Once upon a time, in a faraway land lived a young girl with her parents. She was quite the queer sort, had trouble fitting in with her peers, couldn’t read or write and had a terrible time at school. The toddler faced a lot of ridicule and humiliation at the hands of her teachers, had basically no friends. The only friends she had were two bullies, on was a liar and a thief, and the other had a hidden cruelty in her. They kept her around so they could brow-beat the girl for fun…children are cruel. At home, the parents always fought. Screaming, shouting and more…the parents didn’t have enough money, had a lot of debt and they were extremely incompatible. The mother was insensitive who always remained drowned in her own sorrows: She was an orphan, had a brother with down’s syndrome and it was through a lot of toil and trouble she pursued her education and became a teacher. The father was an oversensitive man: He was neglected as a child, never loved by his mother and the woman he loved married someone else. The only reason these two ended up together is because the wife looked like his lost-love, and the reason she married him was because she needed a safe haven for herself and her retarded brother. Until they started living together, the young couple didn’t realize how utterly destructive they were together. All the did was fight…to add to this uncomfortable situation, the woman was pregnant. She gave birth to a beautiful little baby-girl, and then ignored her for the rest of childhood. The girl grew up unloved and neglected, prone to anxiety and mockery…no one would help, they wouldn’t teach her anything. But she was an intelligent child, she learnt how to get their attention, since crying didn’t work she developed her listening skills. She became her mother’s confidante, her mother told her every minute, miserable detail of her painful past, her disadvantageous present and that is how the mother slowly started noticing her. To be quite honest, the woman hadn’t thought of her as a blessing before this.
I’m bored and vacant. Nothing comes to mind, not a single idea. What do I write? I am sitting here on my bed, feeling inexplicably blank. My chest feels hollow and my thoughts have no allure. Writer’s block: that’s the name of my infliction. What do I do with my time? I don’t have any work, television has lost it’s charm. I could listen to music but for some unfathomable reason, I don’t want to.
I need inspiration, something to entice me. This vacancy doesn’t feel good, I mean I am fine but I’m stagnant. Stagnancy is bad, still waters run dry. Maybe, I should tell you a bit more about myself. I love fast-paced music, beautiful vocals and deep lyrics. I never feel lonely, I love being alone. My most precious position is my freedom. I’ve mentioned all of this before. Nothing new to be added, and I don’t want to repeat my words like a broken record.
Everything is bland and I feel exhausted because of this inactivity. So much so, that I’m writing about the fact that I have nothing to write about. Maybe it’s the weather: gloomy and dispiriting.
I want to know why everything seems so ordinary. I feel a little dejected with my lack of material. If you’re reading this, how about some criticism? Tell me how I can improve upon my work. Maybe all I need is guidance and conversation to get back on track. I do not want my blog to become this dull, trite thing. Give me a hand, maybe? I don’t know, you probably have better things to do with your time.
Do you know what sucks? When people make you feel like a burden. Another thing that feels bad is when someone doesn’t have any interest in your life, and they make no effort to hide that. Watching an episode of a melodramatic daily soap is way more important than your blog post. This post is about a person I’ve previously written about and do I regret that. I hate myself for it now, I did expect that I would be beating myself up about it…but maybe not this early. I could easily just delete that post and pretend it never existed, but I won’t. Why would I erase my hard work just because some discourteous person doesn’t like it?
If anything, I’d rather use this emotion to jot down another post. Like a true capitalist banking on emotional currency. My family doesn’t like the fact that I’m blogging, they’d rather see me posting pout-y selfies and updating cliché statuses on Facebook. I’m not like those girls, I have nothing in common with them. They’re all about contouring, crop-tops and curves. I don’t have curves, I have rolls of fat on my body. I don’t want to be like them, I’m pretty happy with my hideousness. I’m happy in my loneliness. Is my website that horrible? You tell me, no wait…don’t.
For the first time in my life, I’m putting myself out there through the aid of this blog. A blog which I began right after a horrendous Math exam. When everyone seemed to be disappointed in me, and I felt broken. No one really cared though, no one still does. My parents have provided for me to the best of their capabilities, maybe even more than that…materially. But emotionally, I’ve always been alone and nobody has ever wanted to know anything about me unless I’ve spoken out. To everyone who sees me from the outside: They see a girl with an unkempt appearance, a blank expression and I may even come across as a total loser. I don’t really mind what one thinks of my clothing, but I do wonder sometimes…that maybe because I seem very plain, nobody wants to get to know me.
This situation is a great example of why I don’t like being nice to people, they’re never nice to me. And all I get out of this is some more sadness added to the hidden pile of sorrow, inside my mind.
I would sit down and have a good cry, but I only cry out of anger. Even though I am sort of angry and hateful right now, the tears just won’t spill. This seemed like the only way to loosen the iron grip of misery on my heart. Maybe I’ll go and take a nap now. Maybe if I sleep for a while, I’ll be less cranky. Just have to keep reminding myself that this despondency will pass.
