I cannot stop

Stuti's Kitchen Garden

7 July 2020

My mind is pacing up instead of relaxing. As much as I like to believe that my mind is in my control, I cant really fathom most times whether it is. Times when I suddenly start to feel out of breath on a phone call and I can’t concentrate on listening anymore, all I feel in those times is to cut the call and run back in my unreachable cocoon. For someone who has been active on social media from as young as 12, I am doing pretty great without any virtual interaction with people which includes documenting my life and put it to showcase. Don’t get me wrong here, I don’t intend to put Facebook, Instagram, or this blog – for the amazing people I found through these mediums but somehow, my mind has had enough for small talks and it needs break. Funny how I say I cannot stop, when I have stopped so many things is past 8 weeks. I think, my constant attempts to crawl back into the arms of this cozy nurturing space, just to write is failing, because I am too scared to document anything. Cause after all, the more memories you make, the more you have to push yourself to let go. Holding back means weighing down. Letting go means free to fly with no strings attached. I have reached a point where my needs have limited to meals just once or twice a day, I am trying to not eat at night these days. I do feel guilty for falling into the Sale traps last weekend, but at the same time – can I say I am free if I don’t have a lot of needs from the outside?

I am contemplating a minimal lifestyle, but with the bohemian outlook I have towards life, it reflects on my walls, on my bed, in my closet. How does one really start though? To live a life that has only what I need and utilise fully. To be honest, it does sound like fantasy to me, to be able to not hoard – even the saved WhatsApp texts. I don’t really understand though – it does save my life almost half the time when I am in any form of trouble or anything is missing. My hoarding occurs to me as if it is more of a saviour and thus, I go downward spiral from being a wishful minimalist to real time hoarder. And I am not talking about things here, I hoard conversations in my brain, consistently trying to infer whether I was understood or misunderstood – has it made me any better at communicating who I am and what I need? I guess I completely disregard that sometimes it doesn’t really matter how you communicated it because the listener comes with their own coloured notions about you and everything that you do or say will be understood or misinterpreted – completely on the basis of the color of their perceptions. So can I really control that? Does it even make sense to hoard few sentences in my mind, just to rewind, play, pause, reflect – and wonder – was there a better way to put that across?

That also comes to the point where I need to understand why is it so bloody important for me that everyone understands clearly. Where does that need arise from? That need is an illusion because understanding is a two way street and you can only walk your walk and if the other isn’t willing – you can either be patient and wait, or you leave it and begin again. And honestly, you can try as much as you want to make everyone understand, you are simply setting yourself to failure. I guess the right thing to do would be to start understanding yourself better, so that when people misunderstand, you can still be by your side and know that you meant no harm and that it is okay to be misunderstood as long as you have the conviction.

So the great update is, I have been indulging in Kitchen gardening these days. Watched a couple of Youtube videos, this woman called Rakhi Mittal came super handy – learnt a big deal about the kind of soil you need, things at home [basically all kitchen waste] that you can collect and use as a manure. Cost-less and effective at its best. Ordered 15 seeds from amazon and that’s all. As the kitchen waste manure requires fermentation, we mixed the soil with manure [used cow dung, because we also have Shyama at Amrutam Vatika].

I wish I could describe the feeling when you see the seeds germinate, they turn into these tiny little babies. Even though, I have seen plants grow since my childhood, this is my first hand experience of taking care of something from its nascent stage – literally starting from the scratch. It would be feel like nature is the god that all the religions are looking for. It is true magic. I mean, how can something as tiny as 1 mm size grow into these 2 inches saplings? Every time I take a break, or when I am strolling in the evening, I like to watch them, observe them and just feel so much calm. These sapling are my new Instagram app that I keep going back to for no reason. But this has been such a blessing-in-disguise, and unintentional alternative.

Stuti's Kitchen Garden

I do think that taking care of something as fragile as saplings make you more patient as a person. I am extremely grateful that somehow it is giving me more confidence to be a responsible person in my personal life. I do wish to learn more about and start practising a minimal life, let’s see when that happens organically in my life too.

God bless & lots of love,

S

Stuti's Kitchen Garden
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Life in Covid Days | Writer’s Edition

sign out of everything

Friday, 3 July 2020

I am quite nervous as I type because I’m scared I may have forgotten how to write – you know that feeling when words flow out of your mouth like water falls off a cliff, when you cannot distinguish the different droplets, it looks like silk draped across a beautiful curve – I am worried that I may have lost that mouth, the cliff, and the curve. Even when I look too closely, the droplets aren’t switching to slow-motion. It’s creakingly overwhelming.

