Solitude is apparently what I need,
But solitude is all I’ve been having.

Kept inside, frustrated. Fuck.

Be at peace with yourself. Take care of yourself. Be okay with yourself.

Before you feel yourself slip too far away.


I am not perfect. Nobody is.

I’m struggling. I know I’m lost, but I also know that that only means I have to try and find my way. I feel comfortable in this. That this is my journey and that I didn’t have a predetermined future. My faith is far beyond shaken, but I choose to believe in God. For some reason, no matter how many times I’ve felt strongly against the concept of religion, I do feel a strong connection to this idea of a single God. I may see innocent people get killed and the bad get rewarded, and I endlessly question the reason behind this, but God is there. I don’t know, I just can’t shake that feeling off and I’m glad. I think it brings me comfort.


I must admit though – I question life. I question its purpose and my own purpose of having a life. Is it fair to think that perhaps the ego of humans is the only thing that made us believe that we even have the right to question the purpose of life? Do insects question their purpose? Or even cells. They are living beings too. I wonder.


And I wonder, why. Why do we see good people get beat down? I have turned into a pessimist who regularly uses the word “fuck” in daily conversations. I can’t help it. I’m saturated with despair, anger and frustration. I would like to label myself as a good person but I know I am far from it. Is it that this applies to everyone out there? That those we perceive to be good people may just be the worst people? Or perhaps it is that suffering which makes the people, good? A cause and effect mystery. Which came first? The suffering or the good? The rewards or the evil?


And I get frustrated knowing that all this thinking, and all this worrying, and all this sadness, all these tears that have fallen for the sadness of others, the worries that others have gone through, I know that it all amounts to nothing. But it doesn’t for a second stop how real it is. How real it is that my friends and the people I love are going through fucked up shit constantly. That innocent people are suffering and the evil constantly rewarded. I fail to understand this over and over, and I try so hard. I don’t know how to keep doing this anymore. Our daily lives are so trivial. And I can’t help but feel that we all have a bigger purpose than this. That we are not meant to go to offices and sit in a little corner for 8 hours a day, come back exhausted, just to repeat the same thing 5 days in a row. No, I refuse this to be the accepted norm. It can’t be.


And why do people keep so many secrets. Why are we all playing games with each other. Why can’t you just be honest to me and I be honest to you. We are all flawed and fucked up. Why can’t we all just accept that. That deep inside, we all have the potential to be murderers, rapists, psychotic weirdo freaks. Fuck. Wouldn’t it all be easier if we were all honest? Some people believe that life is all about finding happiness, before we die and cease to exist. How can anyone find even a grain of happiness when everyone is plotting secret agendas.


I do not think that I am the most holy, the best or the perfect image of a human being but instead wish we could all just accept that no one is.


I wish that the world was fair. That people get what they deserve and everything just worked. That everything was just simple. It’s a shame then that we only experience that as a child. If life was reversed, we’d be born with this fucked up world and as we age we’d see the beauty in life, and laugh and joke and be innocent. We would have known what drugs, alcohol and sex were but we wouldn’t have needed them. We’d have our finger paints, toy cars and mommy’s hugs.


I do wish that I’ll see the light sooner rather than later. To laugh with no second thoughts and that everything and everyone was happy. I know this won’t happen but I sure as hell won’t stop believing, hoping and wishing for it.



As Self Righteous As I Am

You know that phrase, “nice guys finish last”?

Recently, I had a long discussion (if you can call it that) with a stranger over Facebook.

1. He asked me to read in between the lines of what he said. But there was nothing there. He claimed so to make it seem like I was beneath him. That his level of intelligence is far superior and I wouldn’t be able to understand the complex ideas behind his thoughts. But there was, honestly, nothing much beyond shallow and sensationalist statements.

2. He was very defensive. He was not open to ideas that were suggested to him and chose to stick by what he said. Perhaps it’s because he’s a law student, so he has learnt the art of sticking by his word even though he may have realized they were false. Either that or he’s just blinded by his own arrogance.

3. He was derogatory.

4. He lacked any hints of humanism.

5. As self-righteous as I may be, this guy was above and beyond that.

6. He is manipulative. His post gained many likes and shares over a short period of time. He sent me a friend request as he wanted proof that I was whatever he thought I was claiming to be. He claimed that his own profile had everything on public and that he had nothing to hide. He has since blocked me on Facebook. He deleted one of my comments and he edited many of his own comments. Many people commented and applauded him.

It frustrates me to no end that a guy like that has such power but wastes it completely. And why are so many following behind him?

Many of my own friends told me that it was completely pointless that I kept commenting, and I agree. But I have this innate sense of moral responsibility. I can’t help it. I get attached very quickly and feel like I have to do everything I can to get people to understand my thoughts and formulate their own. Do not accept what is given to you.


UGH. I still can’t write about this as fluently as I would like. Maybe I’ll try again later.


I wonder how many stood as I did tonight
Under the warm water, eyes closed
Listening to music
As they completely disintegrate.

I wonder how many felt as I did tonight
Lost, faded and frustrated
The more you know
The less happy you are.

I wonder how many are as unhappy as I am tonight, or every night
Knowing that they know what they don’t know
And not knowing what they need to know.

I wonder how many are thinking as I am tonight.

Be a Better Person

I do believe that design has been a part of me ever since I was able to make a decision for myself. You see, every choice you make – this over that – is you consciously making, moulding your own self. The motives and reasoning behind it are irrelevant. It may be pure instincts or you may be utterly convinced that there’s a beyond-question reasoning behind it. Whatever, it is, you design. The words you speak, and the way you arrange them in a sentence. The clothes you put on and the music you listen to. Everything is done consciously. It can be likened to a potter’s wheel, with every choice being a slight touch with a wet finger on that soft clay. Push too hard, and your work is completely distorted. Spend time, and you’ll turn out perfect – all the right curves in all the right places.

