declare.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">One more day.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">One more day.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tell myself,</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">the only way out is through.</span></span>Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-18349096312284861142019-09-19T18:49:00.002-07:002019-09-19T18:49:41.922-07:00To Tom (9)<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'd say that this is one of my less graceful letters and it's also one I've been too scared to write. I guess you do get braver as time goes by. I've always avoided using the word lonely in any letter, any conversation; I tiptoe by the word cautiously, circle around it like a potential threat, I make sure never to use it as a description of myself. If you get to close, it bites. Don't get me wrong, I'm not really scared of loneliness; I've known lonely, I've been lonely, I lay down my weapons and sleep next to it every night, it doesn't scare me. It doesn't scare me as long as it's unpronounced, because saying it is an open and public declaration that I "need" someone and that is a place of vulnerability I absolutely refuse to step into. I know you frown on my constant flight from vulnerability and I know you think of me as too proud. Maybe I am. Believe me, Tom, I've tried to be like you; open, vulnerable, graceful even in turmoil, but I'm not built like that. I'm built for the graceless disarrayed quiet. The one you brush by, scrunch your nose at and never stay. You hold your breath until you're well out of sight, then you breathe right again. I know you can see through me so I won't tell you I've made my peace with it. I haven't really made peace with anything, but I repeat like a mantra, over and over again, trying to manifest it into existence. "That which we manifest is before us", I tell myself through the disquiet. That which we manifest is before us. Hoping it's true. Hoping I can be light. If one thing remains ceaseless, it's that I look to you for the light I do not have within me. And it perseveres.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #2d2e30; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yours always, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span><span style="color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.1px;"><br style="background-color: #2d2e30; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span></span></span>Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-68003532114641656272019-09-04T05:23:00.003-07:002019-09-04T05:23:22.270-07:00To Ada,I'm still hung up on our last conversation. I've accepted the fact that love doesn't really make sense a long time ago; there's no science behind it, no rationale. I think I've tried it all; sheer pragmatism where one plus one must equal two, where everything is measured, precise, calculated to the last bit, but I've realized that I can't be a pragmatic lover. I've realized I'm not a romantic either (I can see you shaking your head in disapproval, we'll see eventually). I'm not quite sure which part of the scale I fit on. Now that I think of it, I don't really mind not knowing. I've been the classic cliche of waiting for love and you know it, but I think I've been going about it all wrong. I've tried waiting, chasing, not wanting, pretending to not want it, the whole bunch. It obviously hasn't worked, and a year ago that would have caused me a great deal of distress. Now I think of it with much more ease, and maybe I've learned that from her. Braver, a bit softer, and more open. That's what I'm trying to be for the time being, and it's partly why I'm writing to you at the moment. I'm letting go of any preconceived notion I've ever had of love, if it comes, I'll try to embrace it (we both know I have trouble with that), and if it doesn't, I'll still witness it everywhere around me, and embrace the beauty of it, and the absolute chaos. Write to me, I really enjoy our conversations. I hope love adorns you soon.<br />
<br />
Yours always,Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-48151858891985510982019-07-10T14:52:00.001-07:002019-07-10T14:53:03.392-07:00To Tom (8)<span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you ever think about how mesmerizing and ever so scary a pause is? A pause, yes. I know what you're thinking, I am getting too caught up in minute things all over again, but hear me out. You know when you're about to get bad news? There's always this pause that says something horrible is about to come; and if you think about it, this fraction of a minute of silence is always more excruciating than whatever horrifying thing you're about to hear next. I've been directing a lot of my attention towards language lately and I've realized it's not just the words that make up a language. A smile, a shrug, a blink, or two, or a _pause_ are sometimes more weighty than a whole dictionary. Do you ever think about what it means? And how much this space one chose me to leave empty weighs? It's always this pause before someone decides to say I love you, or the pause before they say I am sorry, or the pause after they say "I love you, but.." Time stretches into infinity and seconds move like lumbering boulders, unbearably heavy, unbearably slow. Your pauses always scared me most, when you paused I always had this urge to take your brain out and dissect it, I wanted so badly to know what's on your mind because your silence always scared me. I knew you, _I know you_. Your mind is never at ease, it's always grinding, going back and forth, every word means something, the smallest gesture to you is bigger than the universe and that terrified me. Still, I'd take any silence of yours, any pause over a thousand words that anyone else has to say. Write to me sometimes? It's not just silence that's excruciating, I miss you.