I Believe in Me and You.

I believe in me and you.

I believe that I can fly and will not need you to be my wings.

I believe that I can walk out into the sunshine enjoy it on my own.

I believe that I can be the woman I want to be, I need to be, and I won’t need you to show me how.

I believe that I can grow into a butterfly and you don’t need to be my cocoon.

I believe I can achieve great things, not by your side.

I believe that one day you can be a guest and not a permanent resident in my memories.

I believe I can protect myself, for myself.

I believe that I can be a bundle of contradictions, an enigma, that you don’t have to solve.

I believe that I can eat chocolate ice cream and cry, but not about you.

I believe I can buy a book without thinking what you might have thought of it.

I believe I can make a joke and not wonder if you would laugh at it.

I believe that one day I’ll stop looking at the words you wrote for me.

I believe I can go to the restaurant where you told me you loved me and sit at a table for one.

I believe I can stop thinking about you.

I believe that one day, years from now, I’ll think of your face with no regret.

And I hope that we meet again, not as lovers, but as strangers in a crowd and just smile at each other. And no more, no less.

I believe in me and you.

I believe in me.

Part #1- Who Travels

“Three experiences, three stories, one emotion”

 

1. Date A Boy Who Travels.

Those who wander are not always lost. Date a boy who travels because he can teach you to wander.

Date a boy who travels because his magnetic wild energy will draw you towards him. He will seem foreign at first, but you will slowly warm up to him. He will excite your bubble-protected sensitivities.

His enthusiasm towards life will inspire you. And when he turns his untamed tempestuous gaze towards you, losing yourself in his radiant power will be the easiest thing you have ever done.

He will ask you to go to dinner with him to dine on a cuisine you would have never tried yourself. You will slowly but steadily fall in love with his tanned, worn-out face that contrasts perfectly with his ever youthful eyes. And when he smiles, his face will wrinkle up in a way that makes you want to do strange things. Like accompany him on his wayward but fulfilling journeys.

He will teach you how to live. You will spend hours navigating the earth that your ancestors walked on, experiencing more in your two-week journey with him than in your whole adult life. He will make you feel alive.

He will be the type of person to choose a small, handmade bracelet to an expensive watch, so gifts will never be a problem as long as they have a significance. Your wedding ring will not be diamonds, but a pearl that he found when he was wandering. And it will be worth a thousand shiny carbon pieces.

He will tell you that he was lost before he found you, and you will know that this is the ultimate compliment he can give a human being.

He will have travelled to so many places that he will have a deeper understanding of the human species, an insight he will never fail to use on you. He will understand that poverty is everywhere and so is human suffering. He will not shelter or protect you from the crimes of life, rather, he will teach you how to deal with suffering.

He will push you to your limits, and you will discover yourself in him. Don’t expect him to give you a lavish life, but he will give you a meaningful life. He will know how to ration money because he just wants to survive, without money, but definitely with you.

He will know you are his soul-mate when you overcome your fear of heights, and you agree to swing across the river holding on only to his toned body and his love as your safety. You will fall in love with him and his way of life, and never look back.

He will teach you to use your body to the full potential of human capacity. You will rediscover the simple happiness in life, and you will learn to see beyond individuality. You and him are part of a bigger plan.

He will teach you to be kind and gentle to all living creatures, yet teach you the importance of death.

He will teach you to love. And your children the will learn the same.

He will teach them that happiness comes from not what is around you, but what you can make from the things around you. And he will love you till the sun rises in the west.

 

The Loveless Storyteller That Didn’t Belong

“Great stories happen to those who can tell them.” -Ira Glas

She sits quietly on the side. Her green headphones engulf all of her face, but for her eyes. They dart from place to place stealthy but observant. People mull around her, and she knows that she doesn’t belong. But it does not bother her, because she came for a different purpose. So she waits patiently.

