DotProject

.pain

/ ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ / 2 Comments

Pain is ethereal; we get used it more, eventually.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

I sometimes wonder whether I was same person I was a while back. I look at some of the things I have written and obviously, I cringe. I mean what was I even thinking to begin with. And in spite of everything cringe, there were still words, and whether they made sense or not is a secondary thought. “I used to write”, I say to people. I am always proud of that. Mind you I did suck, but proud for the fact that I had written. I had written very diligently, proactively, tried to hide everything that was me, with every sentence, with every period. I never wanted anyone to know me, the real me. But at the same time, I wanted to make myself known and be heard. However irrational it might sound, that was the reality of things.

To this day, I want to be heard and understood, but not known. I had this thought a while back when everything was falling apart. Well, it still is, just the things have changed since then, the falling apart remained the same. Fix it! It was easier said than done. So, lets get back to the thought I had a while back, and I was still in college and I had told myself that I should be writing a book in five years time, if I had managed to survive it. I had just started writing back then, and to keep myself from falling off the wagon, I started to read. And I read somewhere that people come out alive, even happy after being in the same boat as me. I was pretty sure, if I were to survive this, it would have been a damn good book.

That deadline was almost 10 years ago. I can’t even begin to describe where I am standing right now. I know that I had survived that phase only to have my hands tied, legs held by a rock and pushed into the deepest sea by me. It has been my own doing, and perhaps there were things done differently might have resulted in a different outcome. This new place that I let myself be leapt into has always been dark, and with everything tied up, it does get a bit suffocating. Pain in ethereal. We get used to it, just that we don’t really get used to it, just somehow live with it. It get so suffocating, but then again it starts to feel normal. But then again, what was normal to begin with. When did normal ever give a chance to be compared to. It has always been to drown a little deeper, only to see the light pass by slowly as everything stands still.

______
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

.unwrite

/ ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ / 8 Comments

Words hold a much deeper story,
when unsaid.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

Words always mean something. But what’s interesting and even more fascinating is that the unsaid words mean a lot more than the said ones. I used to dwell in words unsaid. I found comfort in them, knowing that what I wanted to say was out there in the open however no one ever really read between the lines. To be more honest I had never been good at writing, so when people failed to understand a normal story without any hidden words between the lines, I shouldn’t be too shocked to know that no one actually gets what I write. A part of me wants to convince me by saying that what I write is for me and not for the others, while the other part wants to find validation to the blatant truth that no on really understood or even read.

I continued to write, even after knowing that what I wrote never made any sense. But I always had this, lets call it inhibition that there would be someone out there perhaps going through what I am going through and perhaps will relate to my meaningless post. I could say that I wanted to reach out to people and convince them not to follow the path that I had followed and still seem to be following. It always gets darker and the light fades out at one point. Don’t get me wrong but in a way I am the one blowing out the last remaining candles with no match on me to light them back if there was something that could perhaps the change the dynamics of normalcy. I was so far gone that even if there was a light at the tunnel as they so family refer to, I would just ignore it and take a U-turn and go down the darker path.

No, I am not addicted to this. It is just me in general. When things happen, it sort of change people, I believe. Correct me if I am wrong. Experiences enriches people, they make them better, they enable us to make the right choices taking into account the innumerable wrong choices we had already made. Mistakes are a stepping stone and not something that crushes under its weight. The only problem with all the mnemonics is that it wold be all good with an effort made to learn from them, not if we let the weight crush us. And I believe I don’t have to explain where I stand in all this.

unwrite

This had been getting harder each day. With things taking drastic changes each day, it just keeps getting more difficult to cope. And the byproduct of all this is that I have started to lose the habit of expressing myself. For one, I have found myself writing the same thing over and over and over again, and writing which one enticed me, doesn’t do that anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I still have a very high affinity for writing, but it’s just that the circumstances are not enabling me to the do the best, or even a word. This is hard. Because it used to be rejuvenating but now, I just can’t, even if I tried. The forceful writing was never my forte. I believe in natural flow of words because they are more genuine and are usually from deep within, and even if they barely scratch the surface, they are still ones own. The others have always been pretentious or even forceful and it’s not like I have a huge fan base eager to read what I am writing. Maybe there never was one because of that very reason. It does make perfect sense, doesn’t it? Well, that’s not the point I was trying to make. The point being that I had lost the art of writing, and metaphors which once kept me company in the lonesome nights and (un)eventful days, it seems to have found a new place of it’s own. Well, someone has to be doing better. If not me, then they. I am not a very hopeful person, but I will try to hope that there is still a chance for them to come back to me, well the whole writing in general.

