If I write about creepy, old, wrinkled up, crooked nosed women who surface at the witching hour to collect the glassiest eyeballs for their collection, would it be relatable?
What if I told you that these crones couldn’t sleep at night because of the constant animosity that came their way uninvited.
She isn’t a conventional beauty. She doesn’t have the knowledge of what it is like to see through eyes and find acceptance and praise.
What if she believes every other eyeball has that luxury. It’s special, everybody, barring her is special. And for once, she wants to see through eyes that show her kindness and love and humanity if nothing else.
What if this hag has her collection of amber, blue, brown, grey, green, hazel and black irises; and she picks out one pair at the end of the day, to just cherish the moments which she would otherwise not know of?
How wrong is it that because of our small mindedness, our perception of beauty, our choice of pretty over personality; has driven these women to claw out the eyes of some innocent, who, even by a shade is considered acceptable?
Do I have a moral? Ask yourself.
Am I suggesting that the birth of a new serial eye-scooper is imaginable, I hope not.
Am I hoping that there are people who see beyond what their eyes show them? Yes.
There’s a very thin line between freedom and fear, I feel. In less than a month I won’t have an excuse to be a child. No grades, attendance percentage, no redos. The freedom that I yearned for over five years is not even thirty days away.
A friend stated, “freedom” regarding the fact that college is almost over. And automatically my reply to him was, “fear”.
You will always have something that scares you. All these years it was the things that I will never have to face in a month. But now, the fear of actually living by your rules, your outlines, whether I want it black and white or blue and orange; I don’t have the slightest clue.
If I for a second believe that right after graduation I will follow my dream. Then let me tell you, I won’t. I can’t. Those of you who have ever had a conversation with me know that the end goal is to be the author of a best seller. I have sat at coffee shops, waited on sunsets, I have stared out the window sitting snug with a stray near my foot in Almora. I’ve been to every stereotype place where epiphanies are known to strike. Still, nothing.
Of course I’m scared. Terrified of tomorrow.
There’s another side to me that breathes in relief. At least now, I will be able to use the tool of my choice. I will be able to decide the medium of colours I wish to use. And speaking of epiphanies, here’s hoping she finds me soon.
I’m a recovering hypocrite.
My talent? I give ridiculously good advice on becoming who you are and not being defined by the presence or absense of people, places or things in your life.
My flaw? I rarely follow through.
But here’s the thing, I try. Each time, harder than the last. I try to guard my feelings with Hulk like protection *imagine little Avengers fighting to maintain the good thoughts* I try to listen to what each half of my body says. When the hands don’t want to reply, I don’t. When the feet want to up and leave a situation, I do. When the head wants you to bow out and leave without a scratch but the ego wants to take the first punch, that is where I lose most of the time. Correction, that is where I lose every time. Now the heart, that instant pounding that begins when a number flashes on the screen, that there, is where you decide how the rest of your next 2 hours will go.
I advised my closest of friends, I threatened them over my friendship that they won’t let anybody belittle them ever again. I’m very proud to say that I’m surrounded by extremely strong people.
As a recovering hypocrite, my two hours that follow are either invested in a romcom (on the days I win); or I’m left streaming nonsense reality shows through the night, just so nothing triggers another bout of self loathing.
If there’s a hypocrites anonymous, I would love to join them. But at least I’m a good friend who helps those with a stronger will than mine to spend their two hours being proud of themselves.
People don’t change. They go on probation. Sometimes they surprise themselves. But shortly after, you’ll get that familiar taste of toxic that is their presence in your life.
Why let them in? Why try to take the higher road and give endless chances? Why go against your pleading intuition and answer, “hey.” It has to and will end with you feeling nothing short of an idiot who took a growing plant and stubbed a dozen lit cigarettes in it.
Choose yourself for once. Give yourself the chance to be selfish if necessary. Why should you hear the other’s rehearsed excuses whereas you don’t get to express yourself?
What do they have over you? What’s so great about them that you start second guessing yourself? Tell me, how far in, have you gone that the only comfort you find is surrounded by accusations, fights and emotional outbreaks?
Why not enjoy the possibility of shedding that toxic weight from your mind and peacefully grow as you want to.
Keep the one who will exploit your kindness out, especially when you know that all you did was try to be a friend.
Sometimes a full stop indicates the end. Just that. Sometimes no other begining is needed to follow.
Bullying never stops does it?
Hypocrisy is the most sought after mask behind which people would hide and attack others. What’s the joy you ask? Probably a sense of achievement. Even when there’s no provocation from the attacked party, bullying just becomes a game.
When I was younger, I saw the heavier girl in class get bullied by two seniors. She was just sitting there. Minding her own business. They made an announcement about something to do with Marvel vs DC; which was wrong so the girl decided to correct them. What a huge mistake. The next move, constantly calling her names and passing judgement without even actually knowing her.
Imagine you’re just casually scrolling down your feed and your favourite comic strip has an error. Since you have the disease of not being able to cope with spelling mistakes and written errors stick out like a thumb; that one mistake did disappoint you a bit; but in today’s day; if you speak up about anything, those mightier than you will ridicule you. Because bullying never stops. People don’t know what the high road is. And I guess having an opinion, if not the same as everyone’s, is wrong and an excuse for bullying.
At this point, being grammatically correct can be cause for target.
Guess growing up isn’t all that different.
How many of us
How many of us
The ones for the
books, the ones
for the screen,
the ones for the
ones for the
minds, some for
the hearts, and
a few for the
When you know
which love is
the love you
Because by then
If a look makes you uncomfortable, speak up.
If a touch makes you squirm, speak up.
If words make your blood boil, scream out.
Nobody has the right to keep you quiet. Regardless of their “niceness” their “importance” or even their “charm”.
The best perceived are often those who hide their dark intentions flawlessly.
Learn to forget their place in your life, their good deeds towards you shouldn’t compensate for how they make you feel. Even once, if you have confronted them and they still try to pass it off as a joke with a nudge on your hand or waist, speak up! Be loud. Be clear. Be resolute about how it is not okay for anybody to side line your feelings.
How long will you keep shut? How long before you’re meant to “forgive and forget”? Regardless of the sex of those who make you feel even the teeniest of discomfort, you must speak up.
If a No doesn’t work, try a “yes please, continue your acts of harassment and ignore my repetitive requests to keep off. Because requests don’t work, may I take a knife and stab myself in the places you keep touching me? Maybe you’ll know what I prefer over your ignorance.”
My body is mine. Nobody else’s.
Nobody has any right over it.
Nobody can ever have a right over it.
This is my work, and I have made it however I like, and because it’s out in the open, it does not give you the right to poke at it.
Read the invisible but always strung board around my neck which says “do not touch”.