I don’t know, am I trying too hard to write, right now? What was my process of writing like? I think I used to start with what I could hear in the background, and right now, I can hear Krishna Das singing in his most glorious voice, but all I can keep my focus on the click-ity clack of my keyboard keys. My AC and fan – awful bass players, I must mention. But it is too hot for me to choose silence over humidity. Perhaps because most times I sense heat – it reminds me of you. It’s funny how you keep telling me to stay at room temperature, literally, and figuratively – I don’t really know how you find that comforting – I don’t.

Oh look, I have come this far, typing, feeling without feeling, slightly stoned but more-so-comfortable and I don’t know how my sentences took me to you. Love has been so comforting on most days past half-decade than not, so to imagine myself as someone with a broken heart feels like I never had my heart broken before. Isn’t that strange though?

Somethings you think you’d never get over and in no time, you have no recollection of those memories. Burnt lungs have healed, and they would continue to heal and you can’t help but grow older, can you stop a river from longing for its ocean but that deluded river, so unaware that she is the source of love she seeks, thinks it would find at the deep beds of sea – river doesn’t know she is the sea, too. So, how do you differentiate a mad love from a heartbroken existence? Aren’t they both so aching? Painstaking, too.

Anyway, we were talking about writing.

So the next thing I do, after I have established everything I am hearing, I observe the touch. Okay, let’s see – my cold feet, and my colder toes remind me of my Himachal afternoons. No matter how many layers of socks I wore and regardless of innumerable hours spent in front of a heater – they were stubbornly cold. My abdomen hurts, doctor thinks it’s my appendix; psychoanalysis believes it’s my unresolved emotions. My calf muscles pressed against the pillow and my palms on the metal surface as I type. I am practising, warming up to when I feel at home with words. They are behaving like a distant acquaintance – how rude.

Even though most writers say that it is great to talk about all 5 senses when you write, I often wrap my head around feelings quite a lot. I don’t completely fathom, how or why though. I mean, my skin feels touch, my ears sense sound, I taste with my tongue and smell with my nose, with my eyes I see –

but what is it that makes me feel? Why is it so easy for the words to come and hug me suddenly as I begin to mention how I feel? So weird, I swear.

I am too afraid to say it loud but lately, it has been hard to feel my feelings in its entirety. I have been quite dismissive, like an ostrich hiding away from reality. But the reality won’t cease to exist, am I right? Okay, start again – what is it that I used to do to feel my feelings?

I think I know.

Let me try and recall.

Oh no, wait, I think this life in corona desensitised me to feel too much. It’s supposed to be a good thing, is it? I am not sure.

xx

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Been a minute or seventeen days

It’s an unusual feeling for me to not have anything to write about. I always have something to say, something that I am feeling far too strongly too contain it in my mind without having to put it in words, almost compulsively and that’s not a secret.

Despite that, the only words that I have written since 7th of May are my to-do lists which partially contains piled up tasks from the past week that keep moving forward day after day – unchecked, untouched, briefly looked at.

Of course I have written other things, too – such as – emails, and random words doodled, destroying pages of a notebook I recently re-discovered lying around in a cardboard box, with things I thought were burnt or thrown, reused or decomposed at least a decade ago. I found 5 slam books, filled with names of people I haven’t heard in a decade – some faces forgotten, some friendships tossed off in a place of my mind which is labelled “residue” and some simply faded exactly like the glitter pens they used to fill the slams with. Some, of course, carefully preserved, and some, painstakingly piled up – just like the tasks that I have penned down, over and over for a week or more – simply because I cannot finish them, and I must. Mustn’t I?

There is a list of things that I need to do but I cannot, soaringly out of plain burden they seem to me, or they feel unimportant, or socially constructed pageants that make you feel for a fleeting moment that all these years that you have put to work are worth it, but 4 seconds later, they don’t matter. Some things are hard to do till the point to approach them, and some things are like putting yourself to fail. One of the things amidst many others that cross my mind at this point is –

An online news publication that wrote to me, they want to feature me and my achievements, hear my thoughts on how Covid 19 is going to take a toll on the world. Now, there are 11 questions [but feel like 110] that I probably know the answer of – and yet, every time I open that doc that I have neatly pasted the questions on, formatting in the font style that comforts my heart, just so I can put myself to answer those questions – I cannot type a word.

The whole process feels far too self-indulgent.