She sees happy faces and hears laughter echoing. Yet, she wanders until a face decides to start a conversation. As is a common trend, it is a boy with a drink in his hand. She knows his type. An alpha male who is actually an uninteresting, attention-seeking marshmallow on the inside. Boring, but she decides to give it a try. She might as well get something from the party. He hovers over her and casually tries to start a conversation. Then she looks up and their eyes meet.

She has cast her spell.

The bad-boy act drops and he is lost in her eyes. His nonchalant attitude is replaced by nervous anxiety and unparalleled attraction. He is deeply interested in her but also fiercely intimidated. He is intoxicated and her eyes are the toxin. She smiles.

She sees a warmth spreading throughout his eyes yet she can sense pain. She talks. He confesses. She didn’t expect much from him, but he surprises her. He isn’t like them, he isn’t entitled.

With a sort of nervous desperation, he confesses his story. He describes the story of his family and how at the tender age of fifteen, unfortunate circumstances lead him to break off ties with the ones that gave him birth. He had decided to live with his alcoholic uncle who didn’t give two fucks about him or what he did. Without the guiding force of his parents he fell into a downward spiral. His grades were as bad as his company. His body was on the edge of permanent exhaustion. More than substances, he abused himself.

He would have hit rock bottom on his little rabbit-hole journey had he not woken up in the beginning of his senior year realising he didn’t have a family, nor a future. The weight suddenly overcame him and he had to wake up, but not because he wanted to. He had to live his life well and not merely survive it. From then on, he has been working his way back from the centre of the earth and one day he hopes to reach the sky.

Yet, he expressed no need to have a happy family ending. His family is still of peripheral importance. That’s the difference between real stories and made up ones. Real stories have many rights, and many wrongs.

He shifts in his seat, but not uncomfortably as he did when he first sat down next to her. She has become a calming presence. Her eyes now shine with understanding and an affection he didn’t know he needed. But he needs it now.

She listens patiently as he talks about the career he has chosen. Travel photography. He says that it’s because he realised that there is more than one way to escape the world. Or just certain places of the world.

She feels a growing sensation telling her it’s time to leave. Her job is done and his story has been collected. She has done this countless times before. But she is intrigued by this boy. He seems to have grown into a man through the course of their conversation. Then she sees it in his eyes – longing.

She is used to her muses becoming attached to her, but her job as a story collector is to get close, but not personal. But this type of a longing is different from her pervious muses. It’s a longing that has been awakened in a boy who forgot what longing for comfort felt like.

Her eyes betray both her restlessness and her magnetism for him. He stops mid-conversation and gives her a questioning look. Then fear creeps up his body. He doesn’t want her to leave not now, not ever. Two hours ago he didn’t know her, now he cannot live without her. Once you have found your missing puzzle piece, you cannot afford to lose it again.

With great effort, she gets up. She can feel the tension in the air, but she has to go. She smiles at him one last time once with her mouth and then with her eyes. She gives him a peck on the cheek and turns around. She can sense him standing there, feeling lost and confused, but she moves on.

That’s bane she carries. She chose this life. She collects stories from people she meets, and shares their beauty with the world. It’s a lonely job, but stories can never become too personal because she is merely a story teller; the medium of propagation. Attachment to the story means attachment to the person behind it.

Attachment is never an option.

Especially not love.

For Barbs.

Just a little higher, she thinks.
The cleavage is not visible enough.
She wonders how many likes she’ll get,
If she can push them a little more up.

Staring at herself on a screen,
She captures her desperation.
To look like ‘them beauty queens’,
This has become her life’s passion.

Do it for the likes, she berates herself,
And so curls her hair and lips.
She removes her blemishes by editing,
But not the scars from within.

Her wardrobe is filled to the brim,
With miniskirts and make up.
She’s developed an anxiety about
Not looking plastic enough.

But she wasn’t like this before,
A quiet but amiable belle.
Then she discovered Instagram,
And rendered her dignity to sell.

She never had many friends,
But the few liked her for her heart.
Now she gets noticed solely,
Because of the paper stuffed in that part.

