I don’t feel so raw anymore.
I don’t feel so raw.
I don’t feel so.
I don’t feel.
Tag Archives: Rant
I don’t feel so raw anymore.
Most Thought Catalog posts inspire strong emotion in me. This one though, does that in a ‘I wish I’d never met you. I wish I’d never met you.’ way.
For the better part of my life, I’ve been intrigued by people who aren’t like me. That is to say, people who don’t appear to be so overwhelmed with emotion that they have to spill it out, in tears, in words or at very least in affection, as unwanted as that might be. People with dignity. People with polish. People who’re measured and guarded. People who define cool.
I’ve now come to the long-delayed conclusion that I was wrong. They aren’t better than I am. This article appears to make an argument for just that kind of person. From having spent a tedious, fruitless, agonizing, hateful two years with exactly this kind of person, I’ve decided I’ve had enough.
I’ve decided that I have no more sympathy for people who want to call themselves ‘guarded’ and excuse themselves from being loving. You don’t get to excuse yourself from the love table if you’re still partaking of its delights. You give as you take. But not for these people. Enough, I say with the self-absorbed bullshit of the so-called introverts.
Everybody hurts, you know that? Bad experiences make every single of us cringe and cower in fear. You do not have sole rights to that place, we’ve all been there. But some of us have made it out. You didn’t and that does not make you superior; it bloody makes you a weakling. I might be compassionate towards one less priveleged or weaker than I am. But you wear away all of that since you expect compassion and effort from everyone else as a fundamental birthright. You’re a coward, you are. If I face you down and ask you to hit me with your best shot, what are you going to use? Indifference? The superficiality of ‘That’s not cool.’? The weak last-resort of condescension and sarcasm? No, you miserable bit of nothingness, you run. That’s what you do. You run because you’re bloody scared of life, of all that it represents and all the possible hurt it could inflict on you. And so you fear people who don’t seem to fear it that way.
Enough, assholes. Get on your feet and start living. Start feeling, jump into the painful, scary, unpredictable adventure called life. Stop sitting by the sidelines and telling me I’m beneath you because I’m doing so. I’m knocking you off your bloody pedestals.
Why must people prove their allegiance to God by making a big noise about it? Even if God is up in the sky, I’m told that he can hear perfectly well.
I’m back from a packed weekend with a number of intense experiences and I’m doing the next three prompts in a row so there’ll be patterns and repetition. Okay, you were warned. Here goes the first Reverb10 prompt.
December 24 Prompt – Everything’s OK
What was the best moment that could serve as proof that everything is going to be alright? And how will you incorporate that discovery into the year ahead? (Author: Kate Inglis)
Monsoon. A tiny (you won’t believe how tiny) flat on the ground floor of an unfashionably locality in suburban Mumbai. The rain lashing against the single window. An occasional earthworm getting in through godaloneknows where.
It was the final gasp of the pitchy darkness that had engulfed me in the first half of the year. I hadn’t had the time to think about it, make sense of it. And finally I did. So I remembered. And I grieved. And I raged. And I bitched. And I ranted. And I cried. A lot. Not the nearly poetic, beautiful tears cascading down my cheeks. But unsightly swollen eyes and runny nose, hacking sounds as tear glands struggled to keep up with the outpouring of emotion.
When I was all spent, I opened my eyes. My face was buried in an old tee-shirt whose smell felt alien then (and that I would come to recognize with clarity). A rough face pressed down on my head. I shifted, reality and the present coming back into sharp, sudden focus. The arms around me tightened perceptibly.
Where are you going?
It’s getting late. I should get home.
You are home.
And I was.
I feel like my life is being scrubbed with a very hard brush and industrial-strength detergent.
It’s almost mid-way through 2010 and I’m hoping the rest of this year speeds by quickly. It really hasn’t been a good time at all. I feel like everything around me is dropping away, one by one. The job is over and the longer I stay home, the more distanced I feel from that ambitious, aggressive person I was at work. Some days I feel like all those things were done by another person. I can’t imagine standing up and talking to a crowd of people, of taking charge of a team, of coping with a death and supporting a whole group of other people. Was that really me?