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.1px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yours always,</span>Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-41985175377217310812019-05-09T15:20:00.000-07:002019-05-09T15:20:20.831-07:00To Nick (2)Someone was talking to me about being in love with life, and I remembered you. I think I've been falling back in love a little with life lately, but I hadn't realized that until that person told me. She said it with a passion I rarely see with anyone, and it's the kind of passion that's contagious. When you light a firework, there's always this tiny spark that jumps out first before it's actually afire; that's how I felt then; like this tiny spark has jumped out, grabbed me, and ignited me. What struck me is that it's not anything grand; it's not about how the stars align, or the beautiful sunsets, or even being in love with a person. She said it comes to her in the mundanest of moments, like listening to a song with someone in the car. You don't necessarily like the song, it's actually a really bad song, but you're alive, and the person next to you is alive and it all feels into place. Years later, you'd look back and remember that one bad song in a car with someone you love. It's enticing and awe-inspiring. Life is still one huge mystery to me; it's excruciating and tender, it's beautiful and gruesome. And I am not here to contemplate it. However, I believe that in between all of those moments, those tiny flashes of time, there's this one spark that grabs you and compels you to fall in love with it. I've been getting a lot of those lately despite the uncertainty. It seems so unfamiliar, like something so distant, perhaps that's why I did not realize it. It still fills me with so much gratitude and serenity, and I thought that I'd like to keep this, as a reminder maybe, that it's not all bad, it's not all excruciatingly gruesome or lonely or confusing, even if it's something as short and fleeting as a moment, I'd still like to hold on to it. That's why I came to you, please keep this for me, and for you. Let this be our "Hey Jude".<br />
<br />
Yours always,Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-90563336491717635492019-01-06T03:36:00.000-08:002019-01-06T03:36:07.106-08:00To Tom (7)<b>Mama, take this badge off from me</b><br />
<b>I can't use it anymore</b><br />
<b>It's getting dark, much too dark to see</b><br />
<b>Feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door</b><br />
<br />
Dear Tom,<br />
It pains me to write this, it pains me both physically and emotionally. What follows is not going to be pleasant to read (and believe me it's the farthest thing from pleasant to write) so forgive the mess. I am trying to blurt it out before I lose the small bit of bravery I have right now.<br />
I have so much to say, and I am not sure exactly how to articulate. I am merely writing this for documentation's sake, I haven't been writing for the sake of writing since forever and just the thought of it makes me sick to the bone. It brings me so much shame, and you're the only one I can open myself up to.<br />
Shame. An emotion that has become too familiar, I know every twist, every turn, because the road always leads me there. I am so ashamed of myself, I get sick of the skin I am wearing and of everything that goes on within. I am just... tired. Yesterday I accidentally cut myself and I reveled in the pain, like I deserved it. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, hurting myself, my fingers itching to claw at the skin where my veins rest, my knuckles straining under the weight of me denying them the right to inflict pain on the body that holds them. I thought it was a moment's thought, that it will just go away when I am calmer, but I don't trust myself anymore.<br />
I almost crashed my car today, my head was buzzing with thoughts I couldn't drown out even with the music at maximum. Everything was a haze and I couldn't help myself, I almost did it. I wanted the crash, I wanted my bones to ache and then I wanted it all to stop. Cease. But I didn't. I am anchored and it's the only thing that's keeping me here and it makes me so angry. So angry because I want everyone anchoring me to just let me go, I do not want to think of anyone's pain, and I want mine to cease. Anger. I never thought I'd have so much anger; it's like everything I've been feeling has hardened and just turned angry.<br />
<br />
<b>There's a ghost on the horizon</b><br />
<b>When I go to bed</b><br />
<b>How can I fall asleep at night</b><br />
<b>How will I rest my head?</b><br />
<br />
My mom told me I lost so much weight I look like a ghost, I smile sarcastically, I don't tell her that for six days the only meal I had was breakfast. I am not sleeping much either, the nights stretch agonizingly and sometimes I can't go through them on my own. I am not sure how much longer I can linger. I am not looking for anything here, I won't ask you to send light my way this time, because I don't want it. I just want everything to drop dead. I'd rather you not write me back either. It'll make me feel less pitiful, and I know we've agreed that pity has no place between us, so let's not give it one now. How's your book coming out? I am sending you all the bits of light I have left, as always.<br />
<br />
Yours forever,Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-68168423600055128052019-01-05T14:32:00.003-08:002019-01-06T05:35:44.510-08:00To NickDear Nick,<br />
Do you know how some people say that writing in your second language is a lot easier than writing in your mother tongue? Well the theory goes like this: Writing in a language that is not your mother tongue lays a distance between you and the words, like you're standing behind a glass wall and your words are on the other side. You've never lived through these words, you know what they mean, but only from a distance. Your mother tongue, on the other hand, knows you inside out. She knows everything you feel, everything you go through, and even if she doesn't have the words for it, she knows you better than any other language. Because you see, language is not just some letters that are attached together to give you a certain meaning, language is culture, it's memories and scents and love letters. But here's the problem; English is not my first language, but it's become too familiar that i feel like the words strip me bare whenever i approach them. I become too vulnerable whenever i hold a pen in my hand and you know how much i hate vulnerability. I hate the idea of being exposed like an open wound bleeding for all to see. And for a while English has managed to hide that vulnerability to some extent. But now i feel like English knows me better than my mother tongue and it's very inconvenient for me. That's why i have decided to move on to another language, another hide-out, and hope the words can still give me shelter. Et je pense que le français est celui pour moi. I know you're thinking this is absolutely bizarre and that i should find something better to do with my time instead of think about these things. But what can we do? We are who are. Anyhow, i miss you, and i hope you're well. I know you hate the winter, so i hope this letter finds you warm.<br />