Oh barbs, I’m a little worried,
You’re changed so dramatically,
In pictures you smile coy and shy.
In life, I see you cry and weep.

Because that girl got more likes,
Or your 24th boyfriend cheated on you.
I had warned you to know his intentions,
Before you deemed his love as true.

You see, the likes from virtuality,
Aren’t an accurate representation.
Of the trueness of friendship,
It’s merely a well crafted delusion.

Barbs, you’re not happy.
It hurts me so see you so.
But if you choose insta-friends over me,
In an instant, I shall go.

Ablaze

If we will die while the night grows dark,
We will both pass away happy.
We will be safe and cozy,
Waiting, just you and me.

I can see the warmth smoking off your skin.
I can feel your sweet smile.
Our shadows become one,
As we watch them intertwine.

Your arms are my secret haven,
And I know you will remember me,
When oblivion and ashes,
Become our stark reality.

But don’t worry, love! And I, you.
I will not regret nor forget.
Even as the flames dance dangerously,
Close to where we rest.

Pull me closer; we are one.
Nor burning hell, nor calming heaven,
Can do us any harm.
Hold me as we watch out life go by,
In flames, for the last time.

Boy A

(Reader discretion: This is fiction inspired by a person. But mostly fiction. Please respect this.)

I’m distracted. Even when I try to study, which I’m actually supposed to be doing, my thoughts keep floating back to him.

I don’t know him. I mean, I don’t think I’d be able to recognise him if I saw him on the street. But somehow I feel really comfortable around him. He’s a year older, not that it should make a difference. But he’s so… Relatable. He understands my weird obsessions with TV shows and books, because he obsesses over them too. A diamond in a dirty mine.

We have been in constant conversation for the past 3 months now, via a social media site. But we have actually met in real life though. It was at some inter school event that I frankly, really hated. I didn’t pay much attention to him in the beginning. He was really annoying but also kind of cute and innocent. I guess I didn’t give him a second look because I spent the majority of the time cursing everybody in the room.
If you hadn’t realised it by now, that event was one of the worst experiences of my life. But that’s a story for another time.

He seemed really ordinary with no really distinctive features. It’s only after hearing gloriously fantastical stories about him in the bus rides back home when I began to wonder if he was really more than what meets the eye.

And then he met my eye.

He won something at that event. I can’t remember what, but it was a big thing. I remember watching him walk up to the stage like he owned it, while the crowd cheered a LOT. It was only then that I realised that this ordinary looking boy was one of the ‘popular kids’. Oh damn, you should have seen how fast my bitch mode switched on.

He came back with us in our bus. I watched form the corner as he was the centre of attention, everybody recalling crazy incidents involving alcohol, the police and of course, him.

Weeks passed. It was the day before the Sherlock season 3 premier that I acknowledged him again. He posted something super fangirlish and I had to immediately state my opinions as a proud fangirl myself.

And when (as usual) the nail biting cliffhanger ripped all feeling out of me, he seemed to be the only person in the world that would understand the frustrating agony of a Sherlock cliffhanger.

Soon, as we talked, I realised that he wasn’t only passionate about my favourite tv show, but also my favourite books, music and movies. Mind you, the above mentioned things have played an instrumental part of my life. They are my bible.

I must point out here that our conversations have an underlying element of continuity, but aren’t necessarily punctual. For example, we started a conversation 3 months ago. And none of us have actually said ‘bye’ or hi’. The conversation just continues. And we reply when we are free to. That maybe the next day, or a week after that. But the conversation goes on.

So, from what I understand, we don’t have a schedule which we follow to chat. And we chat about the most random things. We have no obligation towards each other. But as the days go by, and other relationships falter, I am beginning to wonder if there is something obligatory in our relationship.

Last night he told me about his life for the first time. And I told him about mine. That was the first time we had a personal conversation. And I felt something.

Maybe I should feel something more often.

…. To be continued…