The False Walls I Hide Behind

Today has not been a good day, emotionally. But I realise not all days have to be good.

At first I felt maybe I have extreme mood swings. Even my friends made me believe so. But then I realize that I feel things a little too closely, too deeply and it affected me as such.

I pride myself on being emotionless when I want to, on my face never betraying me. But I realise that in the process of building walls around me, I’ve forgotten that they are made of glass.

The stones thrown are making it crumble and I go on building walls, keeping myself busy, freeing myself from the emotions. I get angry and detached and then I feel no one cares as no one’s coming in, no one brave enough to come through the weak walls I’m pretending to shield myself behind. Then I get angry at myself – maybe I shouldn’t be putting in so much effort to remain aloof.

No one’s caring right now, if I come out a little bit no one would notice and I’d breath in the world. So I told myself. I told myself I’ll only let some people know that yes, I am out and about so I can explore the world in peace but also have company in the process. It is only too late that I realise I’ve made the same mistake again. I’ve trusted the wrong person. The masks are all I see hovering, all the people who’ve betrayed me, sneering at me and laughing, ‘this is your fate.’

I look down my balcony and I see the reds of betrayal slashed through the bushes in my garden. I see the people looming outside the gates asking me to come out. Their voices fading as I go further back in, in the walls I’ve made, the walls I’m now working to make double layered from the inside, making it that much harder for the next person to come through even as I crave in my loneliness for someone to soothe me and tell me it’s okay.

Creative writing

Life in a doll house

You know the thing about time? It happens. It doesn’t wait for you. You can’t catch up to it.

This is what you’ve heard all your life. What if I told you they are wrong? What if I told you that life doesn’t happen? It is us that happen. It is time that is running ahead at bullet speed and will probably crash way too soon than we want it to, incinerating life, us, in its wake.

We are not trying to catch up to time. We are trying to slow it down, to rein it in a little. Time is like the untamed alpha-wolf. It’ll let you be fooled into thinking that you are the leader, the alpha, until you realize that you are just a beta. By the time you realize that, it’d be too late.

It makes us think, no? That life happens, time happens, we happen. What’s the big deal? What are we doing here? We are all trying to comfort ourselves, fooling ourselves in the process, letting relations describe us. We form close bonds with our cousins, our family, friends, some maybe more than that. But a time comes when you realise that it’s all a farce.

The moment comes when you realize the fastidiousness of life. We are in a doll’s house, long forgotten in the attic, collecting dust as we speak. We play this game of life as we rot away, and ignore that yes, that is what’s happening to you. It’s a wonderful game that we’ve lost ourselves into. We’ve forgotten the attic that’s outside the doll house, the house outside the attic, the street outside the house.

Now we’re slowly rediscovering the world again, barely aware that the attic exists – so full of new things, bits and pieces long forgotten. A chocolate wrapper lying abandoned behind the broken cuckoo clock. The long forgotten dinner set gifted to you on your anniversary. We say we’re discovering a new world. But are we? It was there all along. We were just too dense to acknowledge that fact. Only now you realize how small a world you’ve found yourselves in.

And you realize the time you’ve been granted is too small, too short to discover it whole. But does that mean we don’t attempt at all to discover it? We could climb the walls of the doll house. Someone else will take the same way up and continue ahead. And here is the truth of all as you climb up and take your last breaths. Life is a relay. You just pass on the message of how it goes and walk on the trodden footpath. Most of us choose to walk on that worn-out path. Some have the courage to continue ahead and then the others choose to follow that new path.

But take a moment to consider this. If all of us went out to discover the world outside the doll-house and the attic, wouldn’t we discover the street outside sooner?


The Beginning and the End

Half of the the time my life doesn’t make sense and I don’t try to make sense of it. I just end up caught between the tangled web where I am not be able to get the beginning or the end. I think that is how a story ought to be. It should be all tangled up, where there’s neither an end nor a beginning. But, it is upon the author to decide upon the part when it starts and when it ends. Life is such, you don’t know the end or the beginning but you just choose a piece in the middle and start working. Everything else will fall in place.