Don’t want to start with the conclusion? Here are links for you: The Friend List: Introduction,The Friend List: Episode One,The Friend List: Episode Two,The Friend List: Episode Three,The Friend List: Episode Four,The Friend List: Episode Five,The Friend List: Episode Six and The Friend List: Episode Seven. Have fun reading!
I want to thank you for patiently reading my posts. And I hope you liked them, this is the last post that I’ll write about The Friend List. I am a very unsocial person and it is nothing less than a miracle that I’ve still got people to write about. Friends are the family we get to choose. A friend is the personification of serendipity in one’s life. Some of them are permanent and those who are transient…well they’re no less important.
Think of your life as a book. You’re the protagonist and everyone else is a character in it. Some friends are meant to be your companions throughout your journey and the others are there to make the plot more interesting. Mostly placed in those pages for the sake of character development. The important thing for us is to realize this.
Friends are important, but it’s necessary to know where you stand in their book. Don’t spread yourself too thin or sell yourself short. You too are your friend, maybe the most nagging and persistent one…but the one who cares the most about you. So spend time with this friend, learn to enjoy her company. Even if she mostly nitpicks your flaws and says hurtful stuff. She wants you to be the best you can be and that is why you need to befriend her.
Now I’ll be bidding adieu. I hope you liked what you read and enjoyed it. I’ll write something new soon, but until then.
Read and meet my friends, here’s the link for you: The Friend List: Episode Six. Hope you like what you read.
You know how people say that they’ve got a mom friend? I’ve got a friend who also happens to be a mom. My mom.
Brace yourself for the most tragic backstory of all time: I can’t tell you that. But it’s pretty sad. I met her on 24th June, 1998 at precisely 14:14. Before that I’d spent some time stealing her food and using her as a cushion. My mother is beautiful, and people say I look like her Xerox version. But she’s vintage, and obviously cuter. My mother didn’t like me much when we first met, she thought I looked like a doll but didn’t like how clingy I was. I liked her better than everyone, and I hated how she left me at home with strangers when she went to work. I’ve been an introvert from birth, never liked people…still don’t like most of them. And the feeling is always mutual.
As I grew up, she started liking me more. Probably because I was finally speaking like a normal human instead of that dreadful baby talk. My mom started to have conversations with me, and slowly I became her confidant. Then I became her therapist. She’d pay me for my sessions in hugs, kisses and detective stories. I love detective stories and guessing games.
Weird thing about my mom: she’s very funny but she’ll never repeat a joke, especially if you ask her to. You can’t force her to do anything, if you do force her…she’ll do the exact opposite. Another weird thing, she likes mocking people and often gets on my nerves with her snarky comments. This is an unintentional thing she does, without realizing how rude it comes off. Even more so because she looks like an adorable cuddly mother figure with loads of warmth and love.
If you look at my mother, you’ll see a huggable teddy bear, more adorable than Whinny the Pooh. But at the same time, you’d see a beautiful woman with a perfect face. A face with flawless features, only humanized by the freckles that adorn it.
Our family has a long line of odd people, my mother’s father, my mother and myself. My mother finds my appearance similar to her mom’s and my personality akin to her dad’s. My mother and I have no secrets. All of my friends know that whatever massive secret they share with me is going to end up inside my mom’s head. Same thing applies for me when it comes to her friends.
Like mother like daughter, she too is lazy and loves food. Is a high-key bookworm and an English teacher. So you get why I like writing and stuff. I make her read my posts, while I’m writing them. And she remains forever quiet when I ask her to analyse and critique my writing. Doesn’t say anything bad about it, she is a mom after all.
She has a magnet that attracts stalkers, let me elaborate on that. She has a friend(?) who is the self-proclaimed daughter to my mother. Don’t ask me why she doesn’t leave or why my mom never gets rid of her. That is best left for another day. This stalker and I don’t see eye to eye. I hate her guts and she hates the fact that I exist. And this leech has got her teeth so deep into our skins, that she’s almost become a part of our family. Ugh, I hate her.
If you’re wondering why I’m ruining this post with the mention of her stalker, that’s because I want you give you more insight into our relationship.The unwillingness my mother displays to cut her off is one of the things I dislike about her most. I feel she doesn’t support me enough, has a lot of doubts about me. Now with that said, she is also the only person who cares about me. The only person I somewhat love and I don’t like sharing her, at all.Oh god, this sounds sappy.
My mom is wonderful, cool and extremely lovable. People literally want her instead of their original mothers. She’s rude, complicated and brilliant. She’s a paradox, a contradiction. She’s a witty weirdo.
She teases me about my crushes, watches movies with me. Sometimes freaks out when I obsess about the perfection that is Sophie Turner. We have the best time together. Our relation is great, and I hope that writing this doesn’t jinx it. That’s all for now.
Have you ever felt extremely blank? I feel that way right now. Anyways, here’s the link to the previous post, in case you wanted to catch up: The Friend List: Episode Five. Enjoy!