I wasn’t this person before, you know. I was confident, almost to a level of narcissism, but self-praise [disagreeing to the popular belief] has suddenly started to look like an act of low awareness – how can I be okay with knowing only so little when there’s a whole universe to learn about – it is humbling, indeed. I can hardly fathom if it limits me, or shows me that there is no limit. Can I really answer these questions, act like I have achieved it all, when I have only begun my journey? Should I be flattered? How do I put myself to answer those questions before answering these existential ones, you tell me?

Last 17 days,

I wondered how long could I go on without writing, and I felt that I was doing okay, in fact. Gradually, it started to feel like someone broke my heart, like there is a missing piece, like I was in a need of a very long, warm hug.

I had a long day at work, and also had a client session with a person who has recently started therapy with me, so I was fairly tired. I didn’t think I needed anything except lying down in bed at 7:30 in the evening and not feel the slightest of worry for a bit… So I opened WhatsApp, I opened Telegram, I opened Prime, I opened Netflix, and casually swiped away to different apps until it struck me that I needed to do something that was beyond distractions. I just didn’t know what.

This peculiar memory from 2011, first year of my college days, flashed. Writing, for me, is therapeutic. It is like looking at myself in the mirror, just seeing more than you thought you would. How every single time I felt this missing piece at midnight, back then, same way I feel today, I’d always start to write a new post on my old blog, without a single thought in my mind.

How and why did that change when I grew up?

I guess because there’s so much at stake now. Back then I was merely a girl trying to put words together so I could feel light. Now, there’s more conditioning, there’s more to deal with, putting out there to the public eye and being vocal about how you feel – it all seems so risky.

The simple joys of life, like writing, has become such a serious act. Probably, because back in those days, I didn’t think there was anyone reading it. Over a period, letters and emails started to emerge, and to know my words were making a difference made me feel responsible and accountable to what I chose to share.

I collected myself and contained my feelings and shared only that was filtered and processed, and as much as my thoughts were still raw, there was a certain amount of fear that some kid sitting at their home reading this, must not get disheartened reading what I share. But is that fair, now I want to ask myself.

Is it really my responsibility as a writer to protect oneself or another from the reality after all? How do I redeem myself as a writer who’s only work as an artist is to put words to feelings without a bias – leaving it natural, like wet mud after light showers of rainfall, or strong frisky wind in the village at dawn, or dew drops on car glass on a winter morning.

Nature doesn’t worry about consequences, does it?

I don’t know, I really don’t know.

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#LettersToFindMe – Your inner ocean is full of love.

Dear you, I’ve been thinking a lot and I do know that you are too. Now that you’re deprived of the ocean that’s so vastly present on the planet, you wonder about the possibilities of your inner ocean, that is your mind. Well, here’s the thing – your inner ocean exists. It exists subtly. It influences everything with even a slight wave. You are aware of it or not. It is deeper than you want to believe, and has most magic tricks of the world – it’s time we immerse ourselves in it like a child watching a water ripple for the first time. You have run around like a mad child, wanting to show the world what you can do – but what’s the point, really? All the stuff created and acknowledged by the society in its most tangible forms – they are labels that don’t prove anything. You are limitless, just like your mind. Your mind, powerful beyond measures – awaiting attention. How do you attend to your mind if you’re constantly wrapped around ideas of guilt? How do you finally sit with yourself and take a swim in your inner sea, if you’re so glued to numbers – counting the number of people following you till the shore? They are all spectators, and would leave the minute they find something more amusing, but the swim you swim into your mind, the peace that the ocean floor holds for you – that experience makes you grow truly – and it doesn’t rely on others to recognise. You are absolutely free if you consider just yourself as your biggest follower. I believe in you, is that not enough? You want a reassurance from another million people, and why I ask? I understand the dilemma, but hear me loud and clean – your popularity doesn’t define how worthy you are of love. You are worthy of love, regardless. Your inner ocean is full of love. Embrace it. Float in it. Soak it all up. . . #stories #inspirational #life #love #wisdom #letters #letter #india #instagram #ocean #sansebastian #mentalhealthindia #mentalhealthawareness #mind #writer #lightroom #spain #personalblog #poetry #poets #poetsofinstagram #poem #berlinartparasites #womenwhowrite #shotoniphone11pro #writerscommunity

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#LettersToFindMe

Dear you,

Amidst all this uncertainty, that has left you hanging, feeling all kinds of misery and madness – let me remind you of one thing that I am absolutely certain about, The strong ground that you so firmly clench with your toes when you’re anxious, I know it feels like the earth beneath is sliding under your feet – I can assure you that the earth is going to hold you and it is still there for you – in it’s full abundance.