______

.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

.smile

/ ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ / 58 Comments

I never knew that a smile could scare me.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

I caught a glimpse on the mirror as I walked past it. I did not quite recognise the person I saw, however it has been the same face the I have been seeing everyday. But it was different that day or perhaps it has been the same and I never saw it until that moment. I stared as if I was watching something..someone for the first time. And after all the contemplation and trying to figure out the story behind those lost eyes, I was still clueless. There was so much going on the inside and yet so little visible in the eyes. And I could do was wonder how I was still standing when I have been breaking down a million times each day and why the eyes never told those untold & unseen stories. I found a mystery in myself. Interesting, I thought. Never did I think that I would make myself ponder over me. I believed I had figured myself out, even when no one else ever could. I continued to stare at my reflection. Maybe I wanted to myself to show what I was feeling on in the inside, perhaps in the eyes and wipe that expressionless face that never said a word like the personality that I had been carrying around. Unless I face it, I could never overcome it. All I was doing here was let it get trapped inside and sink in deeper.

A buzz in my pocket distracted the silent conversation with myself. It was a text message which inquired how I was doing? Without a second thought as if it was pre-programmed in me, I replied that I am doing good, and smiled as if I was telling the person in question face to face. At that moment again, I accidentally caught a glimpse of my reflection. Interestingly enough and quite bizarrely, I found was a person smiling which changed back to that former expressionless one within the next second. Quite honestly, it was getting quite boring staring at the expressionless face and I wondered how the people know me deal with me, when I am unable to stand myself for this short moment. But that fraction of a second, when there was that convincing smile when truth be told, I was lying through the teeth when I said that I was doing fine. The funny thing about it was that it looked convincing.

It sort of scared me.

How can I be so convincing when I know for a fact that I am not at all good by a long shot. I am literally hanging by a thread. All I saw was that curve which convinced me enough to believe what I had just said. Why was I even doing that? Why was there even a need to show that I was all okay when I am not? Why am I being trying to be a person that I am clearly not? Maybe I am just trying to fit in and belong in a world that is quite so judgemental and not be an exception to the social norms that we are governed with. How long do I have to continue not being myself and try to be a person falling in the premise of these illogical bracketed norms.

Maybe someday, I will be free from the chains that I tied to my feet, from the weight that I carry within. Maybe. As I pondered over the questions I had no answer to, I tried to smile. And it started to scare me each time I tried. All I was trying to do was find that happy moment when I was happy, genuinely happy and see whether I could ever be. But then again, how can I ever do that, knowing what I was carrying on the inside, knowing what I do not even remember having felt. How could I ever not fake a smile, when that was what I knew.

______

.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

.scream

/ ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ / 66 Comments

The silence in the voice.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

I stared at the reflection on the mirror. The eyes were searching for something. Some sort of validation, I suppose, or perhaps some answers, but the more they searched, they never even got any close to what they were searching for. Maybe there were no answers, or perhaps, the answers were lost. But in all honesty the answers were always there, they were just ignored. And beside the discontentment of not having, ignoring the answers, the eyes had something else in them, a sense of disappointment.

I sat down to gather the thoughts, the ones which lay scattered, in a web of jumbled and hazy thoughts, which never seemed to make any sense. While the confusion settled in the abyss of a mind, there was this new uneasy feeling that began to surface. It has always been there and this seems to be resurfacing again which always lead to messier things and breaking the already broken. And the unsettling feeling of what is supposed to be done isn’t being done is just topping the already full glass of water.

As I sat there looking into the eyes, speechless and wondering how to answer the questions that lay in front of them, I didn’t have the answers, I never did. All I thought had was one answer or more like an alternative to all this overflowing glass of water. And that might have seemed irrational, but it was the only way that could put an end to all this. And however irrational that sounded, it was sort of comforting to know that there was something that could be done, even though that didn’t land on the moral side of the scale.

