About Time.

Tick -Tock tick-tock,

The clock is ticking,

Time is running,

But here I am,

As still as a cheetah,

Waiting for its prey.

Except, I’m not waiting,

Not for a prey,

I’m waiting for time to stop.

 

I’m stuck in the room,

Inside my head,

Unable to move.

Then came the death,

Of the fire inside of me,

Unable to breathe.

Time waits for none,

Leaving me not a second,

To feel,

Not a second to think ,

The air in my lungs,

Choking me,

The blood in my veins,

Draining,

Too rapidly.

 

Drip drop, drip drop,

I miss the feeling of rain,

Slapping down on my skin,

Mumma running behind me,

A towel in hand,

Hoping I don’t catch a cold.

And again,

I wish time had stopped.

 

Tick-tock Tick-tock,

Not a second to look left,

Not a second to look right,

Not a moment to be alive,

Not a minute to waste.

No fucks to give,

Made into a machine,

No will to live.

The Danger of A Single Story

“How old are you?”, the older woman asked.

“Ten”, said the scraggy girl.

“Ah! Little children won’t get it.”

Dear older woman,

That ten year old girl,

Works at the restaurant near your house,

Cleaning bathroom stalls,

Dealing with men objectifying her,

She’s seen more than you have,

On your vacations funded by ‘daddy.’

Is age but just a number?

 

“You’re lucky you’re fair,

Your skin tone’s great!”

All that aside,

She was called ‘yellow’,

For her relatively small eyes,

But she was Indian too.

Is she not human,

Her looks put aside?

 

“Africa this, Africa that”

Does one fail to realize that Africa,

Is a continent,

With fifty-four different countries,

The people patriotic,

But wanting to be recognized,

As something more,

Than just an African.

 

Dear boy who supports the queer,

Quite ironic you say so,

When ten minutes ago,

You used a homophobic slur,

And called someone gay,

For not being a stereotypical boy.

Does going against the stereotype,

And being oneself make you gay?

Perhaps if you meant ‘gay’ to be ‘happy’,

Then you’re absolutely correct.

 

Her dresses were baggy,

And maybe terribly long,

But did they consider,

Her having an oppressive father,

Where all she wanted to do,

Was cover the marks,

She was willing to forget.

The galaxies on her skin,

Caused by havoc and not pleasure?

 

‘Slut’, this one was called.

They didn’t understand that,

All those times,

She was an innocent girl,

A hopeless romantic,

Too trusting for her own good,

But was taken advantage of.

Suddenly, saying ‘no’ meant,

Trying harder and being forceful.

Suddenly, ‘No’ meant,

She was asking for it.

 

They saw the hijab,

A quick judgment made.

‘Terrorist’, she was labeled.

Funny how four letters,

I,S,I,S,

Ruined the reputation of one religion ,

When in actuality,

The people of that very religion,

Fear and are against that very organization,

Defaming their innocent faith.

 

Stereotypes,

They’re nothing but a single story unexplained.

 

 

 

Dear Future Lover,

To describe the perfect kind of love,

Would be cumbersome,

But I for one,

Am a hopeless romantic.

 

The perfect kind of love,

Is discovering cute little cafes,

Down the street,

‘Round the corner,

Discovering old libraries,

The smell of old books in the air,

And stacked on the shelves,

Would be novels and memories.

 

The perfect kind of love,

Is holding hands,

As we walk along the shore,

The waves of the sea,

Teasing our toes.

Trying to avoid the rain,

But getting wet anyway,

Because where’s the fun,

In missing out ,

On the little adventures,

That come our way?

 

The perfect kind of love,

Is when,

That comfortable silence settles,

As the two of us,

With a book in hand,

Sit on the couch,

In an apartment we share,

Because sometimes,

All we need is a little space,

To forget about the world around us,

Letting our minds wander,

To a distant place– A land, far far away.

 

The perfect kind of love,

Is when,

There are days,

Where we just lay,

On the bed we share,

Day to day,

Our limbs entangled,

Our breaths in sync,

Basking in all our lethargic glory,

This, I crave.

 

The perfect kind of love,

Is rambling to each other,

Of our mutual passions,

You, taking the words,

Right out of my mouth,

And I, yours,

Because that,

Is how in-sync we’d be.

But rambling to each other,

Of our varied passions,

You learning to love,

What you never did, before.

And I learning of,

What I never knew before,

Because that,

Is how out-of-sync we’re allowed to be.

Because that,

Is what the perfect love is about;

There will be differences,

There will be similarities,

There will be distances,

But the perfect love,

Is when we cross those distances,

The spaces between us close.

 

Because, the perfect kind of love,

Is when at the end of it all,

You’re still there,

Sitting at the table we share,

Across from me,

And we’re giving each other,

That reassuring smile,

For we know,

Our love?

Not a war,

Not a hurricane,

Not a single disaster can tear,

Our beautiful, beautiful love apart.

The Common Tradition

Yes, the title says it all. I’m starting off with as usual the self introduction. Brace yourselves, this might not be too short. You never know, I tend to ramble off into oblivion.

So now you know the basics of getting to know me. I ramble. And I could go on for ever alright. I’m an adventurous, quiet, introverted yet eccentric, loud and did I mention eccentric(?) person. I’m a girl, if you coudn’t tell. But I won’t get into personal details too much.

Now to describe my blog. I will rant, give my opinions, write emotional stories, poems, review books and whatnot just to maintain my sanity. I’m not the kind that focuses on the appearance of my blog but rather, the content.As the title of my blog and my URL suggest, I’m the kind that delivers the truth like a slap across your face. No, it’s not that I don’t care. No, I don’t think it’s cool. But I’m honest simply because I don’t know when to be honest and when not to. Also, sometimes it’s good to be told the truth because that’s one way of accepting it and moving on. It isn’t too good to live a lie after all. Although I may come off as insensitive, that is definitely not my intention so, my apologies to all those whom I’ve hurt so far.

I’m a Junior at high school. I’m a psychology student at the moment and it’s a subject apart from psychiatry that interests me and gets me excited like there’s no tomorrow.

Speaking of psychology, my personality type after taking the well reputed MBTI personality test, is INTJ.(Explains my insensitivity and lack of empathy). But I will say one thing. I do care about those close to me and I am nice to those who are nice to me. Also, I love meeting new people even though I prefer the peace and quiet, many people are awfully interesting.

I also love books. And by books I don’t mean those kinds with the cliche plots or the overly dramatic ones. I read classics. Authors like Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Franz Kafka, Murakami and the list goes on. I do read dystopian or fantasy-themed books when I’m in a less serious mood, or as fun reading/entertainment. I also play the violin and sketch in my free time. I’m very much into the arts.

There’s so much more I could say but I guess this much is enough.