Thursday, September 8, 2016


It’s scary how lonely one must feel even in a bustling crowd. It’s strange how loneliness makes you hear nothing but a piercing silence even during head-splitting noises. What’s even more hurtful is the kind of loneliness brought along with the detachment. It’s shattering to miss one’s own self after detachment from someone so close, so attached with you; they take pieces of you away with them as they head to the opposite direction. How disengaging, how disenchanting it is for loneliness to come near to a person. Even loneliness itself does not want to stay alone thence always finding someone to get attached to. And oh how devastating it must be for one to feel lonely even without the detachment? How lonesome it must be for a person to have someone so near to them yet so far away. How lonely it must get as you hold your hand out to touch them but feel nothing. It’s the sickening loneliness that hauls vacant, craved feelings along with it. What would a smile feel like placing itself one one’s lips but not transferring its effect down to the pits of their heart? How much time does it require for the happiness to show up in their eyes? If the eyes don’t smile, is it even safe to say that one is happy?

And to top it all, what if one has no other choice but to choose the loneliness, the sadness, the isolation for oneself? How much time would it require to label them with ‘the one who is submissive to pain’ or maybe a ‘masochist’ if they remain true to their sad feelings? And exactly how many seconds would it take for the world to label them as a hypocrite if they choose to plaster their face with exactly opposite to what they feel?

If one could measure the hollowness of views and opinions, how deep would they go to finally measure the worthless hollow voice that came out to get listened but never got the required attention?

Living with loneliness is one thing but does the loneliness also die with us, or does it get worse off afterwards?

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Memory (Circa - It's Inception)

The street of my memory had no dead end but my cowardice had once shut its gate, bolted it tight, and threw a latch on it. This was to make my memory numb and lame so that it would forget to walk and travel through my head. There stayed this memory for a long time. Although it could not walk, its presence made my head heavy. To get my attention, it would jump up and down, throw tantrums like a spoiled kid, and create a cacophony of indiscernible sounds in my head. But I had locked it shut for a purpose and I was not going to open it. My head was growing heavier and the noises were getting too loud for me to function properly. It turned out that it was as stubborn and resolute as my unchanging will to open it up. I was at a war against myself and the battle was taking place upon the battlefield of my brains inside this shut, bolted and latched gate of the forbidden land of memory.

One day I got tired of this mayhem. I was getting old, my hair was growing white, the wrinkles were getting deeper and more than once I heard the crackling sounds in my right knee. My consciousness was getting more irritant and sensitive. So I decided to open this latch and get done with it once and for all. I did not know what would happen. I was unaware of what would become of me. Because of my ailing body and frail senses, I was even prepared for it to take away my life. I had to do something to keep it from shouting. It left me in wonders to know how it never grew old enough to go quiet like me.  I was amazed to know how vigorous it had always been through the various folds of my aging life. It was staggering for me to comprehend how much more intense its energy would become once it would get its way out. I wasn’t sure if I was able to absorb the consequences, the repercussions of this move I was about to make. Maybe it was the time to play my trump card. Maybe this was the moment. So I quietly took a ladder, climbed up, and walked toward that rearmost compartment of my brains where I had pushed back my hapless memory. I went there and quietly undid the latch. I unfastened the bolt and opened the gate once again. The hinges of the gate made a creaking sound for opening up after a long time and it hurt, it hurt so badly in my head. The gate had only opened a crack and I felt a thud, like someone pushed me down. After that, I felt tiny footsteps all over me. I knew what was happening. The memory was making its way out fiercely and spreading like cancer in my brain. I tried to get up but I was under the weight of my memory. Helplessly, I lay down there for hours and hours and let my memory go every which way it wanted to go. I was possessed by it. It was similar to what I used to read in the books about people getting possessed by an evil spirit. It spread like an ivy plant and took control of me. I could do nothing except watching it as it played itself like a film from the very start. I lost the track of time once I started watching it. I knew every character of this movie already. I knew how it was going to end. Watching it was a déjà vu but that made it all the more captivating. I kept on watching it time and again until I realized that the authoritative memory that ordered me to keep on watching this movie was nowhere to be seen now.

I got up and looked for it. I searched for it in every nook and corner of my brains. I was now feeling strong enough to get it by its collar, push it back again in a dark space, and lock it one more time with a stronger latch and an indestructible bolt. Surprisingly, I was feeling its presence but was unable to get a hold of it. I was running in circles like a madwoman playing hide and seek with herself alone, looking for it to show up. Where was it? It was there but it wasn’t there at all. I ran, twirled, fell down, got up, and ran again in search of it. After following the same pattern a hundred more times I realized that once the memory gets etched in your brains there is no way, whatsoever, to get a hold of it. It’s going to be there, not only as a memory, but as a part of the brains itself. When the memories are urged to stay put, they, without your knowledge, turn into a matter of the convoluted brains and stay there as an essential part. My memory was afraid of getting locked up once again so it protected itself from me by making itself indestructible.