Tag Archives: crazy

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The minutes you spend.
Looking at her clothes. How the neckline of her blouse is just shallow enough to give away her delicate collar bones. You spend a minute too long on this, in fact. And sigh.
Onto the next. Your fourth grade crush has bought his own BMW. Ah but, you think to yourself, it’s commonplace in the states.
Onto the next. Your ex boyfriend’s ex girlfriend. You make a mental note to unfollow her. Another time. Right now she’s got a cute puppy and you’ve forgotten you hated her.
You scroll down. It’s your mum’s cool friend, showing way too much cleavage.
Further down, your own ex. A post about his football non profit. Unfollow.
Next, your other ex. Married now, posting a picture of his brand new six pack abs. You smirk and don’t unfollow him, because it mildly amuses you to see his scantily clad calls for attention, the same reason you’re still following the girl from high school you never spoke to, who makes an appearance in the next picture.
You continue scrolling, fast now because the promise of entertainment from this app is slowly waning and making you restless.
And then you stop.
Scroll up just a bit.
There.
Right in front of you.
The tiny thumbnail picture of the man you have a crush on.
It’s funny, you never thought you’d say man and crush in the same sentence. He’s posted something after two months. Not his face, not the weather, not some wannabe poignant picture of a derelict alleyway with a cheap filter and a borrowed caption. It’s a post of his latest animation, that he probably coded lying down casually in bed on a Sunday between his morning dose of Economic Times and his afternoon reading sesh (you think he likes reading Manto but you’re not sure it’s his Sunday vibe, so you don’t feature that into your imagination).
And then you scroll further. Slow now. Not really taking in anything. Memes. Selfies.
Comic strips come and go. By the time you’re back to the present, you’re already looking at pictures posted last night. With a pang of guilt you continue.
A quote with a bright background. A close friend’s terrible attempt at sketching. A stranger you follow in her latest gym attire (holy shit she got so fit so fast!). Because you like to know what exactly is up in their lives, three celebrities one after the other.
Your ex best friend with her new best friend. Your token cool colleague. And (just before it’s time to get off the cab) the guy who took his life last night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Voices.

 “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” 
― Kurt Vonnegut 

I found this at the back of a notebook yesterday. I don’t even remember writing it.
But the handwriting was mine and it seemed like the kind of quote I’d jot down. You know, just to revisit when I have those long introspective talks with myself.

You ever talk to yourself? I do. All the time. Some days I push and motivate myself. Some days I tell myself it is indeed okay to slack a little. Some days I talk to empty spaces that I wish somebody would fill. The sad truth is that we’re all missing someone and secretly hoping that wherever they are, they’re missing us too. It takes more than you can imagine admitting it, though.

They say it’s perfectly normal to talk to yourself; you’re only crazy if you talk back.

Now I’ve got a little hypothesis here. I feel the concept of geometric similarity is beautiful. I resonate with enthusiasm when people draw parallels to my life, when their perspective and angles match mine. And yet alone, I’m not just one person.

People always have a secret world inside them than the one they show; sometimes two, sometimes a hundred. One day you’re someone, the other day you’re someone else. And you can’t go back to yesterday because you were a different person then, with different parallels and different perspectives and angles.
But we’re all gluttons for co-incidence. So when our worlds collide with someone else’s on a particular day, we’re stoked; heady at the thought of someone to fill the empty spaces we talk to. And when they don’t, we seek the other worlds inside ourselves; trying on different identities like dresses to see which one fits best.
When your romanticism fails, you become a bit of a cynic.
When your poetry fails, you become a bit robotic.
When your boundaries fail, you put up walls.

I am made and remade continuously; different people draw different worlds from me. And every once in a while I feel like I’d make a better ghost than a human being. A better idea than an entity. I lay still on my bed, gazing out the window into darkness full of nothing and yet inconspicuously everything, wondering what it will be tomorrow morning that’ll convince me to climb out of bed and choose the person I will be for the day. Everyone has an abyss of their own, and as I sink deeper into mine, all my opposing worlds combine to become one. And they talk to me as one while my eyes get heavy, recalling incidents from years before, from lunch today, and from a past life – telling me in unison how exactly I feel; who exactly I am.

Sometimes I agree.
It’s perfectly normal to talk to yourself.

Sometimes I talk back.
We have to be careful who we pretend to be.

 

 

 

 

 

Feature Image by Akin Cetine