Pressure. Intense.

I felt today was a waste.

I don't like wasting time. But I end up doing it most days.

What am I doing? Where am I going?

Maybe it's just the inactivity which gets to me.

Expression. Is so vital. To live.

Which is why I hate it when people say 'chill' or 'relax'. It gets me even more 'unravelled'. I love to have my rant and vent my fury or go wild - let me. I'm not burgeoning into your space, so why should it matter what I do? But people seem to have this tendency to raise eyebrows and say 'relax'.

Maybe it's simply because no one wants to be out of the crowd; everybody wants to be 'normal'. Which is pretty ... lame, seeing as nothing is 'normal' these days. ...Or is it?

Under Construction

I've been getting this ... itch, to just let go of human contact - all old memories, stop talking to people, chatting, scrapping, facebooking - anything and everything. Past, present, likely trysts - put an end to it all for the moment. I need to reconstruct myself, pilfer through a lot of emtions, build myslef up defence by defence again.

Though I must admit I haven't been through anything 'catastrophic' in the eyes of the world, mentally though, I've been a tad bit shattered and bruised, and keeping in touch with all those people from my past keeps on reminding me of all that isn't right with me at the moment. And it hurts to know that my 'tormentor', the villian in this one art of my life story, is doing pretty okay.

Sigh.

So do I know start pouring forth words laced with gall and take up that one inevitable topic of relationships? I have always found people pondering over their broken relationships irritating, so I must promise myself not to do the same. Though I don't think I'm one for dissecting it scene by scene; I just want to ... reassure myself, I suppose, that I am not hopeless in this domain, and that I will one day come across my knight.

But it makes me .... sad, more than anything else, that it didn't work out, and that our bond crumbled so easily and for the .... stupidest of reasons. 'A series of unfortunate events' rather. I've never been the kind to be liberal with guys ('men' sounds so much more elegant!), I've been of the old-school thinking that one forever will do just fine. But I stumbled upon this, I don't know how, but I did, and two years later, I'm here - where a part of had rather expected to be, and another part of me had not wanted to ever be. I cannot say which one was bigger.

And he is out of my life ... forever. I've deleted him out of my electronic life, but how to do the same from my mind? I dreamt about him last night too. And it's a bit annoying to be half the world away from him and still have him as my constant shadow wherever I go, whatever I do.

Time... that's what they tell me, time heals all, time changes things. But time is constant; it's more that the change we want to see in ourselves finally comes about. So I want the change NOW - so why isn't it happening? Am I really that sad and desperate to not let go? When, how, will I be able to become oblivious to the significance of May 1st, or forget that red folder in my suitcase downstairs?

And here I'm going to admit something out loud in concrete words, because the sooner I get this out of my system, the better. I fantasize that some day in the future, I will meet him and either he will realize the error of his ways or I will be a successful, self-actualized woman and that will be enough to avenge the death of my dreams. It's pretty embarrassing, but I can't help thinking like this sometimes. It's stupid, I know, and yet...

I'm a dreamer, I know that. Right now, I waver from smiling and wishing him a good life and getting angry at how well he seems to be taking this break-up (or so I have been told by someone). Time? Maybe. But it's that ... memories bit that bugs me... Maybe the fact that something didn't work out is a stain on my perfectionist view of life, and maybe remembering the good times isn't such a bad thing after all... but right now, the message my mind is stressing upon is - get rid of him, his memories, so that they don't evoke any emotional response.

Fading Magic

I get very easily disgusted. At things, at myself, at people, at the world in general. Sometimes I don't know what it is that I'm doing here, I want to wish myself away to a world where there are dragons and damsels in distress and wizards and knights and quests and sea voyages and letters in bottles washing up ashore. I'm a romantic at heart... or so I would like to believe, I think. It's hard to be anything but practical today... sadly.

When I was younger, I used to believe in a lot of things. Believe in myself, for one, that I could surpass any hurdle, accomplish feats and conquer milestones. But when you're younger, I suppose it's easier to see yourself up on top of the world. And then, inevitably, the magic disappears. I've wanted to retain it for as long as possible, but now I'm finding myself wondering - does it ever happen? I would love my life to be a fairytale (and if I'm dead honest with myself, a small but still significant part of me is still hoping it is), and yet all I see around me is a rat race to the top positions, a place in the good books to get you favours, a blind gold rush to survive luxuriously, which is becoming more and more a need.

For one, I never used to think about money as much as I do now. It's one thing to be concerned about money running out when you're living alone, but at each and every step? I figure - I'm young right now, I've got my whole life to worry about whether I'm spending too much, I should be having fun right now, within appropriate limits of course. But the very next moment, I'm reminded again of money, those crisp new notes I have taken out from my account and must wisely spend during these two vacation months.

I feel resentful towards my parents when I think about money, sometimes. It was only while talking to them that I learnt about the concept of their not being enough money and overspending. My father never bought anything without shaking his head while taking out his purse and counting out the notes; my parents used to discuss so extensively about how much was in the bank, or rather, how much wasn't.

It's a part of life? I guess. It's funny though, how much I want to control my life but seem to not be. I guess there's even some ... stupid pleasure that I secretly derive out of being miserable. I feel pathetic after I've had my little cry or my internal outburst, but it's a recurring habit.

Who I am

I am not a great leader, neither am I a famous sports person. I am not an eligible corporate bachlorette, neither am I saving lives by the second. I am not a best-selling poetess, neither am I a housewife with diamonds and pearls growing in her garden.

I'm just an aimless person trying to find my path in life. Sounds normal enough, I know. That's why I can't really complain that I haven't found my perfect window to look out from yet. I've got many aspirations, but no inspirations.

Sometimes I think I'm too scared to commit. To any way of life. I know if I wanted to be a doctor, I'd be a good one, or that I would pass out of engineering with flying colours. I would attend regular classes for an english honours graduate degree. But something in me is hesitant, always. I am, right now, doing a journalism and mass communication course, and sometimes, I feel it's a waste: I already know I'm not going anywhere with this degree. Or am I?

It would be wonderful to let peace seep in by saying that I let the heavens above control my destiny; yet I know it's not that simple anymore. And it wouldn't even do to say 'If Only...' or 'I wish...'

Big Fat Clouds... I love lying in the middle of a green field and watching clouds pass above my head. Staring up at the skies gives me a pretty good idea how vast the universe is. And I'm only one micro grain of stardust.