<br />
Yours always,Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-84126197106126633282019-01-05T14:32:00.001-08:002019-01-05T14:34:28.964-08:00To Tom (6)Dear Tom,<br />
I don't quite know how to start this. I know. I've been away for too long, and my departure has been cruel and inexplicable. Forgive me. I miss you. I can see you rolling your eyes and to be quite sincere, i am smiling a little at the sight of your face. I've always managed to exasperate you. And you've always managed to tolerate me like no one would. Like no one can. I miss you. The words seem tasteless and inadequate because they are. Because compared to how i feel they're a tiny speck of dust. I've ached for you. I still do, even when i am writing this. Tom, i swear there were days when i wanted to split my heart open on these papers just to get you, but i couldn't. I'd start my letters and my hands would freeze, everything would stand still. The words flee and i am left with nothing but shame. I have no explanation. And I know you ask for none. You know me like the back of your hand, even better I'd say. My days haven't been kind. They're all the same; soulless, tasteless and so very tedious. I always feel like i am running after something, and running away from something. The nights haven't been light either. All my distractions fade and i am left alone with myself which we both know is not the best situation. Tonight, i am feeling quite alright. I was smoking a cigarette in my balcony and Bob Dylan whispered quietly, "the sky is changing colour and i must leave fast." It made me yearn for you and how you're always whispering "Lightly, lightly, lightly." Dearest Tom, please forgive me. You've always been patient with me. I don't know why, but if there's one thing that i can ask of you (and believe me, it's not without utter shame) is that you'd let this patience prevail. Don't let your heart harden, Tom because if it wasn't for the mere thought of you, I'd have gone mad already. Je pense toujours à toi and how you always held me lightly, quietly.<br />
<br />
Love always,Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-73161427807227184262019-01-05T14:31:00.001-08:002019-01-05T14:34:17.581-08:00To Tom (5)Dear Tom,<br />
I know I ended my last letter on a very distressing note, and I am sorry. It's kind of absurd that I put you through this with no adequate explanations, and I quite honestly don't know how (or why) you put up with me, but let me tell you, if there's one thing that keeps me from going utterly and irreversibly mad, it'd be the thought of you reading my words.<br />
I've been struggling with myself a lot lately, and I am so worn out I made peace with things I shouldn't make peace with. One of them is the reason why I am writing you this. I am half a person, Tom. It makes me sick. I am always there, but not quite. I am half a friend, half a lover, just half everything. Even writing makes me sick these days because the only faint connection I have with being a writer is these letters and they've become battered and worn and purposeless and I am sick of it and all my attempts at being something more. I've made my peace. I am here to tell you I've made my peace with not being whole. I have nothing to claim, and no person to call my own and in a sense it's serene. I am not here to grief because I've decided that this won't be how I end things between us. Yes, end. I've decided that I will no longer send letters, and I will no longer call you my own, because you, Tom, cannot settle for half a person. I can hear you cursing me under your breath now, I can hear all kinds of things, but you understand me better than most, and you know that this is what I have to do. You cannot settle for someone who's not here nor there, I won't let you. So this is where we part ways, dearest Tom, I will be leaving you here, with all the light I have to give, and I will only ask of you to think of me with the same light I think of you. I know you won't rest, but you also know I won't budge, so for the sake of both of us, do not send me any letters, I will not open them. This is a road I have to walk on my own, so all I ask of you is just to think of me with grace.<br />
<br />
Yours always,Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-86695906344686502982019-01-05T14:30:00.002-08:002019-01-05T14:34:48.965-08:00To Tom (4)Dear Tom,<br />
I've thought of a lot of ways to start this, I've been staring at my screen for exactly 2 hours, my brain buzzing and my stomach in knots. If you haven't noticed already, I haven't been writing, not out of lack of words, but because I am scared. And when I say I haven't been writing I mean whenever I "think" of sitting down and letting anything out I almost throw up. Literally. This whole letter is the farthest thing from figurative, mainly because I am too weary, and I don't see a point of embellishments when I am forcing myself to write. I've blocked everything and everyone out, and I am not exactly sure why. I've been telling my best friend that I am okay every day for the past week, she doesn't believe me, but she'll stop asking soon. I am like a toddler who's learning the alphabet except the alphabet is asking for help and the toddler is extra thick. He gets to the A, then to the B, then to the C, but never past that. I get to holding my phone, then to the text, but never past that. The ticking bomb has never been more eager to go off, it's corrosive and it's eating away at me like fire.<br />
And It's here again, the urge. I've been trying so hard not to go there again. I've been saying to myself over and over again that no matter how bad it gets as long as the urge isn't here it's okay; I will still put one foot in front of the other and make it through. I've been getting good at it, making through, keeping it together, smiling enough, pretending to listen, and I thought this is it, you're there. But it crept upon me, so quietly, so lightly (funny, right?). I am not here anymore, I am hollow, and everything goes through me. It's scary because the urge is here and it's telling me to go, quietly and consistently like a lullaby that gets stuck in one's head. It's here in the most mundane moments, it catches me unaware and it keeps telling me to go, Tom.<br />
