Wednesday, 4 April 2018

A 21st Century Nightmare.

The 21st century - characterised by its technology, narcissism and heresy. 

11:00 p.m. - The longest text you've ever written in which you truly pour your heart out into pixels. You confess that you love someone and that you miss them, with a hesitant and shaky breath you finally muster up the courage to hit send and alas, you do! You wait for a double tick to appear but it stays as one. It's single and lonely much you like you feel when you realise that the person has blocked you and will never know what you had said. Your ego is bruised and your disposition shifts towards a colder plane. All the things you meant, all of the heart you put into saying them, are all stuck between your rejection and another person's wall. All the ultimatums tied to phone calls, missed and cut. The fact that everything looks the same for everyone else but you and the loneliness of that hitting hard. It was a 21st-century nightmare.

3:00 a.m. - The realisation that Nazis still exist, the far right still exists, racism exists, sexism exists, rape and murder and rampant and the majority of the population who has a loud voice is busily Snapchatting their kale salad. Globalisation is turning us into identical company manufactured burger buns with exactly enough sesame seeds and I don't know what to do about it. The fact that it is 2018 and women are still paid less than men for a reason no one is able to explain to me is a 21st-century nightmare.

8:37 a.m. - I can edit a photograph using four apps for a social media platform that exists in the air but I can't remember to water my plants. I pride myself on being able to do an hour of Ballet Beautiful without passing out but walking up the stairs in school is still kind of exhausting. I drink coffee on an empty stomach and survive on cup noodles for months and wonder why my body is so rude to me and feel the need to try out Beyonce's lemonade diet. I trash talk about a boy who has hurt me for you all to read yet last night I was a mess, sitting on him and kissing his cheek. I've forgotten how to read a book and I am a 21st-century nightmare.

Sunday, 1 April 2018

An Endless Summer Afternoon.

Three things defined one of the most gruelling and tumultuous times of my life - a boy, a friend and the weather.

Let's start with the boy who feels like a humid three p.m. memory when you can see the sun baking plants to death. He started off interesting, different, funny and he made me want to do better. He made me want to mould myself into the person that I thought I needed to be to earn his affection and alas, I had lost it the second the clock hit six and the sky turned to a bluish purple. I could have built a city with the amount of time I spent wondering why I wasn't good enough for him, especially considering that everyone around me told me that I was too good for him. This juxtaposition and an endless stream of sunshine drama made me want to rip my skin off simply to relieve the heat. It felt like the acidity in your stomach when you've had too much coffee and haven't eaten anything other than strawberry gum, it makes you nervous, excited and soon you crash hard. A welcome gust of wind cools the sweat dripping down my back and I take refuge in realising that I liked him far more than he ever liked me.  

A friend as promising as perfectly shaped white clouds on a clear blue sky as you sit on a hilltop and watch dawn break. The friend understands and hugs you when the world is rude and the second you turn around, she shoves a middle finger towards anyone who dares try to hurt you again. She'll be your eating buddy, workout buddy, trash-talking buddy, arguing about cosmetic surgery buddy, your indecisive buddy, your study buddy and soon enough, your 'I think you're my best friend' buddy. This friend doesn't feel violent like summer does, she's comfortable like spring and it's almost worrisome how much you've begun to depend on someone who you've only known for a year. It's early morning or late evening and the atmosphere isn't as hysterical as you know it will be in an hour or two.

The weather shifts from bearable to blistering heat to bearable to the harsh cold to bearable to 'how has my skin not melted off into a plunge pool yet?' to bearable to 'there are literally icicles encircling my toes'. The weathers fluid and my sixteen-year-old emotions accompany it on a ride that I have no control of. I'm angry, passionate and exploding like the sun and the next second I'm under the pretence of being self-actualised and calm like a full moon. My study breaks are spent learning about Mercury being in retrograde and comparing constellations to moles on my body. But soon enough the evening fades away into the night and the last two years are compressed into ten question papers that I now use to soak up spilt water.

 It has come full circle and I will never see the afternoon like I did again. The people who have shaped who I am becoming are still around me but have eased up, they now believe that I am capable of walking on my own but I am just as needy as I was before. It is the end of an instrumental era that has taught me every lesson I think I'll need. Humiliation from rejection healed by the love from people who care about me has resulted in me making it through, all the way till here. 

Monday, 26 March 2018

2:56 a.m. on a Tuesday night.

All the time in my life - utilised by circles that I don't want to repeat. The irony is that I am equally responsible for the continuity of it. Its a yes and no game, each time the other person not willing to forgive because they're busy healing their bruised ego. The onset of summer every year, accompanied by mutual annoyance and frustration.  I’m older, fractionally wiser and that too in my ability to solve quadratic equations and in no way wiser in the matters of the heart. In fact, I think my intelligence in that sphere has deteriorated for lack of practice and daily use. Last night was quite a sight. Me tripping over my shoes in the darkness trying to reach the buzzing phone that I had placed at the other end of the bedroom. It was one thirty in the morning and I had fallen asleep watching the season finale of The Bachelorette sometime around ten.

 My phone was spammed with messages that he had sent me being his usual awkward, deflective and victimised self, demanding to know why I had regrettably texted him one night two days ago. This casual text was a simple ‘you up’? followed by immediate self-loathing. I deleted the text seconds after I had sent it but my lack of tech savvy resulted in me deleting the text only for myself and not him. I buried myself under the covers and cursed myself for making decisions past eleven p.m. The next morning to my horror, he had seen the text and replied. I was mortified and embarrassed for stupid reasons unknown to me and him. My brilliant plan was to avoid his casual reply until the end of time. This plan was cut short by the buzzing from my phone that I started the story with. His imagination had run wild and he was desperate know why I had texted him and began to believe that I had to tell him something incredibly important. I didn't. I didn't need to say anything, at all. In fact, my mind was still reeling from a dream that I was having about Danearys Targaryen. 
I responded to his texts and before I knew it, I was forty-five minutes into a conversation with him, sitting cross-legged on my bed and being too angry and tired to care about the atrocious speling mistaekes I was making. For as shy, immature and awkward as he is, he is better at emotional manipulation than anyone I have ever met. Too good, sometimes it makes me wonder whether Netflix will release a documentary about psychopaths in the making ten years down the line and mention him. What was supposed to be a conversation about apology and forgiveness had now turned into a full caps recollection of every horrible thing we have done to each other. 

You may already think that this seems too much to handle in forty-five minutes in a half asleep state but just you wait. Behold, five minutes later he confesses that he might still like me, a minute later - he likes me but not enough to date me, two minutes later - he likes me and has liked me through another girl that he was seeing, three minutes later - whatever feelings he has had for me have disappeared like a newly freed bird and finally, five minutes later I am miraculously and all at once blocked by him. I can't help myself, it's almost three a.m. and his profile picture has disappeared and I begin to genuinely and whole-heartedly laugh. The kind of laugh that one has once every week when you realise that the world is too funny to be cruel. So I pushed my phone aside, tried to ignore the mosquito buzzing around my ear and feel asleep dreading my alarm set for two and a half hours later.

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