Lately my posts have been a bit too positive for my taste but unfortunately, this post is also going to be full of rainbows and glitter. A post about the three guy friends that I have. All of them are like the three legs of a stool. They balance each other out. While the three of them are very good friends to me, I don’t know them well enough to write up individual posts about them. So here’s a combined one for you to read.
The first friend that I’m going to talk about is one of my most favourite people in the world. He’s funny, nice and is similar to a kitten in many respects. He’s like adorable and compact, and his presence has a default effect of calming me down. My exams go better if he’s around, he sort of suspends this sense of impending doom that I have. Makes me panic less. He’s got a knack in making dull topics and boring conversations into a laughing fest, you’ll never get bored with him. He’s great to be around.
The second friend is someone I’ve known since elementary school Didn’t really like him at first, but he grew on me. He’s a modern day Casanova who is like kryptonite to the ladies. Thankfully, I’m immune to his charms. If you can get past all the looks and the fanciness…there is a very generous person hidden underneath. The proverb: A friend in need is a friend indeed, is most apt for him. While he maybe a bit out there with his actions, he has the makings of an exceptional friend.
My third friend can be described as a recurring character in my life. He’s a very polite person, nicer than it should be allowed for one to be. Someone who has a very strong moral compass and has wisdom way beyond his age. He’s a sage, and he’s obviously making me more of a glass-half-full kind of human. He says stuff that I don’t understand and half the time what he says is like a tangent over my circular head. But his confusing company is still invigorating and enjoyable.
Boys and girls can be friends. By that I mean, just friends and nothing more. I just gave you three examples of opposite genders being friends. Let’s just agree to disagree, in case you don’t believe that. These three people are very different from one-another, but they’re all equally amazing friends to me.
My first friend sees the best in me, the second friend gives me company and the third friend is my spirit guide. All of them have very important roles in my life, roles that in some indirect manner help in harmonizing my emotions and sense of self. All my friends do.
I know that two of them will soon be reading this, and I’m still trying to get the other one to read. So when you do read this, I hope you realize that I’m being good to you and this is not a sentimental post, at all. It’s clean, hard facts in precise wording…so enjoy it!
And reader, I hope you liked this post. Just two more left for the series to end. Bye!
Okay, so my friend from The Friend List: Episode Four doesn’t hate me, in case you were wondering. She’s okay with what I wrote. Now moving on to the next person on the list.
So you’ve met my tiniest friend, now it’s time for you to meet my namesake with an extra K. She’s a make up wiz and can magically turn a hideous troll, like me, into the Queen of bad-assery. She’s always been my companion, at first reluctantly and then after a few years, willingly. Yes, I know that my childhood self sounds like a beyotch who was hated by everyone. Anyway, she’s a nice person, my friend I mean.
We’ve literally been together since kindergarten, because of our names. And then onwards, we were each other’s permanent classmates. Often mistaken as twins, because of our names (again). Appearance wise both us are polar opposites. I look like a fashionable vagabond and she’s basically a make-up clad pixie. I’m tall and she’s less so. I’m a broad Broad and she’s a petite person who looks younger than she really is. I’ve even pretended to be her elder sister in order to get her inside the movie theaters. She’s cute AF.
So, as I was saying that apart from being my namesake, she’s also the namesake of the “Traces of You” singer and Grammy award winner, without the O ( Anoushka Shankar, ya’ll). We have a lot of history, she and I. A few controversies, some jealousy on both sides but also an unbreakable bond. We have always shared everything with each other and even though she left the school I went to , our friendship remained intact.
Here’s a story: She and I used to carpool together. This happened when we were four or five years old. The bus driver stopped at the gates of my home and as I was about to get off from the bus, he slammed the door on my face. He chided me and interrogated me about why was I about to climb out of the bus, into an unknown neighbourhood. I was flabbergasted, befuddled, extremely confused etc. My mother came out and stood on the parapet, waiting for her daughter.
Suddenly, I noticed my mother leaving without me! And, guess what…another girl was by her side. My mother didn’t even realize, that that wasn’t even her own off-spring. Off-topic: This isn’t the first time she’s done something like that. Once, she crossed the road with her mother. Only it wasn’t her mother, it was a crazy homeless lady. So you see that this is a pretty ordinary mistake for her.
The girl was my friend. She didn’t say anything either…but how could you expect a toddler would be the one to point out the grown-up’s mistake? I, for once in my life, made a scene. Yes, I did. I screamed and called my mom. I started beating against the window. My mother turned her head back to see what was the chaos about. And it was then she realized, that I wasn’t the little girl holding her hand. Hilarious, I know.
We have many adventures together, accumulated enough to last a lifetime. A lifetime of tears, tales and laughs. But this story is my favourite one. We’re still very good friends and I even went out with her and had Ethiopian Coffee two days ago.
You might be wondering why I wrote that. The reason behind is that I hate going out. On the rare occasions I do feel like going out, they’re mostly a spur-of -the-moment decision…people often RSVP ‘no’ to such outings. But she didn’t because she’s awesome.
The only friend that I know will always be my friend. That’s her. Keep rocking, you amazing lady!
Bye for now.