<b>"You’re tired of movin', your body’s achin'</b><br />
<b>We could vacay, there's places to go</b><br />
<b>Clearly this isn't all that there is</b><br />
<b>Can't take what's been given</b><br />
<b>But we're so okay here, we're doing fine</b><br />
<b>primal and naked</b><br />
<b>You dream of walls that hold us imprisoned</b><br />
<b>It's just a scar, at least that's what they call it</b><br />
<b>And we're free to fall"</b>Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-75365708457529874932019-01-05T14:19:00.002-08:002019-01-05T14:19:28.460-08:00To EvaDear Eva,<br />
I get it now. I always used to think your "I close my eyes when music is playing because it helps me see" was just a romantic line of yours, you've always loved to make everything poetic. But I get it now, I do. I closed my eyes and saw him. And I swear to you, when I opened them, it was only him. I saw everything, Eva. The way the ghost of a smile would come across his lips at a certain part, or the way his fingers would slightly move of their own accord, I know he can't help it. Hell I even kept imagining what would go on in his head, does he miss someone? Does he ache?<br />
You know how when you're longing for someone so much that you start imagining them everywhere? I don't even need to close my eyes anymore. I miss you. I've been thinking too much, too too much it's getting suffocating, I even had this letter in my drawer for three days, thinking, again, too much about whether am I gonna add in what I am going to write now or not. I don't know what's wrong with me, Eva. Or maybe I do, I know my principle problem, I keep everything unresolved and I bury them, the thing is they never settle, they jump back at me with so intensely I can't take it. I fall, I fall and I fall and I fall, harder each time. I am always scared of my next fall. In fact, I think I am approaching my next fall, I am approaching my next breaking point and I don't know what to do, I choke on my words, it's like I have this unbreachable wall, and if even I can't push through, how can anyone? Don't worry, darling, I am not asking you for answers; consider this is one of the bottle letters that never reach anyone. How have you been? How many times have you fallen in love since we last talked? Tell me all about it.<br />
Love always,Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-32756019707387962872019-01-05T14:19:00.001-08:002019-01-05T14:33:41.796-08:00To Tom (3)Dear Tom,<br />
I know it's been too long, but that was our deal right? We will never be superficial, we will never allow mundane details into our relationship, no ingenuity of any sort. So here I am, reading this book about lightness and weight and remembering you. I wonder how one could bear both the weight of their existence and the lightness of its insignificance, all at once. It's kind of funny; I've had this book on my shelf for ages and I only happen to pick it up when I am struggling with both contrasts. There's another concept in this book, this concept is "Es muss sein"; it's a phrase that means "It must be". Do you think reading this book at this exact time of my life is my Es Muss Sein? Isn't this the kind of coincidence you'd read about in one of your novels? Do you remember that time we were sitting on your bed and you told me "I don't want to wake up tomorrow, Anna" in the most casual tone ever, like you were asking me what are we having for lunch? It horrified me. Not the fact that you didn't want to wake up tomorrow, but how calm you sounded when you said it, because I know you, Tom, you're not the kind of person that can conceal their feelings, your voice always betrays you, so I knew you were feeling as calm as you said it and it scared me. I didn't understand, but now I do. I've always aimed for the lightness of being, but I can bear neither the lightness nor the weight of my being. I want it all to go away, Tom. I can't stand myself, do you think it will ever stop? In my lifetime, I mean, has it stopped for you? Talk to me, Tom, I miss you like hell. I'll always think of you as the most precious thing I've ever had in my life.<br />
Yours always,Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-65557207644851248272019-01-05T14:19:00.000-08:002019-01-05T14:19:02.414-08:00To Suzanne <br />
Dear Susan,<br />
I've been confined in a crappy hotel room for 3 days and I had a vision. I'll keep it to myself for now until my soul is sure of it, you know me, one day it's a vision, the next day it's just one of those dreams. I feel different since the last time we talked, Susan. I am more worn out, more heavy with sadness, with loss. No, I haven't lost someone, I've just been losing myself bit by bit. I am so detached from everything, everything. Last night I was looking at the sea and I had an overwhelming desire to dissolve, for all my particles to be scattered in it, never come back. I feel like I am not fit to be here, I am not made for anything earthly. Since I mentioned losing myself, I am losing my writing, too. You have no clue how painful it is to sit down and write these words to you. I am quelling an irresistible urge to crumble the paper and just cry. It seems like all the addresses I've be given for home are mistaken. I think it's absurd to keep writing this, I just can't, I am sorry. I'm only writing to let you know, I am fine, alive, and well.<br />
Till we meet again,<br />
Wed, 8:07 PM<br />
<div>
