Voice

Yes I have a big voice,

No I’m not proud.

I’m a five year old girl.

Mumma told me not to speak,

Pappa told me, no true woman is loud.

Grandma told me,

“It isn’t lady-like.”

I didn’t understand.

 

Yes I have a big voice,

No I’m not proud.

I’m a ten year old girl.

My whole school shushed me.

“I got excited, I’m sorry!”

But it didn’t save me,

From being the embarrassment.

 

Yes I have a big voice,

No I’m not proud.

I’m a fifteen year old girl,

Too scared to speak a word.

Maybe I’d be too loud,

Be the embarrassment I’m afraid of being.

I got so quiet,

I don’t have a friend around.

 

Yes, I have a big voice

No, I don’t care.

I’m an eighteen year old girl,

And I’ve learned,

A woman with a big voice?

I’m not the only one.

We’re fighters,

We aren’t unique.

I won’t shut up,

I’ve found people who don’t mind.

 

This big voice,

I use it for all the right causes,

So don’t you tell me to shut up.

Yes I have a big voice,

And yes,

I’m proud.

 

The Truth About Death.

The current mood at home, made me want to put my feelings, or rather, lack of feelings into words. In the past 4 years, a significant number of deaths have occurred in my family, and currently, an aunt(My mother’s sister) of mine is terminally ill of sorts. Now, the normal reaction these statements would garner are sympathy, and in rare cases, the label, “Attention seeker.” And the normal reaction expected of me, would be; utter disbelief, sadness, worry, angst and perhaps even anger. However, I felt none of these. It’s not easy to be understood in a world built on values and norms; In a world where grieving one’s death is normal; In a world and in a family where I’m always expected to feel upset over someone’s death. For instance, I’ve been ‘shut up’ before, simply because I wasn’t sympathetic or empathetic when a family member died recently. But I cannot help feeling the way I do. My feelings are my own to feel, and nothing can change that. And this post is about how I feel about death, life and everything in between.

I’ve been brought up, knowing people die, especially when they’re old. Nevertheless, people die. People die in all kinds of ways. They die eating, they die in their sleep, hell, they even die standing. People die. Hard fact, but it’s the truth. Unfortunately, as a child, I’ve felt everything I could ever feel about death. I feared it. I hated that it could take people I love, away. At one point, I craved it. And finally, I accepted it. 7th grade was the first time I was exposed to the death of a person I held very dear to my heart. My grandmother. She was a cheerful, small lady, who loved every family member of hers with all her heart. She was a jolly woman and lived a long life of 94 years. I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she was nearing her death, what with her being 94. Hence when the day came, where she was very ill and her heart was giving out, I had already known that these breaths, could be her very last. When the day finally came, where she was no more, I didn’t shed a single tear. My mother however assumed I was going to self harm or kill myself because she thought I wasn’t mature enough to handle the news of a loved one’s death. But that’s where she was wrong. I didn’t think or feel anything when I heard she had passed. The one thought that ran through my mind was, “Well, everyone dies. She was 94 so it wasn’t unexpected. I loved her. But now, the inevitable has come to be. And I’m fine with that. I don’t understand why people don’t understand that I’m never going to be affected by this.”

Nobody ever understood how I felt. They always thought; I was a kid and didn’t understand what was going on; And that later, it might hit me like a truck and suddenly I’ll be bent-double, crying my heart out. It’s been years, and I’ve never thought in any other way about her death. No I’m not being insensitive. I just don’t feel that way. Death after death, the creature followed the members of my family. Perhaps secretly looming around in their shadows. And again, the same thoughts run through my mind, “Everyone dies. I loved them. But  my love can’t keep them alive, because death is inevitable, And I can’t change that. I will die, everyone I know will die. But this isn’t for me to control and I’m okay with that.”

