Skip to main content

Vulnerable.

I hated it. I hated how everything made me feel; tender, dilute and feeble. I hated why things came to an end and how it destroyed me. I hated that I got to know terms like 'defeat', 'hurt', 'loss', 'depression' and so much more. I hated how nobody could relate to my pain or how they pointed their filthy fingers at my face and joked about the scars that I have. The moon only understood what it meant to be me. Unwanted, alone and cratered by imperfections. I hate that I feel so thankful and sorry at the same time when I am not supposed to be both. I hate how I can't be myself anymore. I feared darkness so much that I became blinded by one. It took over me a..nd ... people just turned their backs ... th..ey left.
But you know what, it's totally fine. I learnt that I should judge myself by my standards, not theirs because at the end of the day, it's just me, and me only. I also learnt that to have a certain vulnerability within doesn't mean you are weak- as long as you're able to channel the rest of your remaining inner fortitude. Your strengths come from your weaknesses. They are not ingrained; just some more details on the surface that you can strip away or manipulate for your advantage as much as you desire. And in finding your way out of the depths, you start to develop an appreciation, a sensitivity, a level of maturity and an understanding of life which fills you with compassion and gentleness that do not just happen in a flinch of an eye. They grew inside of you profoundly because you never jumped over any steps or denied any feelings.
It's so unnatural for life to turn hearts into stones and people into such monstrosity; incapable of love. But I guess, life doesn't play nicely or even fairly in that respect. It never did. However, you shouldn't apologise for anything you had to do to bid farewell to the bitter aftertaste. Your body is a pool of unforgettable mess and your thoughts are spiderwebbed all over the place. You outlived though. And that's what makes people look at you a little longer than necessary.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Covered in lead.

This morning, I hated my mug with the words "Do more of what makes you happy" encrypted on it, I let it slip inbetween my fingers like paper. I didn't brush my teeth first thing or take a shower. Rather, I stayed motionless in bed. My mom made me the breakfast I never laid my hands on. Today, I feel out of character. Really out. I'm having one of those out-of-body experiences, and to be honest, I'm not very fond of the photograph I'm about to see. I don't love the body I was incarcerated in. I'm an object slowly drowning into a thousand disguises I should have worn. I try to swim my way out but I'm anchored by all the books I read, all the movies I loved, all the people I cared for and left. There will always be this layer of lead surrounding me, preventing me from grasping the marvels of the world. If only I could touch it, smash it into a million pieces before it changes into fog. My pain is wearing a bulletproof vest underneath his garment. My p...
Post a Comment
Read more

The pursuit.

You just realise it after spending 21 years chasing a phantom, after hitting nethermost zeros or being at the toppest climaxes and definitely after having a few phases of deep reflection where you start debating everything you have ever experienced. We sketch happiness at the end of each line and we feel entitled to it. We work our asses off and do everything right hoping it would be adequate enough and that things would cosmically align. Little do we know that pain is always part of the process. You can't enjoy every rain drop and every storm along the way without getting soaked. You can't find home without feeling lost at first, you can't feel connected with somebody without the jadedness of waiting, you can't have a best friend without the awkwardness of beginings, you can't negotiate in 'now's without saying goodbye a couple of times, you can't find faith and trust without the sharp pain of disappointment stabbing you in the chest, you can't be s...
Post a Comment
Read more

That's what writing is to me.

I'm starting to think that people usually perceive me as a writer and I remember saying when I first started writing that I don't want to be looked at as such. It's a responsibility I am not willing to take. I only write for my own self-amusement and relief and that doesn't qualify me for anything other than being a friendly neighbourhood thought-giver. Some scripts aren't so personal that I choose to share them with the world. Others are just better kept unsaid.
Post a Comment
Read more