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Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-55787139170166491622019-01-05T14:18:00.001-08:002019-01-05T14:18:28.120-08:00To Ezra<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "roboto slab" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've been reading a bit about how drama originated, you know I have a thing for beginnings and first times, and I think of literature, and how it began. And because to me, literature and love are more or less interchangeable; one thing leads to another and I am thinking of the first two people to fall in love with each other in the history of mankind. Do you think the concept of love existed then? Did language even have the word love in it yet? Because as much as I love literature, as much as I love poetry, there's something beautiful about having no words, no language to describe your love; the frustration, the ache in one's bones to express something unearthly, something at the time they didn't even understand, didn't even know existed. It's enchanting to even think of. I am actually quite jealous of those two people because imagine feeling this thing which you have absolutely no explanation for, towards this one person out of all people in the world. This thing that makes you want to touch them, or look at them, or just hear them breathe. Then imagine touching this person for the first time, I mean, do you see what I am talking about? Because hell, this would the richest version of love that existed, not your first love, but _the_ first love. One more thing about love, I've always wondered how people know they're in love, and now I think I've figured it out. It's silence. Yes. Not just any kind of silence, because any two people who are comfortable with each other's existences can be comfortable with silence. I think there is a kind of silence that's exclusive to people in love, a silence that feels like poetry, even though there is no poetry whatsoever. Your mind is blank, you're not thinking of something poetic, in fact, you might not even be thinking at all. But the silence embraces you with a feeling that only poetry can grant you. And this is when you know you're in love. </span>Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-81666143064048043362019-01-05T14:17:00.000-08:002019-01-05T14:33:31.349-08:00To Tom (2)<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "roboto slab" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dear Tom, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "roboto slab" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I think I am stuck in some kind of loop. I keep going back and forth to the same spot, with the same pattern, it's getting kind of pathetically funny. If you open your top left drawer, the one you keep all my letters in, you'll find that I am right. I am tired. Exhausted. Drained. And by the way, speaking of repetitions, you'll also find these exact 3 words in almost (if not all) of my letters. The words are worn out. One thing changes though, Tom, and one thing scares me. The wall gets thicker and thicker. I try to say something, to tell someone, but the words that manage to fight their way up my throat bounce back at me. Hollow. Weightless. And not sounding like they're mine. It's why I haven't been writing, too. The distance between me and my words keep getting bigger (I'm going to entertain you with the fact that I've been staring at this for 10 minutes trying to explain how it feels to lose my words, but I think this is explanation enough.) I can neither use words to explain myself nor to understand myself, now. I am utterly and wholly lost. Things are piling up and I am starting to feel a little bit like the ticking bomb hidden inside a teddy bear in the movies. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. I don't know when I'll go off. I am so alone, Tom, and the reason for that is that alone is the only place I know how to be without being ashamed. Please send me some light.</span><br />
<div style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">
Yours always, </div>
Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-48818570612424844102018-05-03T11:56:00.000-07:002018-05-03T11:56:10.437-07:00I do not tell himI am sitting in a microbus and the man next to me is getting a little too comfortable. I take a breath, and shrink myself in my seat, it's okay, we do this every day. Just 45 more minutes and we'll be home. He keeps touching my arm and I keep shrinking further. Another breath. I politely ask him if he can move a little bit to the right, he looks at me with appalled eyes, like I just accused him of something. Did I? I bite my tongue. I do not tell him. After all, you do not tell a random stranger these things, right? So I do not tell him. I do not tell him about the man who touched my thigh when I was a kid of no more than 13, then smirked at me, daring me to say something. I do not tell him about the man who threatened to slap me because I stood up for myself, or the man who spit at me for no reason at all. I do not tell him about the man who yelled "يا خول!" at me in the midst of a crowded street, I do not tell him how I felt then. I do not tell him about the boy who threw a stone at me and snickered with his friends. I do not tell him about how I dodge men in the street like my life depends on it, I do not tell him about how I'd rather walk through a thousand blazing suns than walk by a group of men. I do not tell him anything, after all, you do not tell a random stranger these things, right? Another Breath. He touches my thigh. Stomach drop. I pray. Even though God hasn't been exactly present. I wonder if the rules of physics would allow me to become one with the window next to me. I ask him again. He looks at me dumb and I envy him. I envy him because he is completely unaware of anything that does not revolve around his existence. I shrink and he stretches, like it was an invitation for him to take what presence I had and make it his own. He touches my arm, again. Fists clenched and jaw tightened. I can already feel my neck aching under the strain. How do you tell someone he's taking all the air you're supposed to be breathing for himself?<br />
