It’s not fair. People claim to know you through the things you’ve done, and not by sitting down and listening to you speak for yourself.


  • Hannah Kent, Burial Rites
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IT’S DECEMBER AGAIN


The wind blowing through my hair
The frost on the ground
The cold frigid airtumblr_lvh7hh0QG91qktfhro1_500
The chilled rushing sound

The love for caffeine
The fireplace heat
The foggy side window
The cold surface of my feet

The freezing hands
A blanket of feathers
Embraces the heat,
Blocks off the cold weather

The dark  silent nightswinter-night
The falling snow
Sadness all around
Peace everywhere

The slashing pain
Of these hopeless days
The tranquille streets
The fading lights

December is love.
December is peace.
December is to stay;
all way long.

Perhaps if this were a story…


He smiled at his good fortune. He did not know that for even a person as bitter as him, the taste of a little chocolate could feel so sweet. All his life he had hated little things. He would always notice them as an observant standing far away in a group of people whose existence didn’t concern him. At that moment, his only concern was her. She was scared. Why wouldn’t she be? He had been so awkward with her on their first meeting.

He liked her simplicity; her soft voice; her warm body.  He used to drool in the cosiness of her aura. Perhaps it was time to accept that he was in something us commoners refer to as ‘love’? His friends repeatedly asked him but he just couldn’t accept their logic. He gazed upon her picture. “How could someone be so beautiful?” he asked himself. He would spend hours walking with her. He would never tell her how beautiful she was for he believed that beauty should be silently admired.

He laughed at her jokes; never wondering what they meant. They used to spend Fridays having lunch together. When for a moment their hands crossed paths, the brief touch of her skin negated all the laws of physics as, “how could the collision of tiny particles of skin create so much static that everything in him went into a state of disorder?” All facts suggested that this was some sort of a mental illness. He did not believe that anyone alive could secrete this much Serotonin whenever she was near.

He had a nagging, itching feeling that she was the right one for him. It was rather funny really. He decided to propose her. The setup was as perfect as anything could be. A table illuminated with candle lights by the river with a flowery shade above it.  She wore a red dress which in contrast with her skin colour proved to be a pleasant spectacle for his eyes.

“I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you”, he said.

She first smiled then looked at him with eyes of sorrow. “You are in love with me but I’m afraid that we can’t be together”

“I don’t understand. We have had great moments together. How could you… how could you not love me?” he asked as if guards of hell personally came down to hand over an invitation.

“I love you as well” she admitted. “But reality negates our co-existence. Perhaps if this were a story…”

2013: The Last Night


And the last night of this year passed!

Everything has an ending. Everything stops. Nothing lasts. People come and leave. Still the life goes on. And so are the years passing and passing away through us same as that of the December evening breeze that just passed.

You experienced a couple of good as well as bad moments in the overall of previous 365 days. Let us have a look;

You were worried because you didn’t get what you wanted. You felt that was just the ending of the world. Still you stood up on your feet gathering all the courage to face every difficulty.

Experienced the most wonderful feeling, wanted that moment not to end. But It did.

Celebrated your Birthday.

Took wrong steps at certain moments and regretted them.

You were weak, timid.

Blunt at times.

Shy as well.

You broke up.

Drank.

Cried.

Chuckled.

Laughed.

Yelled.

Missed your Grandpa.

Had no dinner because your Mom didn’t allowed you to go out for a hangout.

Experienced the worst feeling ever.

You were jealous at a time.

Been a walking dead.

Made your friend smile.

You were hopeless.

Fearful.

Suffered hard.

Been a schizophrenic.

Most of your nights were sleepless.

You were depressed.

A psychic at moments.

Anxiety was filled-in you to its extremes.

Had a terrible road accident.

A close friend became a stranger.

Saw your parents smiling because of you.

Made wrong decisions.

Chose the left path.

You wished your Mom a very Happy Birthday.

Took risk.

Had an adventurous day ever.

Cheated in exams and got good grades.

Cheated in exams but still failed.

Teased your younger sibling.

Made your father a cup of Coffee.

You hated.

You loved.

Wanted to be loved.
And a lot more OF-COURSE!

But see, you are here. You saw the last sun set of this year and that is enough to conclude the entire trauma.

Tomorrow will be a brand new day. A new sun will rise; the sun of hope. May it brings the peaceful shine for everybody out there. For every single living being. Another stop across the life’s journey.