I feel like people and relationships are just slipping away from me. The best friend moved to another continent. She and I are just the same and yet, she feels so far away, so disconnected.
Astra, my lovely witch, and I parted ways. I miss her often but I know I can’t go back to her. If it makes sense and if I anticipated it and I know it can’t change, why does it hurt so much?
My fascinating muse has left. I find myself thinking about him often but again, I think of our last conversation and I know I’m never going to reach out to him. You were wrong, we so didn’t get past this.
I’ve been going through dates in a crazy way. None of them have hurt at all. I decided to call it off and when I went to meet him, the first thing he said is that we should stop dating. It didn’t even hurt my ego, let alone my heart. Nothing touches me anymore.
A distant cousin was in Mumbai this morning and he mentioned a yahoogroup I had set up ages ago of my cousins. I had forgotten about it so I went to look it up. I found a whole list of groups of people who used to matter in various ways. I set up most of those groups. I was a born social networker, long before it became a marketable skill.
Notably, I rediscovered the college group. There were lots of photographs in one, an albumful that I’d uploaded. It appalled me that I couldn’t remember the names of many of the people in those pictures.
Remember the Bihari boy from Delhi? Quiet and gentle and soft-spoken. He once told me about his family in Ranchi and his hardships, being an unpopular minority citizen. I remember he was one of the few people who actively tried to keep in touch after college and was very kind to me when he learnt about the break-up. I remember him telling me that I was sinking, cutting off the world and I should make an effort to reach out and come back to life. I still can’t place his name and it’s driving me nuts.
I remembered the one other person apart from Best Friend that I was in touch with and I called him. I asked if we could catch up tomorrow since I’d be in his part of town. I last met him a few months back, after I took my break. Our meetings have always been this way – I call him when I’m in his area or think of him. But he’s never once called. He told me he was busy but if he wasn’t travelling and if he didn’t have meetings and if he managed to finish work, he’d stop by. I don’t know why this particular time should have hit me but it did. I told him I didn’t like that I kept calling and he never called. It snowballed into a fight where he kept saying things like “I never call anybody”, “Tum log sab mujhe phone karke aise nahin bol sakte ho”. I ended up hanging up really, really angry and hurt. I deleted his number. And I feel like shit.
I just had a thought as I was typing this out. It feels like I’m facing some kind of karmic retribution for running after all the wrong people and ignoring the ones who really cared. What do I do now? How do I break out of this? And what could I have done back then? I didn’t know, I so didn’t know.
God, but it isn’t the same thing typing all this out in an email or a post. What’s the point in a long list of Facebook Friend acquaintances when the only person you really have left to talk to, is a blog?
I miss people, the real people. My people.
To my friends in so many places,
I’m upset. Badly so.
I’m not okay with your calling me only when you have problems in your love life. I’m struck even worse by the fact that you have no time to hear about my love life problems or worse, that you don’t even think that’s a problem.
I can deal with unanswered calls; honestly I can understand a busy life. But I can’t deal with unreturned calls and unanswered SMSes. And these things have time restrictions. How would you feel if you knew the only way to reach me was to contact me at least 6 hours in advance since I’d never call you back before that?
I’m so not okay with being kept waiting. 10-15 minutes are non-issues, longer and I’ll wait if you let me know. An hour and over with no indication is staggering. Work, traffic, family restrictions, mood swings, loss of watch, deep conversations and boyfriends/girlfriends may sound like good reasons to be late. I’d like to think I’m an equally good reason for you to be on time.
If you don’t care for that, it tells me you don’t think my time is of any value. It tells me you don’t give a damn about my feelings since you invalidate how upset I am at the end of it. It tells me that I’m nothing more than someone you feel you can snap your fingers at, when you like. Never going to be okay with that.
