She says...

Earlier today I wondered about distinctions made between honesty and neediness. Perhaps the distinction can be derived in the motivation – people viewing themselves as victims fall prey to neediness and people viewing themselves as survivors are just being honest?

That sounds a bit more self-serving than I intended. I shouldn’t probably even be worrying over these concepts. I’ve got good friends that I can trust and depend on.

An integral distinction exists between survival and strength. Although the two terms are in many ways interdependent, they are certainly not synonymous. I survive. It’s what I know how to do. But strength is another matter that seems to be intricately balanced with weakness. It has to do with the ability to exercise voice and logic, and I lack that capability far too often.

This kind of honesty leaves me feeling stained like fingertips from the print of yesterday’s cheap newspaper. It’s what can keep me at a distance from the people I care about. Because when you tell these kinds of stories, you become something other than who you are – who they thought you were. When you say all the things I could say – some of which I’ve said here – you become the subject of a raised eyebrow – the hushed voices upon your approach. Ultimately, you become the unhealthy. The broken. And nobody wants to be with that person. People with problems, even in the past, don’t make good friends or lovers. It’s a stigma that keeps me from participating in too much self-revelation. People only believe they want to know you, then mostly there is judgement followed by self-immolation.

Mostly, I wonder in these situations if people can recognize the difference between honesty and neediness. I’ve certainly never been looking for someone to fix me. Having never viewed myself as broken to begin with.

Thoughts like these are what simultaneously hold me here and keep me running. They provide me with the realization that I’ve made it through worse times, but making it through those times taints my future possibilities as well.

I like who I am.
Even my flaws and inconsistencies.
I am that person as a result of everything that has come before.
I do not regret, therefore, any of my experiences.
And I don’t think I’m so fucked up –
Not any more or less than people who’ve lead relatively normal lives, I guess.



"Tere honthon ke kisi kone mein, hansi ke tarah, main mehfuz hoon 
Teri aankhon ke chipe dard mein Aansoo ki tarah, main mehfuz hoon"

I love me.

There was a time the only word I cringed at more than cursing was saying Love. this was way back in the 90s.
that sudden exposure to english movies and songs and westlife and boyzone also did not change the fact that I could just not say the word love.
I could easily say fuck or chutiya or I wouldnt say I love you, downside I started losing friends. Hell yes I did. Because being expressive it just the basic thumb rule of keeping friends close, sharing your tiffin and buying them an icecream is not. You gotta say it. Maybe I was the one screwed up, because for me words were never and are still not enough, I used on them what I wanted to be used on me.
I could not understand how could I love friends, mostly because I felt I love you is proceeded by kissing and all that jazz.
Obviously I was wrong, so yeah some way or the other I would find myself not saying it ever.
I switched to Love you.
much better than I love you. further away from kissing, closer to friend zoning.
but then things dont happen as you want them to.

Hormones started acting up and boys could not always just be friend zoned all the time, some overused love, some abused it, eventually it lost meaning and I became cool enough to use it frequently. for friends, family, tv shows, Shahrukh Khan, cake and mostly myself.

But I couldnt help but respond awkwardly whenever someone said it to me.
 there has been a minute silence.
a sorry but I love him
a as friends , right?
a , are you fuckin insane?
a do you want free beer or something?
a, but I dont. 

I have disappointed for thrills , I have never been disappointed.

Until that doomed night, when I said I love you and he said, " Thanks"

My heart thumped, I could hear the earth crack and I could hear the demon calling out my name and I could just see so many broken hearts around me.

Well, I could not do much but think and I did think, oh when I think its just another task all together, I give up everything and dedicate time for thinking,  and realised, well he should be thankful, loving someone cannot be so ungrateful and thankless and unacknowledged all the time, right?

 It has to involve some sense of being obliged, of all this love wrapped in a huge heart in so many ways all coming from one person.
Its not easy.
I should be glad.

Incidentally he is the same guy who has repeatedly told me that I love myself more than anything else and I have raised my own bars for anyone else to ever meet my unrealistic expectations.

Love is strange and all that, its also indivisible perhaps , and I am just happy I have someone who is thankful.