If for a second, you wonder how to be sure about that, observe the way little buds are blooming in spring colors – yellow sunflowers brightening up, green giloy creeping in and red roses bigger than ever. And if that’s not enough, feel the way wind blows after the sun has set, watch the flock of birds making shapes in the sky, and then turn inwards and learn how every single day, all this uncertainty is shifting your perspective about life. Take it one day at a time, helplessly and religiously.

Focus on the things that are in your control, my darling. Do what you can do, and leave the rest to it’s state for now. You can always come back to it. Be certain that this time will disturb you but also can heal you, it will leave you empty, so you know you can fill yourself up by really being with yourself, too. No two days are the same, and as overwhelming as it gets, it’s also a gift to really understand yourself.

Cultivate more awareness about how you feel about yourself and others. Even though you may not have answers to all the questions your mind throws at you, please remember to listen to it quietly. You may feel like you’re swimming in the ocean with no shore in sight, but remember you can sail through this, back float when you can’t deal with it. Be assured your limbs are going to be fine. Be assured there’s a boat, a ship, a rescue plan for you. Sail through it. You got this. I know you got this. . . .

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Resurfacing emotions during national lockdown | Covid 19

Resurfacing emotions during national lockdown | Covid 19 | Stuti Ashok Gupta

I have been thinking of how 2020 is such a ghost year but its really not – it is a period full of self-reflections if you allow yourself to just be. It has taken me quite a few years to understand the importance of silence. How silence heals way more than words can some times. At the same time, I feel that the art of doing nothing is so underrated in this world, at this time, when we have been conditioned to capitalise every minute of the hour – when what we really end up doing in dwell in endless despair and guilt that we are not doing enough, we are not being productive enough, we are not good enough because we don’t have skills and talents to show off on social media platforms, or that we can’t indulge in hobbies like others.

However, have you ever wondered –

what do the monks or saints do with most of their time? They sit with eyes closed and just be. What do the scientists do most of their day? They sit with their quests at hand, and dig in deeper. What do the creators or artists do? Spend hours thinking and ruminating, have long dialogues within their mind. Most of their outcomes is a result of diving deeper into their minds.

Personally, it’s always been a huge struggle to do that. I am a do-er and so obsessively focused on action and doing that not doing enough leaves me feeling disengaged, bored and just uncomfortable. I am struck with guilt when I am not being productive, when I am not working on something, when I am not “doing” something. Train care moving example.

So these Covid lockdown has been an exceptionally-rare time for me, and for a lot of you too I presuming, because when there’s so little to do – and there’s hardly any guilt too and even if there is – I am, somehow, at this stage when I am sitting with all my repressed thoughts and suppressed emotions – and my mind is telling me – now there’s no reason for you to run away, there’s no outing you can distract yourself from, there’s so little “to do” and engage in an action that you are finally here with me.

Let’s get to know me better, my mind persists.

Jump in, my mind seduces me during 3 am conversations.

Let’s clean up all that hoarded dirt that you don’t need to store inside me, my mind reminds me. And whoop! things start to surface, and resurface – in slow fashion, and yet so fiercely and aggressively. “I don’t know how to respond, I don’t know how to clean this all up, what if it leaves me more damaged than does any good at all” I ask in worry, yawning away as I fight the state of mind juggling amidst – insomnia, sleep deprivation and lucid dreaming.

My mind replied – I don’t know how it works either, but I know that it does help. It hurts when you treat a wound, but if you leave it untreated, it creates infinite knots, becomes septic and the more you procrastinate resolving all these concealed uncomfortable emotions, all the experiences you wish you never had – they imprint on you deeply, become more smoky and difficult to handle as time passes by.

I kind of agree with this, and I also understand this intellectually, but I tiptoed around it for the first two weeks of sitting at home, not being able to sleep, not being able to work, losing motivation and skyrocketing motivation day in and day out like my mind is some kind of stock exchange. How long can you ignore your mind for, after all, especially when it lives inside you, it is a part of you? It’s not a tech device you can switch it off or a phone you can put on airplane mode – it is your mind, always active, even when you fall asleep – it manages to creep in through its vivid visuals of dream.