I can take the initiative. That’s not because it ‘comes naturally’ to me, it’s because you matter enough for me to make that effort. When you don’t bother with making an effort, it tells me you aren’t bothered about me. I’m your friend, not your party planner.
And finally, I know we live with increasing demands on our time and no one’s found a way to make the day last longer than 24 hours. Just remember, that I live in that space too. The same city, the same lifestyle, the same profession, the same kind of family, the same kind of relationship. If I can make time for you, I expect you to make time for me.
I’ve swallowed all of the above as well as my pride, your excuses and an increasing feeling that none of you cares for me. One of you has told me that everyone is so busy with their own lives, that they tend to overlook other people’s feelings and that ‘it’s not that they don’t care’. I disagree.
Caring isn’t the absence of negative feeling.
It is an active sentiment that is backed up with actions.
Perhaps I have no room in the busy space in your mind. But that means you shouldn’t enjoy the same position in my mind. If you love having me around for how I always listen to you and stand by you, you need to remember that I have the same needs and you’re honour-bound to care for me as well. If you expect me to be sorry for bringing this down to a ratio, I’ll say you should be sorry that you haven’t been able to make me feel cared for.
I’m posting this here because this is the only way I have to get through what I need to say. If you suspect that I’m talking about you, you’re probably right. If you don’t know me at all, please don’t offer advice or consolation.
Not a good time. Not a good mood. December always gets me down. Even though the fabulousness of my life must make me seem like a crank for complaining. It’s too many people, too many expectations, too much to consider and keep track of.
They say a man (person) is known by the company he keeps. Personally I always thought that was a tad unfair. After all, I enjoy the company of a wide variety of people, across age and interest groups. What does that say about me? That I’m fickle? Or that I like variety? But I realised when I was screaming my heart out this week, what that really came to. There’s warmth in this friendship, genuine warmth, at least I thought so. And yet, more than once I’ve had a chance to be pained by the people she hangs out with. Are some people natural filth-magnets? I surely don’t want to be part of such a circle. And so I resign. Even though I have no problem with her as such, I certainly have a problem with the riff-raff she chooses to hang out with and forces me to rub shoulders with, at every conceivable social occasion.
Goodbye dear friend, I’m sorry for running away this way but your ugly world scares me.
Another adage – a man is alive so long as he is remembered.
The Best Friend is moving overseas, the visa approval finally having come through. Somehow I feel like a part of me is drifting away forever. The last connection I have to my distant past, the person I used to be before this cynicism and visibility. The person I was before the fractured dreams, before those dreams were even conceived…all of them go with her. If there’s no one who remembers what you really sound like, do you have a voice anymore?
Goodbye dear friend, carry my cherished self with you. I know you’ll take care of it well. This is not a world for that gentleness anymore.
I snapped at another friend for calling me a name I didn’t like and I told him not to pick on me in my rare moment of emotion. He replied,
This isn’t a rare moment of emotion for you. Its a rare moment of this particular emotion of helplessness. And, I’m not enjoying you feeling so.
You know why that was striking? Because he pinned down the exact thing that’s bringing me so much agony. I hate this, hate, hate this feeling. Helplessness is not a place I’ve ever been comfortable in.
What am I doing? The writing is not going well, not at all, I’m afraid. I don’t want to know that I’m good, all I care about is that I’m not good enough. It may just be a matter of time but I’m afraid I don’t have that time. Or perhaps I do but I don’t think I can live on these shifting sands for much longer. I need terra firma beneath my feet and if that means I bury my dreams and sell out, I probably will.
Goodbye dreamer-girl, there’s no place for you in this gritty world. Your wings are no substitute for the strong legs I need to stay put. I’m going back.
The thing about telling something to go to hell is that they want to take you along as a tourist guide. My last offer reads:
Free! One-way single ticket to hell!
Guide not included due to popular demand indicating that we stay back to arrange more such trips for others.