I am tired, of shrinking my whole being for men. I am tired of folding myself into bits, and bits, and bits so I can fit in whatever tiny space they allow me. I am tired of shrinking my anger so I wouldn't be taken for a (God forbid!) man-hater. I am tired of shrinking my niceness so it wouldn't be taken for an invitation to something I never asked for. I am tired of feeling like I do not deserve to occupy a place in this world.Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-19048651953486673682018-03-15T13:52:00.001-07:002018-03-15T13:52:03.571-07:00To someone<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">Everything is piling up on me and I am crumbling down under the weight. I've been having more anxiety attacks lately, it's painful, and it's more anxiety inducing to go out of the house wondering if I am going to have one in the next couple of hours, to wonder whom I am going to be with, and whether I'd like them to see me this way, to wonder if I can keep it on the low, wait it out without anyone noticing. I haven't been kind to myself and it's not making anything easier. I drink coffee when I don't need to, I smoke too much, and I barely eat anything at all and when I do, it's mostly nothing my body can thank me for. The sadness is cornering and smothering me; and it seems like the more I try to look for the light at the end of the tunnel, the more the tunnel closes down on me that I don't know if I can make it out. I was looking at old pictures yesterday, and I saw my mom and dad. They were smiling, holding hands, eyes lit up, they were happy, and they had the looks of people who didn't know what was coming for them. Before that I had come home to my mom looking like she just made it out of a storm. Bags under her eyes, her face paler than I've ever seen it, she looked fragile, ready to be broken at any moment now. Her voice broke with every sentence she spoke to me and I had no words to comfort her with. You see, whenever I opened my mouth the words turned into air. Do you think that this is what life will do to us eventually? Maybe that's what it's doing already. Dimming us down, breaking us apart, piece by piece until all the light goes out altogether? I hope not. I hope The Smiths were right when they said that there's a light that never goes out, and I hope to all that's holy and sacred in the world that if there is, we know how to hang on to it before it's too late.</span><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anyway, I am still always trying to embrace all those who need embracing, and I am trying to weather the storm. </span><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">Love always, </span>Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-79341860030207535772017-12-26T06:48:00.000-08:002017-12-26T06:48:56.995-08:00To Joel, <span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "roboto slab" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dear Joel, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "roboto slab" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've been taking French classes (Paris, the ever-cheesy dream), and I've come across a word. éphémère. It's been two months since I've seen this word and it refuses to leave me. It means something that lasts for a short while, and it's more or less the same word in English. Ephemeral; which really annoys me, because if we have a word like this, so enchanting, why do we insist on using a mundane word such as temporary? And it got me thinking that this might be the whole reason why people are so scared of things being temporary; it's the charm of the words. I know I sound a little bit like a lunatic, but bear with me. If you want to confirm my theory, weigh out forever and all its synonyms with this word, temporary. Eternal, everlasting, endless, hell even the word always outweighs it. Joel, ever-since I heard the word éphémère and I've had a certain infatuation with temporariness. Now everything fleeting induces this certain softness, lightness even in my heart. I think I just had an epiphany. Maybe, the reason why I feel such sudden lightness and softness towards this word, and the meaning it brings is because it's so close to my favourite word. Effleurer (which means to touch lightly). I am allowing everything to touch me lightly and go, Joel. And it only took me two French words, and a love that's calm. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" />
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "roboto slab" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yours always, </span>Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-78519933472000344572017-10-29T06:05:00.002-07:002017-10-29T06:05:07.659-07:00Onism Onism n. "The frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time, which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out <i>you are here</i>" (In short, being aware of how little of the world you get to experience)<br />
<br />
Imagine, a word, made up of <i>only </i>five letters, is the reason my chest feels like it's being pulled down by a 12-floor building.<br />
A word, made up of <i>only</i> five letters, is the reason my eyes can't find it in them to give in to sleep.<br />
And speaking of sleep, did you know that the average person will sleep 229,961 hours in their lifetime or basically one third of their life? Did you also know that this simple fact managed to keep me up at night for the entirety of the past week?<br />
Because if I sleep one third of my life, when do I get to live my life?<br />
I read 10 books in parallel, not because I am indecisive, but because I want more than this world allows me.<br />
I always experience things half and half, because I am here, but I am thinking of everything that could have been if I weren't.<br />
I've always hated my limitedness. I want to burn each and every map that says I am <i>here</i> to the ground.<br />
I've always hated having just one, really short lifetime.<br />
The possibilities of everything I could ever be narrowed down to one life time.<br />
The idea of all the lives I will not live, all the universes I will not get to see, all the conversations I will never get to have, all the music I won't get to hear.<br />
In the end, I am only one human among 7 billion humans, on a planet that has 195 countries. One human, on a planet that has a billion worlds within.<br />
Do I dare mention the idea of the existence of other planets, other universes? I think not.<br />
It makes my bones ache and my mind strain.<br />
I am terrified of the idea of not living, the idea that I can only be one thing, or a limited number of things.<br />
I am being burdened with the weight of something that's not there. All the forsaken possibilities.<br />
It's both agonizingly beautiful and beautifully agonizing to be human.<br />
The agony of not knowing, the agony of having no control over anything, of having no control over being here to begin with. The beauty, the beauty of loving and being loved and getting hurt and all the in betweens.<br />