Into the third week, with severe sleep problems, awfully abused eyes glued to mobile screens, watched plenty of series, binged watched YouTube videos, painted, sang, picked up on a new song to play on ukelele, wrote, danced, exercised, worked, all the inboxes unread – I finally come and sit face to face with the resurfacing emotions. It pops, creates bubbles, causes ripples – everything I say is impacted by it.

My mind is ruminating now. I can’t help but show it some light, now. It is painful, if I were to be honest. One incident that I can document here is coming out about a sexual assault to my friends. It turns out to be something every woman in my life has experienced – men making a move on you when you are fallen asleep, crawling of a hand, first on the waist and then it creeps on different parts of you. “You didn’t say no” and that’s how it was consensual you are told. “You are making it all up” you are shut down. Friends you thought would understand, mostly men, come up questions that shudder your spine: “bro, but did you say a no?” and your voice cracks up while struggling to fight back and say “but I was sleeping, how was I supposed to?” and before you finish a sentence in your explanation that you foolishly hoped you didn’t have to give, they throw another question at you “how can you name it assault?” you hardly can ever win an argument when you have to prove it to men, how emotionally damaging it is. They are entitled, unapologetic, they are shameless.

Self-doubts emerge on the surface, too. Self-blame inevitably comes hand in hand with an experience as haunting as this one. Now I tell my mind, “what good came out of talking about this? I was doing just fine” but my mind is stubborn, it tells me it feels lighter. The weight has been lifted off the chest.

I wonder how if every woman has experienced something like this, a betrayal of trust, a breach of privacy, an act so shameful that we must protect it with every inch of our self-respect – why do we not come out about this? Why do we not speak enough about sexual abuse? Why do we not call out our sexual perpetrators?

  • Maybe because we are conditioned to feeling shameful.
  • Perhaps, we have been raised to be a people-pleaser, polite to even those who do wrong to us.
  • Most of the times, it is someone you know, someone you love, or respect, or share a good friendship with. It takes months to make sense out of it.
  • We hardly have courage to speak about it, and every once in a while that you do, you are buried with a million questions – you know they don’t want to believe you. It was easier to carry on like this. This is looked at something as a disturbance to the normal.
  • Then, of course, you are labelled. Oh, so horrendously labelled, and you don’t see any good in speaking out loud.
  • Those you raise a voice against, they make up their versions of stories – it looks like, I was the one who seduced him, I am the one who wanted it. I asked for it. I didn’t say no and hence there was consent. everything then centres around “why did she take so long before she spoke about it?” and “why didn’t she go talk to him directly?” and all I can tell you is I really don’t understand, what exactly was I supposed to say.

I tell my mind, hope this chaos was worth it. I really hope that this trouble, this painful recollection of a suppressed memory in such minute detail was worth it, even if I can’t tell exactly how.

Everything is temporary, after all, my mind comforts me, as long as you don’t store it inside you and go through with it. Don’t you feel lighter now? Does it really matter if they believe you or not? Even if they don’t agree with YOU that they did wrong, at least you have let them know, and that knowledge would surely shift something in them – eventually leading to lesser victims. IF you let them get away with it, that is the lesson they learn from it. Don’t they?

While you sit and do nothin, you are healing. Remember that. 2020 is not a ghost year, 2020 is a year full of opportunity to reset ourselves as an individual on a micro level and reset the way the world works on a macro level.

Thank you for reading, and I truly recommend you give yourself a break from the compulsive activity, sit down and let your mind challenge you, confront you and then finally comfort you.

Stuti

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Simple Things that help Anxiety

1. Calming music

2. Drink cold water

3. Deep breathing

4. Go for a walk (maybe right now – terrace or balcony)

5. Engage all 5 senses

6. Call someone who makes you feel better

7. Write it out

8. Have a shower with some nice smelling body wash or soap

9. Allow yourself to feel what you’re feeling for a bit and know that you are in control. .  #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #anxiety #help

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Notes from my therapy | Mental Health

Notes from my therapy: I went in with a flat mood, you know the kind when you’re feeling a bit of everything but they are all mixing up, happiness with tragedy, euphoria with boredom, drowsiness with insomnia – a little bit of everything. So I thought to myself, do I need to be this session today? I mean, I’m functioning fine, and doing pretty alright and there’s no specific incident that happened that I could open up about to my therapist – for that, I’d just call up a friend and bitch about (you know if you had to), but there isn’t anything. This constant need to make everything “worthwhile” stuck with me as I waited for my therapist to come online on skype, where I have the sessions, also the same place where I provide therapy to my clients. And it’s slightly ironic, and maybe also bittersweet that I sit at the same spot for all of it. That little top right corner, where you can peep in a piece of my photos and artworks hanging on my wall. But that’s besides the point. So the session started, and my therapist and I were just talking like two friends, about how corona virus is stirring up the world, and I’m still thinking in my head, maybe I was right, there’s nothing I really had to talk about today.