My aunt, who is currently ill, was born with a birth defect, Spina Bifida. She was born, back when technology wasn’t really at it’s best in this country hence the complications that followed were not only brutal, but they were expected. Her kidneys recently gave out, she cannot walk and many other such issues persist, ever since she was born.  These recent events are no surprise, and are definitely unfortunate, but like I said, not unexpected. Such views, of rationality and lack of empathy were not welcomed. But all this only made me question, why do we try so hard to keep others alive? Why do we try to keep them alive when they are going through so much pain, to lead their life which has now been extended? Why do we cling on to life, when we know of our pain? And finally, why do we insist on keeping them alive, when doing so is extraordinarily tough? She has 3 dialysis sessions a week, multiple surgeries in a week, a test every day, why do we try to live with such pain? I never understood and I still can’t understand. No, it isn’t my place to decide who dies or who doesn’t, I’m only trying to understand, but no one deserves that amount of pain. No one deserves a life where their family(Not I, but a few members), behind their back, finds them as a stressor, another load to carry on their shoulders. Of course they love her, which is why they try and keep her alive(aside from the fact that she’d like to live)but there are new complications popping up every day or every week and one can only take so much. All this leads me to think— Us humans are truly fascinating creatures with a strong survival instinct, for reasons unknown. Again, I’m not being insensitive and it isn’t that I do not care for her, I am like the daughter she never had because that is how much we had in common, but my thoughts always take over my being as I remember the obvious, “Everyone dies. I love her very much. But these could be her last few days, and that is alright, because death is inevitable.”

To me, there is no life without death; And there is no death without life. From what I remember about myself, when I was very young as compared to now, I always questioned anything and everything. No, I wasn’t stubborn where I’d question why I should follow my mum’s orders, but I questioned a lot. I would ask, who is god? Does he exist? Who decide what is bad and what is good? What truly is evil, or truly is good? What is life? Why was I born? I especially dwelled on the, ‘What is life, what is it’s point and why am I here?” question a lot. Upon continuous thinking/ contemplation during what I’d like to call my, ‘solitary time’ or ‘alone time’, or ‘me time’— I decided, there is no point to life. We didn’t come here with a purpose. We are here because that is how nature works. Evolution took place, and here we are, humans! Perhaps our sole purpose could be, balancing the food chain or help achieve ecological balance. But we’re too far into destruction to let that be our purpose. Us humans, have a well-developed brain with advanced cognitive functions, so we think, and are perceptual. We gave our lives meaning, the meanings differ from person to person, but nonetheless, gave our lives meaning. We brought about religions— a set of rules for us all to live in harmony. For us to live comfortably, not being of any inconvenience to others too. All this, maybe because nobody wants to live with the idea that the lives we lead are pointless, because then, a lot of the things in our world wouldn’t exist, and it is that intrinsic drive that I find so very beautiful. For if it wasn’t there, then life would be blatantly pointless.

For those who still do not understand why life, in my opinion, is pointless if we really think about it— it is, because regardless of what you do now, everything eventually leads to your death, and that’s it. No one knows about life after death or anything of that sort, but after a point(no pun intended), death is the eventual event. The finale. There is no happy ending, like at the end of a book where the author ends with a, “And they live happily ever after.” Because let’s face it, we don’t. We die. Morbid, but true. Hence, I find it hard to miss people when they die, or think twice about their death because that’s just how things go about. Death is inevitable, and I can’t change that. None of us can. However, with all that we have today, life is worth living for the wonders of the world, and death after satisfying the intrinsic drive is perhaps  anyone and everyone’s ultimate goal and hence the creation of ‘Bucket List’s. But the inconvenience of my thinking about life and the point of it all, as a friend once pointed out, is that I will always know that my life doesn’t necessarily have a true purpose. Maybe I’d leave a legacy behind, maybe not. Maybe I’ll have a huge impact on people, maybe not. But the true purpose of life, I will never believe in, yet I will enjoy this one life I’ve got for there is much to learn and discover, and I will welcome death when it is time.

_________________________________________________________________

This post is simply my opinion, my views and my thoughts. I’m terrible at framing sentences but I gave it my best anyways. This post was not written to shit on people’s beliefs in god, religion, purpose of life etc. Feel free to disagree because, I respect people and their views and have nothing against it all. (Unless they’re homophobic, transphobic, racist, discriminatory, islamophobic etc. Then I have a real problem with them.)

these thoughts on the point of life, I’ve had even before being exposed to the philosophers and authors who preached existentialism, like Nietzsche. I guess reading more, HAS widened my view and perspective on everything though.

P.p.s. I did not proof read because I never do. Lethargy is my go-to mood anyways, so yeah. The redundancy is intentional. I was somehow trying to infuse poetry into this post because, why not?

Distortion.

In a gallery, laced with white walls.

White walls decorated with squares of different sizes.

The squares of different sizes, with works of art enclosed in them.

Works of art, showing distorted faces.

The crowd stared at it. Contended, they smiled smiles, showing how emotionally linked they were to the pieces.

The artist, who stood distant from the crowd, smirked a knowing smirk. Of course everyone of them related to distorted faces.