It's all too much and it's still not enough.Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-88775968076862874752017-09-12T10:40:00.000-07:002019-01-05T14:33:18.956-08:00To Tom (1)Dear Tom,<br />
Last time I wrote to you, I did so with an unbearable heaviness on my heart, a heaviness that kept pressing its weight further and further down my throat, claiming my body, inch by inch; my lungs, my heart, my legs, and those hands with which I am writing to you this letter at the moment, the hands that always helped me let go of my weight, that helped me scream metaphors at the sky when my mouth was choking on thorned letters; they, too, have fallen victim to the heaviness. It feels like forever, Tom, forever since I held a pen and didn't ache with every word that goes out of it. I have an urge to disintegrate my body, piece by piece, to understand. But I never can. So let me just tell you about the piece that has shown itself to me tonight. My longing. I long so much for the times I was lighter, for times when my heart found solace in the sky, or when the lyrics to my favourite songs used to make sense. Do you remember how much I cried when we heard Sleeping At Last's Saturn? You thought I was going mad; later on I told you how the line that went "How rare and beautiful it is to even exist" made me feel like someone held my heart between their hands and caressed it, how it sent fireworks roaming up and down my spine. You still thought I was mad, but you kissed me anyway. Now even as I write those words to you, it feels like I've already written them a thousand times. The light is leaving me, Tom. I am still trying not to use the past tense; how does one deal with the loss of the only thing that kept them hanging? I barely recognize myself these days; blank eyes, lifeless smile, empty words. All I want to do is detach from everything, and everyone. I am slipping away from my surroundings bit by bit, and it's not scaring me, it's comforting, but the loneliness isn't. Am I making any sense to you? Ironic, isn't it? A writer who can't describe how they feel. I'll stop here before you go mad. I miss you, I still remember the last time we met. The sun always seemed to follow you everywhere, hold on to your light, Tom.<br />
Yours always.Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-51831452340468077502017-06-21T05:36:00.001-07:002017-06-21T05:36:44.452-07:00To Leo<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dearest,</span><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't know exactly why I am writing you this, I am not sure exactly what I want to tell you. I just know that you're the only one who might understand the unfathomable, even to myself. I know you know what's coming next, it's the same old same old, really. I am so tried, Leo. It's like sadness lures me in, you know me better than most I am not romanticizing, but I don't know how else to put it. Sometimes I feel like there's something rotten inside me and it's the reason for my state, it's the reason for my constant despair and anxiety. I always have this feeling that something is chasing me, that something is going to get me for good. Sometimes I just wait for it to, you know. There is so much I can't say out loud, there are many things I am ashamed of, Leo. I mostly feel like I am looking at myself through a glass door; the observer is so much repulsed by the observed, sometimes I pity me, too. I am looking for answers in Bob Dylan songs, and I know he doesn't offer them, I am just desperate. I turn from song to song, from book to book, looking for a page or a line that would give me some sense of familiarity, anything that tells me that I am not so alone, anything that wards off this alienation. In a sense I know I am not _alone_, but it doesn't help that much, you know? Am I making sense? I keep going further and further into myself I don't know what is what anymore, Leo. This is the most I've talked to anyone since forever, but again, you know me better than most, this might be a quarter of the story. I love you, darling.</span><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: "Roboto Slab", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yours forever,</span>Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-6219545424886253152017-03-08T15:13:00.000-08:002017-03-08T15:44:43.218-08:00I dare not call it depression<br />
<br />
When I can't breathe because there is something so heavy pressing on my chest that it aches and screams, when something is clawing at my throat, blocking the air, blocking the words. I dare not call it depression.<br />
<br />
I call it a dark pit that I fell into, a dark pit I can't seem to get out of, but I dare not call it depression.<br />
<br />
When I cannot make it out of bed because I just can't face the world anymore, I dare not call it depression.<br />
When smoking is the only self harm I am brave enough to do, when imagining my lungs burning with every drag I take feels satisfying, I dare not call it depression.<br />
<br />
When everything that used to make me feel happy and limitless makes me feel blank, like a car ride, or a night walk, or looking at the sky. In fact, I don't even look at the sky anymore. I still dare not call it depression.<br />
<br />
When the light in my eyes is dimmed, when the light goes out altogether. I still dare not call it depression.<br />
<br />
When I fail to bring back any healthy habit I once had because what's the point anyway? I dare not call it depression.<br />
<br />
When I break down 3 times in a row because I just can't take it anymore, I can't take being here, I can't take staying. I dare not call it depression.<br />
<br />
When I can't stop thinking about the peaceful silence that will follow my last heartbeat, my last breath, I dare not call it depression.<br />
<br />
I dare not call it depression, because I know that somewhere someone is having it worse and they dare not call it depression, so how dare I?<br />
<br />
I dare not call it depression because I felt okay for 2 hours that day.<br />
<br />
I dare not call it depression because I am scared.<br />
I dare not call it depression because I am fucking scared.Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-71138979812748854952017-02-05T18:49:00.000-08:002017-02-05T18:49:00.971-08:00Reminders. (29-1-2017)<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br />1-You don't have to struggle in silence. And when you decide not to. you don't have to go for the stranger. You don't have to fear being a burden, or a dead weight. Your friend will hold your hand and tell you you'll be okay. And you will be.</div>
