Ahorrarse

When you’re the kind of girl who is always there for others; you feel a lot. You have depths within you, an ocean for a heart and you keep falling for people who are too scared to swim. You get hurt easily. You ache wondering if someone will ever give you the comfort you so freely give to others.

And when that doesn’t happen, you heal yourself. You find strength and comfort in things than people. You find energy in your solitude, you find hope in your dreams and you rest your restless soul in dark abyss. You build yourself up, tell yourself that you don’t need anyone to save you, that you don’t need anyone to steady your foundation.

But you do.

See, sometimes the girl who is always there for everyone else, needs someone there for her. Sometimes, the girl who smiles the widest holds the darkest sufferings. Sometimes, the girl who encourages everyone around the most also needs to be told that she is appreciated, that she matters; sometimes she needs to be encouraged herself.

So, if you’re the girl who is always there for others, know that your heart is rare. Know that you hold within an ability to calm the storms whirling in people. Know that you give people hope, that you inspire them by acknowledging the pieces of them that most ignore, that you make them feel appreciated and wanted; that you make people feel like they have a purpose in life.

However, also remind yourself that you are not invincible. Your heart needs rest. You need rest. Remind yourself that you don’t need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, that you may not be able to save everyone, that you may not be able to heal every pain and suffering they’ve been through. Remind yourself that you deserve to take all the energy you put out into the world and invest it back into yourself from time to time. That you are worthy of the love you keep giving away to everyone else. Remind yourself that you don’t always have to be strong, have to be a fixer. Remind yourself that you can be human, that you can ask for help; that you don’t always have to be the one to save yourself.

 

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Pensamientos Aleatorios

“And like the moon, we have a side of us so dark that even stars couldn’t shine on it; we have a side of us so cold, even the sun couldn’t burn it.”

If sadness cannot fuel the poet, then what can? The dreamers, the thinkers, the writers; we are all the same. We compress sadness into alternate forms, transforming thoughts into visions and visions into something more tangible. But what about when a prick on finger draws no ink? We spend our days lost in translations, a hollow state between thinking and doing. A shot of rum, a shot of whiskey, a shot of vodka; how much must it take to burn the fuel inside and to ignite something bright within us. We are the stars that are dying out in the ugliest way. We don’t shoot across the sky for people to wish upon. We explode and set fire. We shake the universe and swallow each planet alive. We compress them into a black hole where no light can enter or escape. Our skin is made up of dark matter. We are a mystery to all the scientists and quests for all the doctors as they can’t quite seem to figure us out. We are scary and sometimes even terrifying. Do not get close to us or we’ll draw you in our world. We feel no pain. We don’t feel anything anymore. We just have sadness residing in us. We are coated with dark sorrows but it doesn’t seep into our pores like it used to. It just blankets around our nerves and numbs everything around us. We are the dreamers, the writers, the poets; but we no longer dream and just cannot write anymore. The fuel doesn’t catch fire inside us anymore. They taught us that things need oxygen to burn and maybe that’s why every night I find myself here again questioning if I’m really breathing air, and if I am, what is the point if I cannot go up in flames?

Dear Diary,

“Maybe she has become quieter, more pragmatic and lifeless again. She doesn’t remember how to love herself. For so long, she’s been treating her body like shit and now when she has the chance to mend the parts of it that she has torn to pieces, she is afraid that she doesn’t deserve it. She saw herself like dust, broken at the touch of wind, and she doesn’t feel like she should be given a chance to fix herself. Why build up what’s going to fall down again? Dilapidated heart, purple lungs, intoxicated liver-they were all her fault to begin with. It is hard to get better when you don’t think that you should. She is sorry that she’s never loved herself enough. Now it’s like asking her to love a stranger.”

It’s been 183 days, 4350 hours in my new city and funny how it’s the first time I’ve finally mustered the courage to face you. I swear I almost lost my control, picked up the pen to write to you but I just couldn’t. Not for the lack of time or me trying. Because I just couldn’t figure out the words I’d write to you.

So I took the easier way out. I let it go. What I’ve always been known for. Yet, it wasn’t easy for me to leave the place where I didn’t just belong but the place belonged to me. Because goodbyes are hard, depressing. Not to look back, harder.