The crowd, as expected by the artist, seemed reminiscent of all their flaws, be it mental or physical. Somehow, they all seemed so unsatisfied with some part of themselves as they stared at these paintings, as if someone acknowledged and accepted these flaws.

‘Society’. “‘Society’ is to blame!”, their minds yelled in unison. And with that, they went back to simply admiring the work.

The artist smiled pitifully at the crowd. His conscience ranting, going off about how, “It’s so very sad that today, they relate so well and find solace in art with distorted beings painted across the canvas. When they who gaze upon such work so admiringly, look perfectly normal. No eyes replacing noses, no oddly shaped faces, limbs which look perfectly fine and functional. And all they do is look at themselves in these paintings, feeling insecure, thinking that this is how society sees them –flawed.

And yet what they haven’t noticed is that they are very much part of this society that they blame, as if it was some external force they were never part of. They never realise that eventually, it’s in their hands to change views, to turn heads, and to trigger, in people, the need to question. It’s all in our hands.”

The artist couldn’t agree more. Yet, like everyone else, he chose to stay silent about it.

————————————

Yes, hi-hello. This is me, not being silent.

Morals.

There are somethings I never understood, simply because I was brought up differently. As I often mention, my family is a rather open and blatant one. I grew up in such an environment, hence I was terribly confused when I came across people like my classmates.

Story time!

Morals. A word all too familiar to us. What are morals though? Does it not vary from person to person? Why does one enforce their morals onto the other? THAT was a concept I never understood. It was back in 4th grade, when I first came across the word ‘period’. My sister introduced the concept to me for she felt it was “time”. She gave me every ‘dirty’ detail and of course I felt it important to confront my mother for, obvious reasons. (The reasons being “sex” in my country was considered a rather indecent, immoral activity and clearly, I had just found out that my parents did it in order to bring me about.) My mother was forced to agree and of course my sister received a tiny lecture. However, moments later, she had managed to convince them that it was alright for me to know.

The next day, I was all fueled and excited to share my new knowledge with my friends. The knowledge wasn’t welcomed by them all however. Most were in denial, claiming that their parents had never had sex. The only thing that I told them straight to their faces was, “Well then you’re adopted!”. Although it brings about laughter today when I tell people the story, it didn’t have the same effect, years ago. I was bullied for knowing too much, “lying” and for misleading. Now that I’m all grown, I’ve started to wonder. What are our morals and why are these our morals? Why do I follow them? Do I want to? Do I need to? So many such questions were racing through my mind, and they still do. Why exactly do we lie to the younger ones about where babies come from? Of course, no need to go into detail for perhaps they won’t understand at such a young age. But why hide it at all? Why do we consider sex as immoral, at least why do most of us? I often come across the phrase “Sex is a form of art.” Doesn’t seem that way to many, evidently. I understand, it IS burdensome to end up pregnant at a young age, doesn’t mean we keep our youth all cooped up. Shouldn’t we be spreading awareness instead? Should we honestly push the usual, pointless beliefs onto the younger generation? Of course, we have sex-ed classes. No complaints at all. But how (again) blatant are they? Are they classes where they promote the idea that “Sex is bad and immoral” or are they the kind of classes where the idea of trust and privacy is promoted?

I come from a country where most of the population hasn’t gotten their chance at sex-ed. In fact, never once have we had a sex-ed class in my previous school. When there was an attempt made at teaching us all, the girls were too timid to mention their breasts until I got fed up and simply got up to talk about “boobs”. In my country, most girls are awfully timid to be themselves. Timid to be women. Why are we taught to hide and not be open about having boobs? It isn’t like men do not know of their existence. Why must one be conscious about their bra strap showing 24×7. Again, it isn’t like the people don’t know that we, GIRLS, wear bras. Why are we so timid and afraid of consequences, judgments and men?(Okay not necessarily afraid of men per se, but you get what I mean, right?) Are these morals honestly valid, necessary and “empowering” in any way? Do they NEED to exist?

It’s just that our society needs to think about these questions. Think about what they’re thinking and think about how rational they’re being. Why is it that we can’t all just go about our lives without prying into people’s personal lives and beliefs? Why don’t we just encourage individual thinking, help people see different perspectives rather than forcing our views on to them? And again, WHY is sex immoral, or rather, why is being a woman immoral? Why not focus on spreading awareness rather than focusing more on just completely spreading one’s beliefs? Perhaps then we could’ve prevented multiple cases of aids and other such STD’s. People should honestly start thinking and stop judging.