The Silence in the Voice.

Now, there are a few more eyes trying to leap into my eyes looking for something, anything. The answers that I have always been searching for. And all could see in those eyes was something I had feared never to see. I was as blank to the questions in front of me. How was I supposed to tell that one thing that kept me going was an irrational thought and that was something that could never be said. While I sat there wondering how this irrational thought could be, no, is definitely the answer to all the questions, not the ideal solution but it was the best god damn alternative to everything that seemed to be weighing me down. There came a point when I stopped looking for any better answers because this irrational alternative was the only thing that could answer the unanswered questions while posing a few too many new questions, but that was not something of a concern to me now. Because the aftermath of this irrational thought was an abyss that I could never return from to answer any questions if there were any, which, with a doubt will be there.

However, and in all uncertainty, having finally come down to this one solution, as irrational it might seem like, this abyss that I was seeking as the ultimate solution was the farther away than it seemed. And that it cold solve all the problems seemed like an illusion. Imagine now, while I look at the eyes in the reflection in front of me and realizing that the one answer that could solve all the questions was just another failure and all I could of is screaming at the clueless reflection still staring back at me, lost in a self created abyss.

______

.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

.unblur

/ ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ / 72 Comments

Somethings always come with a price.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

Unblur

Colours. How fascinating are they? And how beautiful they are. And yet the fascination, my fascination lies with them two; monochome. You ask why? I wish I knew. Or perhaps, I wish I could explain. So tell me, what does happiness mean to you? How happy are you, right now? If not, don’t worry, you will be! How often do you look forward and want to be happy all the time? Wouldn’t you agree if anyone said that happiness is a beautiful place to be in? Of course it is a beautiful place to be in. And nothing makes me more glad to know you all are happy!

But amidst all this aura, it pulls me down a little. Don’t get me wrong, I love happiness. And also, I am scared of it. Because if there’s anything experience taught me anythimg, time and again, that there’s always a yang for yin, white for black, good for bad and sad for happy. Well, that does sound a little strtched.. something like out of context, doesn’t it? There won’t be anyone more ‘happier’ than me, if you said that there’s no alternative for happiness. But unlike you, I beg to differ. No, I am not trying to put a pessimistic approach or kill that optimistic mind of yours. I am speaking from mere experience. I agree with the odds that the percentage is different. For you happiness is a hundred percent, while for me sadness. There I did it again, brought the pessimistic viewpoint. I really can’t help it. And like I said, I am speaking from mere experience of a lifetime, so far! I wish it were a hazy opinion, a heresay, a lie, blurred emotion. But, time and again, I have seen it come back, like a stone in the ocean to ripples of tsunami, like a voice in mountain to multitude of echoes, piercing a million times over. Can the

. ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

Price

.dotProject
A traditional post where in the writer could write anything from poetry to prose to even a single line. Basically it is a prompt based post, but no restrictions whatsoever. My current format involves a quote and a bit of a passage around it, just to make a better sense of the abstract. If anyone wants to take up the project, please be my guest. Do let me know so that I can check your post as well.

.prompt : unblur

.isolate

/ ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ / 185 Comments

We build walls not to keep ourselves from the outside world, but to keep our demons locked up.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

_____

They ask me why do you write so much, why do I keep everything to myself, why can’t you love anyone, why don’t you hangout with people. Question, just too many questions with no answers. I smile. Like I always do. And while they wait for an elaborate answer, I observed over in my mind as to how to tell someone that it’s a dark place inside and letting people in might turn out to be the last thing they would want to do. Dark? They mock. As if they haven’t seen what dark was, they say under their breath. As if you are a special case, why even exaggerate. They mock. And all this while, I still haven’t told that it was dark inside either. I didn’t say anything yet. Because perhaps it wasn’t about the darkness inside. It wasn’t about the silently screaming voices. Or the battle inside to break through the shackles that drag them down. It wasn’t even about the suffocating thoughts that drown the mind in agony and pain. May be it’s about keeping the demons inside that no one ever even gets the shadow of it.