It’s not just almost half a year but 183 days of hesitant steps turning to walking down familiar roads, awkward small talks around the college classrooms. I’ve lost myself time and again. But by the end of the day, a sigh of freedom always leaves my mouth as I hear the clink of keys while opening the door to my safe heaven.

Sigh of freedom that brings a skip to my steps when I jump over a puddle. Rains that make me want to read a book all day with a steaming cup of coffee.

Because while you look for romance all your life dear diary, there’s nothing more romantic than staying alone, surrendering yourself to every moment, surrendering control over what you thought was irreplaceable, falling in love with the lights and walls and rhythm of another city.

But yet again romanticizing the idea of love is something you would want me to do more.

Rain

She lay awake listening to the rain and at first it was as pleasant to her ear and her mind as it had long been desired; but before she fell asleep it had become a majestic and finally a terrible thing, instead of a sweet sound and symbol. It was accusing, trying her and passing judgements. For long she lay still under the sentence, listening to rain and then at last listening to words which seemed to be spoken by a ghost beside her. He was muttering incoherent words making it hard to understand. She was still alone in the dark and her ears listening to the rain piping in the gutters and roaring softly in the trees of the world. Even so will rain fall darkly upon the grass over the grave when her ears can hear it no more.
Slowly, she stands up getting out of the blankets and makes her way outside. Its 2am in the morning and here she stands in middle of the road getting soaked in rain from head to toe. The raindrops touch her cheeks like an angel’s kiss. The rain thundered down so heavily that she could imagine that space itself was made of water and was pouring through rents in the sky’s tired fabric. Rain and tears is the same thing, they’re meant to wash away everything, if you let it. If you don’t, you’ll drown inside. And so she closed her eyes and let herself free from the walls she had once built. She sheltered her colours in the dark, where others were blind to see; but I caught a glimpse of her lastly when she gave me a chance, before disappearing into the day. There was beauty locked in her that unfolded like an umbrella’s claw, her true self that desired compassion, trust, protection and the potential to soar.
But what I wasn’t looking for was when she left her reasons in the rain.
She became lost in a deep span of her version of a perfect world. A place she wanted so desperately to reach, but would never find except from within the catacombs of her mind. A place where the sun rose in the west and set in the east, where the mountains bowed to the wind like trees and the rain sprinkled up from the ground below and onto the clouds above. A place where no one hurt or lost, felt any tinge of desperation. A place where heartbeats were the only words needed and music floated on the wind like dust. Where a single person could be the only sustenance needed to survive. A place where there were no yesterdays or tomorrows, only today’s. A place for her to find solace, an escape from the real world she was forced to live in.
As she stands beneath the pouring sky, she closes her eyes and let’s herself drowns in the rhythm of the rain. The truth is that the rain falls for ever and she will eventually melt into it. Black and monotonously sounding is the night and solitude of the rain. In a little while or in an age, she shall know the full truth of the words she used to love, she knew not why, in her days of nature, in days before the rain; blessed are the dead that the rain rains on.

Hope

“How are you feeling now?” He asked with an inviting smile.

“I’m great,” the lie slipped off my tongue easily. I even added my own smile to compliment the lie.

“How are you feeling now?” he repeated with same inviting smile.

“I’m fine,” I spoke a bit louder this time, maybe he hadn’t heard me.

But that was not the case.

“How are you feeling now?”

“I already told you, I’m feeling fine.” Is he deaf or something?

“How are you feeling now?” Mother of all the chocolates, this guy may be chocolate treat for eyes but I’m pretty sure there’s a bolt missing in his brain.

“I’m fine,” I sighed.

And again he asks me the same question but this time I snapped.

“I swear there is something wrong in your brain. Chocolate fudge! Are you deaf or something? Sheesh, you’re annoying me.”

“Finally!” He exclaimed happily. “You’re finally speaking the truth.”

Is it me or this guy is on chocolate overdose? “So you’re deaf. I swear you had normal hearing powers when I last met you.”

He laughed shaking his head, “God, you’re so funny.”

“Um, I’m not joking,” I replied in all seriousness. “You’re not deaf then?”

“Why would I be? I don’t close off the world around me.” He stared at me, his eyes never leaving mine. He was talking about me. “Things would be a lot easier if you spoke your mind.”