Sleepy rant~ feel like I could’ve written this better. More sleepy I am, the more my vocabulary shortens I guess. But honestly, recent incidents got me thinking. Shall proof read and form better sentences later. #Tingsthatkeepmeupatnight

Pain

Anger. It coursed through her veins,

Flooding her body like poison.

Anger. A feeling so great, She felt like

The world was under her power.

Anger. He criticized her, made her feel

so powerless at the same time, for no reason.

Anger, a feeling so familiar,

It made her feel as fragile as a flower.

Anger. A feeling which long left her body.

And when she felt like everything was under control, it wasn’t.

She could never stay angry for long,

She hated herself for that.

She could never stay happy for long either

For the feeling of loneliness overpowered her.

But at the end of the day, she’d wipe away her stoic face.

She wore a mask, portraying glee instead.

And before she knew it, she’d be asleep.

Tossing and turning, as tears filled her eyes

And stained her pillow.

After all, pain was the overpowering one. Not loneliness.


Yup, a rant.

White Noise

White Noise. A sound so distinct.

It blares through the room. It embraces me

And I feel a comfortable warmth, spread through my body.

White Noise. A sound so distinct.

It erases the words, etched in my head,

“noisy”, “Annoying”, “Stupid”, “Dumb”,

And so many more I’ve forgotten.

Everything, just white noise.

White Noise. A sound so distinct.

It reminds me that the feeling of loneliness,

Lingering within me, is merely there until I hear the familiar noise

Take over my thoughts and it makes me forget that I am.

White Noise. A sound so distinct.

It reminds me, that I am nothing but static at that moment.


Inspired by my insecurities! I’m facing them and dealing with them. Hope to find happiness…~ (I’m not depressed or anything lol)

A Familiar Scent.

She lay her head on his chest,

Their ragged breaths in sync.

She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent,

A familiar scent that calmed her nerves.

A smile so faint, graced her lips,

As she embraced the scent that enveloped her.

He smelled like cinnamon and cigarettes,

His chest was firm and moved up and down,

A sensation she found calming.

All that was heard was their labored breaths.

A lazy day was now well spent,

And at that moment she felt complete.

——————————————————–

What can I say? The rain just makes me more romantic

Thoughts That Keep Me Up at Night

I want a man with a firm chest,

Against which I can rest my head.

I want a man who’d look beyond my flaws,

My flaws that every other man considered ugly.

I want a man who’d embrace me so tight, I won’t be able to breathe,

For it is then when I’d feel like a part of him.

I want a man around whom I wouldn’t have to pretend.

A man around whom I wouldn’t have to fret.

A man who’d enjoy my quietness for often I have not much to say.

I want a man who’d understand when,

I have no words to say but nonetheless,

He’d understand me on a whole,

For I am who I am,

An awfully quiet girl where all that is loud,

is the silence that surrounds her and the noise of her crowded city.

Yet, when I find all this in a man,

My insecurities eat me as a whole meal,

As if it were a boa constrictor.

And I cower away out of shame and timidness.

Afraid to lose him,

When he wasn’t mine to begin with.

—————————————————–

My new school got me feelin’ like…

Somebody.

Like the wind that blew,

You touched me and left.

But that’s okay. Change is inevitable

And persistence is a pain.

Consistency too, is not so great.

But I’m not complaining,

Nor am I disappointed, for all I wanted,

Was someone to confide in.

Someone who I know will always be there.

Someone, around whom I can be

Even when no words are exchanged.

Someone, with whom a comfortable silence settles.

Where all we need, is the knowledge.

The knowledge that we’d be there for each other.

The Girl With Two Extremes

She turned, agitated. Fear dripped,

In the form of sweat.

Her heart, palpitated so hard, so fast, every fiber of her being exploded with every beat.

People. People everywhere.

Scared? She didn’t look it.

A veil was worn, a facade, she bore. And not a single word escaped her pretty lips.

She was too quiet or too loud. There was never an in-between.

And there started her issue.

Afraid of keeping quite, for before, accusations were thrown.

Tired, she wore her frown upside down,

Took out her sword and went to war.

A war with herself, For one’s biggest enemy is one’s self.

Eventually she won, and spoke aloud without a care in the world.

She didn’t care what people thought in particular

For she either settled for everything or nothing at all.

———————————–

Wrote this during art at school because I’m so tired lately. Tired of pretending to be an extrovert when I’m not. And tired especially from socializing. Basically this ‘poem’ is a rant.