All of Nothing

I don't think I need to preface this post by saying that I have been meaning to write and blah blah because by now I think the only thing which is certain about my blog is its inconsistency and uncertainty. I changed the template, look and info on my blog today for the first time since I joined and blogger tells me that I joined in 2006. I wonder why did I stick with the old theme for so long. I guess because change is scary, change is uncomfortable but change is constant. My life has changed so much since 2006, I think it was time for my blog to change. It's funny how reading your old posts can actually make you cringe. I am still proud of everything I wrote, I still own it but as I read through pages and pages of gloom, I realized how things have changed so many times in so many ways in last decade. Gloom has evolved, baby! And has been evolving. Gloom to chaos, chaos to anger, anger to fake determination, fake determination to real discomfort, real discomfort to real preten...

I have been thinking to write for months now. Despite the fact that I lose a lot of time browsing the internet and shopping or reading random things, I just could not push myself into posting something here. I like to say I didn't have time and I had to read scientific research related papers and do lab work and all this is partially true too but not to the extent that I could not find half hour in half year to write when I was absolutely in the mood of "my kind of writing" almost 5 days a week! Not to mention, I had straight up 2 weeks of laying in bed with chicken pox when I could have made up for not keeping up with my blog. Nevertheless, I don't see my writing and myself as two different entities. These writings and hence the blog are a part of me and such an integral part that there is no sense of it being any different than what I am. I am what I write. Before I start spitting my random thoughts, let me thank a friend of a friend who facebook-messaged me and so...

I realize it has been a while, almost a year since I posted anything on my blog. It is kind of sad, sad in its own deep somber way. I love to write, matter of fact I wanted to be an author/novelist at some point of my life. Like one of those miserably powerful desires but strongly passive aspirations, it just diluted to the realms of unreality. Not that it was hard to pursue but when I conceived that idea, I wasn't ready for a change. Maybe there were too many changes spontaneously occurring and I didn't want to add to them. Changes scare me. Continuity scares me more. I promised myself that I will write a post exactly after one year when I accidentally stumbled upon my blog and realized that the date was precisely one year old. The promise made in the lab was proven to be fragile by the end of 4 hours. My loyalty to this hobby appears to be questionable but it is like a matured addiction which recognizes you quickly even after many years. I came home, switched on my laptop and...

As I post some useless messages on Facebook tonight, I realize that the emptiness inside me doesn't get filled in. It just gets tired after wandering inside me for one whole day. It exhausts itself and goes to sleep but it leaves a miserable discomfort to watch me over till it surfaces again. All this happens in a house of pain. As I fanatically try to run out and reach for the door, i realize that the touch of my hand on the door opens a dungeon of what I hate the most - chaos. As I fall through it, for a while I go numb. Too numb to regret that I should have never touched the door. It feels as if billions of needles poke through my body and embed in me. Eventually, I fall in a fire which burns me in an unbearable agony and since I know my emptiness will take over sooner or later, I start yearning for it. I wait for it to take over. Take over me. Take over my agony. And then I realize I am my agony. Absorbed in these thoughts as I go on a nicotine- caffeine break, I try to distrac...

Well..it has been a long time since I actually updated thiS blog. I used to have two lines of writings- one which never moved out of the domain of my diaries and the other which was posted and updated online. If I trace back, the roots of this habit seem to be emerging from childhood days when I just wanted to verbalize my emotions. With time and circumstances changing for worse for me, the habit became a need. And when needs serve their primary purposes well, they become habits and in severe cases like mine, obsessions. I have always been an extremist. So, i have a tendency to overdo everything, good or bad. That's because one loses a sense of proportion when he starts doing something which in turn is meant to serve a bigger purpose of triggering something off which has no relation anyhow with the first "something". From being a teenage angry, dissatisfied and rebellious girl, i transcended to a grown - up adult but my needs and habits of scribbling never faltered. Reaso...

It has been so cold since you’ve gone; All the days have I mourned Torn into pieces, Smoked into ashes I start thinking where did we start from…? Moving around in the dark lanes, Contorting in my terrible pain, I saw you on the road across And heard you saying my name. You offered your hand, I held it still not assured And you sensed my sorrow and tried to cure I held you tighter, still unsure Not realizing where was I heading for. You became my habit, I became yours Weaknesses broke, pain absorbed, Ocean of tears flowed and froze You held me again to reveal what had been obscured. I fell in love before I could realize I hindered myself to get in the stride; But before I slept every night I saw you always through my smile. Days passed, time flew I dreamt of just me and you I moved on to an unknown destination, But the pieces inside pierced me through. A piece of life and the peace of death Entangled together, I could not separate. You locked the pain with kisse...

Burning inside me your pieces are smoked, Thoughts of togetherness now corrode. Give me a piece of these ashes, I’ll take it away to blow. Reasons beyond your wishful thinking, Leave your deeds somewhere stinking. Hold my hand again you may, But it won’t relieve your painful suffering. Laugh at yourself, you are a slave A slave of distrust and broken faith Your masters beat you to dismay; And you surrender to their whims everyday. But I ain’t a slave, I aint a fool Ain’t gonna be an object of play Not in love, not in disgust; Not gonna let you have your way. Slash these lies into pieces so many Make your doubts further uncanny Smell the deceit, kill your fantasy I am gonna be the author of your morbid story.