 

.dotProject
A traditional post where in the writer could write anything from poetry to prose to even a single line. Basically it is a prompt based post, but no restrictions whatsoever. My current format involves a quote and a bit of a passage around it, just to make a better sense of the abstract. If anyone wants to take up the project, please be my guest. Do let me know so that I can check your post as well.

.prompt : isolate

.deep

/ ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ / 88 Comments

The time sometimes deepens the wounds.
. ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

img_0389

They say that time heals. I did believe it. Little did I know how blind I was. May be what time does is cover the ripped using that paper tape, which could and will rip apart anytime and there’s nothing the time can do about it. But what hurts more is that despite everything we do to heal, they do leave a scar. Some carry it with a brave symbol for over powering their short comings while some scratch the healing scars as they are too afraid to look through it, or perhaps that scar doesn’t let us get past it. Because that scar is more of a memory reminding us of the things we did and the things we should have done. Though, I admire the people who leave these scars while they move on with their business as if nothing has ever happened. But the ones nursing their lost time are still showing off that bright smile despite breaking down on the inside, every moment.

_____

.dotProject
A traditional post where in the writer could write anything from poetry to prose to even a single line. Basically it is a prompt based post, but no restrictions whatsoever. Since I am kicking it off, I would be starting off with a couple of posts with will of the above format. My current format involves a quote and a bit of a passage around it, just to make a better sense of the abstract. If anyone wants to take up the project, please be my guest. Do let me know so that I can check your post as well.

.prompt : .deep

.inhibitions

/ ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ / 198 Comments

We cross the line never meant to cross.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

_____

More often an now, we come across an impossible situation where we have to make a choice, a decision that will probably decide the present and the circumstantial future. And the problem is not usually the choice we have to make, but the fact that there is something beautiful on the other side, however temporary or floating, we still want to cross the barricades of morality, even after knowing that it’s the wrong thing to do. The outcome of it is pretty simple, we enjoy crossing those barricades but then again we regret it instantly because we have this voice in the head shouting at us about the wrong choice we made, the same voice which was shouting at us to make the right choice earlier to finally crossing that line.

It’s a dark place to be in, before and after. And it’s eats us up on the inside. We try to justify in some way but there is no justification of what was done that could help us from this very inhibition.

img_0371

_____

.dotProject
A traditional post where in the writer could write anything from poetry to prose to even a single line. Basically it is a prompt based post, but no restrictions whatsoever. Since I am kicking it off, I would be starting off with a couple of posts with will of the above format. My current format involves a quote and a bit of a passage around it, just to make a better sense of the abstract. If anyone wants to take up the project, please be my guest. Do let me know so that I can check your post as well.

.prompt : .inhibitions

.magic

/ ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ / 128 Comments

 

Those eyes, and a world hidden in them.
. ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

img_0372

Eyes are the gateway to ones’ soul. We might have heard this a couple too many times. Most of it must be from me. I am usually the one who doesn’t look at anyone’s eyes. I fear I would sneak into their world and I understand their true emotions which more often than not is not exactly the same as they portray on the outside. No, I am not saying that I can read people, but from my experience I tend to understand the person’s emotions when they are talking to me, which usually shouts uninterested. Over the course of time, I have isolated myself than to involve myself in other’s scrutiny. Why even? But then again, we come across people who without doing anything intimidate us. Mostly its the eyes.

It was something like that with her as well. I never talked to her but yet whenever I saw those eyes, they spoke a million things all at once. Like a whole universe was inside of her and every time her eyes sparkle, it lights up the whole world around us.

______

I have been putting off things that I want to do in the name of getting my mojo back or say the good times to thrive, but lately I haven’t got anything do, so now I am doing a project to keep myself occupied a bit if not nothing. So, I came up with a project for myself.

.dotProject
A traditional post where in the writer could write anything from poetry to prose to even a single line. Basically it is a prompt based post, but no restrictions whatsoever. Since I am kicking it off, I would be starting off with a couple of posts with will of the above format. My current format involves a quote and a bit of a passage around it, just to make a better sense of the abstract. If anyone wants to take up the project, please be my guest. Do let me know so that I can check your post as well.

.prompt : .Magic