I guess the reason I’m thinking about this is that, sometimes, I truly don’t know why I make certain choices. Sometimes, I do look back and think of myself as an idiot. But, truth be told, I try to do what I think is right most of the time. The fucked up thing about this is that, what is right for me, may be completely wrong for others. I mean, we’ve always known this from a young age – but to realize that the implications of your “right” choices┬ácan actually have an effect on others. You are never alone in the choices you make.

I dislike it when people try to tell me what to do. I can’t stand it. I guess if only we could all just agree to disagree, to be okay with each other’s opinions, that’d be great. I understand that friends want to offer advise, and I guess it is my fault too – for taking it too seriously – but fuck. I honestly wish I was able to not care as much as I do. To be able to say that everything’s okay – no matter how fucked up the situation is. To turn a blind eye. To not get involved. Ignorance does seem like bliss.

Extroverts win in today’s society. I don’t really understand why. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to start a debate about introverts versus extroverts, but why is it that we as a society, are constantly being pushed to be extroverted?

Some people just need to remember to be human again.

I made a choice – I have to stick with it.

I think we all just need to be constantly reminded that there’s more to learn beyond the classroom.

Lessons in the classroom teach you how to be a good worker, lessons beyond the classroom teach you how to be a better person.


It has always been there, I guess. Lurking and lingering behind the scenes of day to day living. Distractions are good. Distractions are safe. Distractions keep me sane. I used to self-diagnose depression – put a label on myself which didn’t necessarily have to be put in place. I guess it made things a bit more comfortable. Everyone gets depressed, and it fades. Labels keep me sane. But labels keep me preoccupied. So, am I depressed now? I don’t feel it as much as I used to. Those pangs of apathy. Are they even real now? Or just illusions – like when you hear your phone buzzing after it hadn’t been for a while. Phantom pangs. Is that what it is now? And I try harder to be normal. (Again with the labels.) Because depression is childish. It’s what you go through at puberty, then you snap out of it. It’s only ever meant to be a phase and nothing more. I’m supposed to be an adult now, mature and steady in my way. To be rocking, stumbling and disorientated is not acceptable. Stand up. Chest out. Walk straight. Be happy. Engage in your worldly activities. But, we all know we are not here for long. And I guess I’m constantly aware of this and constantly frustrated by this and constantly searching for something more. This. All this is not enough. But I don’t even know what it is.

Closure keeps me sane. Keeping it inside drives me crazy.



Have you ever experienced death,
In a dream?
Not just that you have died.
Have you ever experienced the transition
Between life and death.
Were you unwilling
Or did you accept it as a matter of fact,
that you are done here
that you are not leaving anything unfinished
that you are okay with death?
Death makes us human afterall.
The only crippling issue with death is fear
The fear of the unknown
but how many of us would be willing to leave everything behind
and face that fear.
It came as a surprise
but I was okay with it.

(On a sleep paralysis experience. Though I know what I experienced was probably trivial compared to what others have experienced but it was enlightening. The emotions and thoughts running through my mind when I thought that was it.)


It just feels wrong. To have so much envy, jealousy and dissatisfaction of others’ successes and triumphs. To feel that it is unfair that they have done so much, unknowingly to others. Part of it is just anger at myself for not living up to the dreams that I thought of for myself. Another part says that I wouldn’t feel so bad if I was somewhat part of it. Even if I was just a person with whom they shared that feeling of joy and achievement, the struggles along the way – I’d be fine just being that person. I guess in the end it all boils down to loneliness, doesn’t it? To feel alone.

It’s been described many times before, that amongst a swarming crowd of people, you still feel so alone. But I guess the sad thing is, I can’t even get myself to be in a crowd. Reminds me of that┬ámagnetic field experiment with the iron fillings you do at school. A majority of the iron fillings would comfortably be forced to follow a pattern, but there are a few that are just deserted. Seems like they’ve lost their power or something.

I’ve grown up hand in hand with impermanence and transience, and I guess at times I’d even say it makes me comfortable. To just not be committed to any one thing. But there are moments too when it all just seems too much. Memories are loose and can’t seem to be strapped down to the seat. Any minor bumps and they’d fly right out through the windshield. People drift on and pass you by. Sometimes you even drift away from your own self, you lose yourself, you forget.

And then of course, there is the need for acceptance. Is it a need or a desire – I don’t really know. But acceptance. And the natural proceeding step, appreciation.

Your self esteem is shaken as you wonder why it can be so easy for people to just forget you. One glance around, and you see that others manage to stick to each other. Years later, and they are still friends. Miles apart, they talk everyday. Not the case with me, I guess.

This self-pity won’t get me anywhere though.


He is flawed and it is as clear as day. Despite all his positive traits; his admirable career, bold choices and charismatic persona, I can’t help but to see his flaws. They are so stark. His insecurities increase the size of his ego and demand for attention, for approval from others and for material possession. His compulsion for obsession over the most mundane of things is disturbing. He can get absorbed so easily and forget the world around him. Though he preaches about life, his practice of it would not amount to perfect. Handheld devices distract him from family. He is constantly at war with himself: “why don’t my kids love me? Why are they so distant?”. He questions himself in the silence, in the dark that is only lit by the meagre screen of his phone. His children are fast asleep. The device he holds is clearly revolutionary as it comes with an invisible shield against conversation and interaction. The kids’ words bounce right off and intuitively find other places where it would be more welcome. This challenges his ego, the invisible shield gets upgraded, and it is an endless cycle.

But the children have flaws too. They are not able to see the apology which comes in material form. Or maybe they do, but do not accept that currency.

It is an endless cycle. But it continues escalating, never to return to ground.