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2- Growth is tough. It doesn't come with flowers behind it's back. It comes with ache, it comes with mourning. But just like a flower grows out of the dirt, you grow out of the darkness. You become more graceful with each heartache.</div>
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3- You're significant, no matter how big of a place the world feels for you, no matter how tiny, or how unobserved you think you are. Your worth doesn't lie in your achievements. Your worth lies in your big heart and your kind eyes. You worth lies in how much you keep trying even though it gets so heavy sometimes.</div>
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4- Your feelings are valid. If you sway between happy and sad three times a week, it's still valid. If you sway between happy and sad two times a day, it's still valid.</div>
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5- Vulnerability does not equal weakness, it doesn't equal fragile. Vulnerability is human. It's okay to wear your heart on your sleeve. It's okay to scream. It's okay to cry</div>
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6- You're not alone, and even though alone sometimes feels like the only thing you can ever be, it's not. And even if it closes down on you to the point of suffocation sometimes. Remember that somewhere, someone is reaching their hands out for you, someone is willing to talk you through your stormy nights, someone is willing to sit there and just listen to you while you lay your heart out. Just remember." </div>
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Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-2225363882059447942017-02-05T18:48:00.002-08:002017-02-05T18:48:17.321-08:007/1/2017<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
"Two writers fall in love with each other<br />Two writers fall in love with each other and a big bang happens.<br />Two writers fall in love with each other and next thing you know, there is a novel about how knees accidentally brushing under the table is just like volcanoes erupting.<br />Two writers fall in love with each other, and their finger entwining make prose, and books are written based on the silent glances that pass between them.<br />Two writers fall in love, and their heartbeat<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">s are immortalized in words more breathtaking than any music, they write about each others' eyes and all of a sudden sunsets can't even compare.<br />Two writers fall in love, he makes her a goddess among mortals, she writes to him like he's an alter and her words are a prayer.<br />Two writers fall in love, and they breathe poetry into each others' mouth when they kiss, making love is writing sonnets on each others' skin.<br />Two writers fall in love with each other and they're each others' muse, their fingertips drip poetry like there's no escape from their overflowing words.</span></div>
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Two writers fall out of love with each other.<br />Two writers fall out of love with each other and the world crumbles down.<br />Two writers fall out of love, and you know words leave worse bruises than fists.<br />Two writers fall out of love, and the words are spit out of their mouths like poison, like sharpened daggers, except that they hurt more.<br />They say that when a writer falls in love with you you can never die,<br />but two writers fall out of love with each other, and no one comes out alive."</div>
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Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987262126521853503.post-61888242510213972392017-02-05T18:47:00.002-08:002017-02-05T18:52:23.275-08:0028/12/2016<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-family: "Roboto Condensed", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; font-weight: bold;">Unsolicited advice to lonely people with demons on their backs and voices in their heads. (After Jeanann Verlee)</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When someone asks you why you're so quiet, smile. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When your friend asks why you've been pushing her away, tell her that you're not. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you find yourself on the edge of collapsing at 3 am; do not tell anyone, you don't want to seem desperate. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you find yourself on the edge of collapsing at 3 am and you really need someone; don't talk to the same person twice, because again. you don't want to seem desperate.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When someone asks you why you're so quiet, smile.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you're in a place and you start feeling like you're background noise, leave.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When your chest aches because it's crashing under the weight of your demons, call for help, scream, cry, paint the walls black. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the voices in your head come from every corner, shrill and unforgiving, scream louder. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When someone asks you why you're so quiet, smile.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When your friend asks you why you've been pushing her away, tell her that you're sorry, tell her that you've been busy keeping the monsters at bay. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you find yourself on the edge of collapsing at 3 am, run for the phone, do not run for the blade, or the window, or the pills.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you find yourself on the edge of collapsing at 3 am and you really need someone, call someone. Tell them you need them. It's okay to be desperate. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #0077e5; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When someone asks you why you're so quiet, smile. They do not know about the demons. </span></span>Basanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378449440011861612noreply@blogger.com0