And suddenly, I remember that I had a live session about Mental Health and how good it was and how I enjoyed doing it, felt a sense of accomplishment by challenging myself and putting it out there…and then, like threads of a sweater, it kept unravelling – I was tangled in it – and there I was, full of tears, trying to calm it down by gulping large sips of water, but all that water kept dropping from my eyes. I was crying as I was telling my therapist about how I had a dance performance when I was 6 or 7, and I didn’t have anyone in the audience who was familiar. And then, I recalled how when I gave my Ted talk, I didn’t have anyone in the audience I knew, too. These two incidents were not something that really scarred me, they just happened and I let them pass, until yesterday when I finally cried so hard about it. What I learnt from my last session was – some experiences and memories are so well suppressed, like neatly ironed clothes that you know you’d never wear but they are too precious to lose, they don’t fit you well, and you could use some extra space if you let them out, but somehow in the rushed life, trying to solve so many problems, with out hands full and our plates full – thay these neatly ironed clothes are hoarded for years. Like these two memories.

I remember not feeling anything, no joy, no sadness after my ted talk, because the impact of anything really multiplies when you have someone to share it with. And I’m not saying that I don’t have people whom I can’t share these achievements with, but sometimes I do feel that those two memories have kind of made me want to switch to different things over and over, learning, achieving a little and changing again and again because I never really get to the point where I can feel that happiness of achieving something. It’s really not always negative, it’s a mix of both good and bad I guess but what I’m really trying to say is – AWARENESS is the first step to a crucial change in life.

I returned to therapy only 8 sessions ago, and I think there’s no better investment than investing in yourself. Hope you find solace in my notes. Hope they disturb you a little. Hope they make you want to learn more about yourself too. There are plenty of ways, and you can choose it for yourself. I don’t know if any of this has a purpose. It is so raw that I might want to edit and make changes, and that’s why I wouldn’t read it twice before posting it. Lots of love, Stuti

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#LettersToFindMe | Stuti Ashok Gupta

 Dear you, I know you are learning so much about yourself and the world every day, and it’s only fair to give yourself some time to let all that knowledge sink in – but let it penetrate only to your skin and not any deeper. If you may wonder why I’d tell you something like that?
It is only because, your skin can take it all in, and then turn itself dry and shed like dust – all that dust you see on the side of your bed, on the back of your living room curtains, all that dust on the roads – what is that dust – if not all the ideas of ourselves and the world that our skin sheds into dust every minute?
Perhaps they were true at one point, in fact, they were definitely true – but all absolute truths are restricted and tied in a timeline. It’s constantly changing and with that – so are you. So instead, all that you’re learning and discovering – always remember – everything is impermanent. And it is. And there’s a pick up van called time, reaching out to clean up the skin you shed. Thank god, it is.
So, if you want to store something in your bones and all its narrow alleys – remember that the sun always comes out in the morning and every new day is a new opportunity for you to learn something more and discard what you’d learnt before. Today, you can be whoever you want to be. Past is a flawed memory & we haven’t seen the future yet, so why worry?
Drench into this beautiful rain that our universe is. Giving in abundance. Let it pour over you. The universe washes away the learnt truths which turn into dead skin, the dust on the roads, too, so you keep learning and unlearning – deconstructing and rejuvenating – all at the same time. Today is the beginning, and this moment is the only reality you will ever know. Make the most of it. Be aware of this moment. Will you?

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Dear best friend,

Dear best friend,

My all time favourite partner-in-crime, you have raised the bar so high – that when I fall in love, I am always aware of how much love I deserve. And when I forget, you remind me. You remind me to never settle, when I sometimes do. You remind me to not be apologetic about being who I am. You’re the one that my parents think I’m the most safe with and don’t bother calling, and you’re the sole reason why I’ve managed to sneak away from the troubles with them almost all the time.
At some point between going head over heels in love and catching up on adulthood, I forgot to thank you about every time you have pulled me out of the shit I manage to get myself in. Believe me, you are my reference point to living life, and even if I had to say thank you every day, it won’t be enough that I found you back then and that you continue to bring so much light, plenty of love and happiness in abundance.
Yours & truly yours,
S
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