“You’re not supposed to speak your mind.”

“Who said that?” he scoffed.

“Your words can hurt others.”

“If you keep them inside, the only person you’re hurting is yourself.”

I hated when he spoke about things like this. Each and every word he said made me want to believe that things could be fixed, that I could be fixed. Hope can be a wicked thing-it can mange to grow in bleakest circumstances. Hope is one thing I did not want.

So, I remained silent.

“You’re really stubborn, you know that?” He smiled.

 

Insecure

“I feel insecure that maybe one day you might not love me anymore.” – John Lennon

When was the last time, you looked at the mirror and saw a happy face staring back at you? When was the last time you felt free? You did not do things other people’s way and just lived the moments for yourself? Well, if you didn’t then wake up already!

The moment you stop comparing yourself to others because it undermines your worth, education and your wisdom. The moment you live your dreams, not because of what will prove or get you, but because that is all you want to do. People’s opinion doesn’t matter. The moment you realize that no one is your enemy, except yourself. The moment you realize that you can have everything you want in life. However, it takes time, the right heart, the right actions, the right passion and a willingness to risk it all. If it is not yours, it is because you really didn’t want it or need it. The moment you realize that happiness was never about getting a person. They are only helping hands who help you walk towards achieving your life mission. The moment you believe that love is not about winning or losing. It is just a few moments in time, followed by an eternity of situations to grow from. The moment you realize that you were always the right person. Only ignorant people walk away from greatness. That is when you will actually wake up!

If you do not like a certain behaviour in others, look within yourself to find the roots of what discomforts you. Become your own soul mate. Then you’ll always have someone watching your back and you’ll always have someone who loves you. There’s no room in perfection for insecurity. Perhaps we just need little reminders from time to time that we are already deserving and worthy. Sometimes, we don’t feel that way because of the wounds and the scars that we carry from our past or because of uncertainty of future. It is doubtful that we come to feel undeserving on our own. We were helped to feel unworthy. We were taught that in thousand ways when we were little, and we learned our lessons well.

I have made plenty of mistakes. But the key to life is to learn from them. After all, creative people are very insecure because they don’t know whether people like them or are in awe of them. That insecurity always comes out. I think anybody with an insecurity appreciates the fact that it’s much easier to be a predator than it is to be a prey. But to be creative, you must have courage. Do not ask for opinions. Just do it.

Let me tell you something, Once a wise man sat in the audience and cracked a joke. Everybody laughed like crazy. After a moment, he cracked the same joke again. This time, fewer people laughed. Then he cracked the same joke again and again. When there was no laughter from the crowd, he smiled and said: You can’t laugh at the same joke again and again, but why do you keep crying over the same thing over and over again?

So, remember nobody can hurt you without your permission. Never make permanent decisions on temporary feelings. Let today be the day you finally release yourself from the imprisonment of past grudges and anger. Simplify your life. Let go of the poisonous past and live abundantly in the beautiful present.

Why?

Maa, when I was nothing but a child you told me about all the goodness in the world. That everyone has goodness hidden in them even if we fail to see it sometimes. You told me that people are going to love me no matter what happens. That I’m beautiful in spite of my imperfections. You told me that this world is the perfect place to live in. That whatever is meant to be will happen, that everything will find its way. You told me stories that made me love the human race, that made me believe and trust in them.

But Maa, why didn’t you tell me about all the bad that exists? Why didn’t you tell me that everyone has an evil side, the one which we never expect? Why didn’t you tell me that the only people who stay with you throughout is your family? Why didn’t you tell me that people are going to lie on my face and rip off the bandages when they’re the only ones you’ve got? Why didn’t you tell me about the monsters with human faces that could kill me anytime they want by leaving me alone to suffer? Why didn’t you tell me that people care about you only when they need to get their work done? That I’m always going to feel used and vulnerable? Why didn’t you tell me that people are going to tear you down to your bones and leave like it isn’t their job to make you okay?

Maa, why didn’t you tell me about all the bad in this world?

Because now I’ve grown up and nothing makes sense. All I realize ever moment is how people are never what we think them to be like. It’s all a mess always. And I have to face it alone. Because I can’t tell you Maa, your fragile little soul doesn’t need to be exposed to all the evil.

Maybe,

Maybe that’s what you thought too.