WE WISH YOU A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR! STAY BLESSED.

54105-2014

December


The wind blowing through my hair
The frost on the ground
The cold frigid airtumblr_lvh7hh0QG91qktfhro1_500
The chilled rushing sound

The love for caffeine
The fireplace heat
The foggy side window
The cold surface of my feet

The freezing hands
A blanket of feathers
Embraces the heat,
Blocks off the cold weather

The dark  silent nightswinter-night
The falling snow
Sadness all around
Peace everywhere

The slashing pain
Of these hopeless days
The tranquille streets
The fading lights

December is love.
December is peace.
December is to stay;
all way long.

World Through My Eye : 15


Best Dressed

Best Dressed

Best Eyes

Best Eyes

Best Friends for Ever

Best Friends for Ever

Best Hairs

Best Hairs

Biggest Drama Queen

Biggest Drama Queen

Biggest Flirt

Biggest Flirt

Class Clown

Class Clown

Most Changed

Most Changed

Most Gullible

Most Gullible

Most Likely to Get Married

Most Likely to Get Married

Most Likely to Run the World

Most Likely to Run the World

Most Likely to Sleep in Class

Most Likely to Sleep in Class

Most Likely to Stay the Same

Most Likely to Stay the Same

Most Likely to Succeed

Most Likely to Succeed

Most Outspoken

Most Outspoken

Quietest

Quietest

Another Perspective…

You should date an illiterate girl


“Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and vari coloured light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a street lamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.

Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.

Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.

Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.

Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.

Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.

– Charles Warnke, Thought Catalog.

There’s no charge for Love


A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell. He painted a sign advertising the 4 pups, and set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard.

As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt tug on his overalls.

He looked down into the eyes of a little boy.

Mister,” he said, “I want to buy one of your puppies.”

Well,” said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat of the back of his neck, “these puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money.

The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer. “I’vegot thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?

Sure,” said the farmer. And with that he let out a whistle. “Here Dolly!” he called.

Out from the doghouse and down ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.

The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight.

As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse.

Slowly another little ball appeared this one noticeably smaller.

Down the ramp it slid. Then in an awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up….

I want that one,” the little boy said, pointing to the runt.

The farmer knelt down at the boy’s side and said, “Son, you don’t want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would.

With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers. In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe.

Looking back up at the farmer, he said, “You see sir, I don’t run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands.

With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the little pup. Holding it carefully he handed it to the little boy.

How much?” asked the little boy.

No charge,” answered the farmer, “There’s no charge for love.”
No Charge for Love - spicedupcrap

– read it somewhere – Anonymous

 

Betrayal: When Everything Falls Apart


What does forever mean to you?
When you couldn’t even keep it true
You said were you’d forever be there
But were those just words pulled from thin air?
Did you actually love me?
Did ……….

It’s human nature when we love or care deeply about something we are exposed to the door of betrayal. Is love perilous to your health? Relationships are never easy and they never provide a promise of safety, no matter how much we assume it to be joyful –it’s just in the early stages. After going through this the heart loses its basic essence ‘to love’. Betrayal restricts us from stretching and growing; being hurt values nothing more than a mere experience.

Betrayal drops us down to our needs and we start believing that trusting someone will bring nothing more than misery. People shield themselves in destructive ways withholding intimacy, manipulating partners and judging everyone they meet. Love is lost.

No one is resistant. After being hurt in our marriage, our business, our friendships or our relationships, we can’t really emerge from the pain and reclaim our lives, the way they were before. It takes years to establish trust and a mere moment to shatter it. Trust without any doubt is the most essential element but once lost hardest to recover.

Our reactions to betrayal are subtle, similar to reactions to death. Reactions may vary from Shame and self-blame, anger, shock and denial, vengeance, jealousy, or sometimes seeking refuge in interpretations and judgments. These reactions are natural and justified to every extent. People get stuck in hate and hate allows them to avoid feeling pain, their anger becomes their shield.

Betrayal leaves many lives ruined in its path. It changes everything. Relationships can never be the way they were before. The damage done is absolute beyond repair. Wounds run deep, rot every second. Trust is lost. Anger persists. Self-protective walls erect. It leaves us with many questions

  • Will our trust be ever restored?
  • Will these wounds heal?
  • Will the anger cease to exist?
  • Can hearts be mended?
  • And most importantly “Will the pain go away?”

Answers unknown….

People change, relationships change, memories change – ‘Betrayal Lasts’