.a written note.

I’ve heard and I believe that the textual drafts resting somewhere down in one’s phone these days speak for that person. Going through my own, I must say I’m currently unable to publish them here at the moment for there are topics that I can’t face myself or rather I still hope I’d confront them without writing about them. The universe of an individual can be so huge and so entirely filled with things that will give that person tonnes of insights into themselves and it can altogether create a different world for them from what they think they’re living in. When there’s a place that creates in a person a mirror that tells them of the sides they’re simultaneously carrying without knowing, such a place in itself is a home. Because that’s what the world is supposed to do, inspire a human being by its own beauty and comfort at the same time. Because we’re all nothing but a bunch of kids unknown, curious of the life we’re living. After months, I visited a place. This place insp...

Having a mind that time travels doesn’t need to get out of the city to travel. It travels everywhere. I find Travelling one of the most natural and original things on Earth. No one invented it. One invented ways of travelling but not travelling altogether. That’s just what we do. We travel. We commute. By travelling, I don’t mean transporting oneself from one place to another. We’re talking about travelling as a whole transformative experience and believe me when I say this, it blows your mind. I like the feeling of belonging nowhere, to no one. Because clearly, that’s the ultimate truth. No one belongs to anyone. That’s how you meet freedom. A freedom which lived in you all along. Whoever that you think you belong to, isn’t that a matter of pure and simple coincidence? If you are terrified by not having anything or anyone to belong to, belong to Art. You choose your own stream. Indulge yourself into the Art of Painting, Dance, Music, the Art of Automotive Mechanism or H...

You must be wondering why I chose to hide behind the words, being someone today and someone else another. You must be wondering why I allowed you to find me if all I wanted was to hide. Hiding seemed to be the only option for some people found me here, those I know personally and suddenly and surprisingly, I was not able to name this place as my escape anymore. The dilemma is, I have too much of ink inside my skin, waiting to spell words. I remember the time when I struggled through the giant mountains for I couldn't bring myself to accept the change. I want to wake up before its too late for all I need now is change. A constant change may harm me, but I want to follow. *** This place has always been welcoming, but I need to reside somewhere else. I might lock this place but I can never delete this. If you think you've read enough and want me to hear your words, be it any kind, you know my email address. Sincere apologies. And a million rivers filled with love. We will ...

On most days, I come here and look forward to write; storms arrive in mind, handing me over the hallucinations each night keeps me awake with. I mean to go to bed every night but I end up drowning in the sea. It gets risky sometimes, being able to control one's own mind, controlling so much that it calms down to a level you would die at, had you not known swimming. This day, particularly, is no different. The only difference is that I didn't listen to myself. It isn't easy, playing with time. I've known that. I fear getting comfortable with an empty heart; or at least knowing I own nothing other than a few cells of it. I fear the thoughts that roam free during a night, without telling me when they would return. Because when I am supposed to wait for them, demons haunt me. Because I think my thoughts would fight back once they return, but no, they don't. They're out of their cage. My dreams flying so high that my own gaze can't reach. Not until the next mo...

The Radio in the bedroom next to where I'm sitting at the moment just played your favourite song. I could hear it so clearly that I wished it wasn't so achingly good to ears. Should I feel good that I heard that song after ages (not listened to it) or bad that it reminded of you? It reminded of a thousand things that you perhaps were. It covered a distance and became enveloped in your voice, the way it might have sounded if you'd sung it. The song was a black and white coloured, at times fading, short-film of how you were, overly nice. And how the chorus might have been ruled by the melody of your smile. All the epiphanies can, tonight, make a way for me to go in a wonderland and become Alice for a while. But, old friend, I've grown up too quickly to let it happen just like that. Because there are these rough wooden trees at the very entrance, more than happy to tell me your whereabouts. You've changed the lane where you once lived and you don't ...

Within the first few days of the new year, the battle of whether or not to write, or simply leave, I am completely unknown of the winner. The battle I was too tired to continue fighting in, still, I fought with time and those who tested my dignity. I didn't mind getting tested as long as people who stood two feet away from me did it, I just didn't know those closest could do it too, in one way or the other. I will sit in the wilderness someday and think of and about it. I always loved playing with time; the way I felt about it whenever I thought about it, how I used to feel like I'd lock it in a jar, go to a favourite place of mine and open it with a smile so broad that it'd come out happily and I'd suddenly dance to melodies. I dream to make it happen one fine day. I could not abandon. Neither this place nor the eyes that read what words play around here. I thought I could play with time and I want to try that now. For some unfathomable reason, I can't...

Within last two weeks, I came here often, with thousands of thoughts in mind- wavy, talking each other out of complicating themselves and finally solving each other's mess, to help me write for there are few ways to communicate in. I hesitated to write despite visiting this place, because I brought along a decision whenever I came here. I cannot weave hundreds of words just to make it big, the decision that I have with me. I have chills getting over my hands as I write this. This is supposedly the last page that I'd be posting here. In other words, I'm putting an end to this place, shutting the doors. There is a reason behind this, of course there is. I don't ask you to understand it, surely you can't and it's okay. I wrote here the words that I never abandoned and trust me, I'm not abandoning anything even now. I just need to shut these doors for there's something else that's waiting for me to open it, to go for it. The love that I rece...

Latika's Theme echoes in my ears and as much as life gives us chances to sing melodies wholeheartedly, I feel like singing it on this afternoon. It is the first day of the year, 2013, and as stereotypical as it gets, we all are given minds that are, somehow, dancing on the tunes we listened to last year. Last year. I wish you all a very happy new year and I wish you love. I wish that you understand that it's like the first rainfall in the month of June. Happiness, on the other hand, is what I'm yet to understand. But I want you to go ahead and seek it. Cherish your dreams and love the people around you while you're on the way and be loved in return. I hope that you give yourself time when you feel lost and live in a reverie. It's very rare that people find happiness through this way. People like that are rare. And I wish to meet them. This year, apart from teaching me lessons, showed me how emptiness happens. And what it does to one. Emptiness, again, is...

On some nights like this, to sleep won't be all that I would want. It will be something I wouldn't mind getting but there are many more and other things under the sun that I am still awaiting. I have come here, already decided, to communicate tonight. I write here. And you have to believe that I do not know the reason as to why I do that. Why I write. I've been travelling a lot lately and I've succeeded in not allowing the landscapes making me go hollow, deep in the belly of my thoughts. Some of those who read here, seldom ask me of the solitude they feel. I haven't yet decided on putting solitude in words to begin with. Not yet. Why haven't I written words of joy, they wonder. Perhaps it's just me who goes up there via this route. Solitude, as they call it. I'm thinking of writing stories about others, and by others, I mean, those whom you haven't met yet. I have met you in certain ways, though I'm unsure we both have met each other at t...

I have been wanting to write since last few days, and still not writing ached somewhere. Winter has made itself comfortable with its breeze that rests over the bodies that need to be sharpened, just like some of ours do. Who would have thought I'd someday have to remember things as if it was my uppermost need? Because I'd stopped writing for a while, I am continuously writing something, just to get back on the track. I need to activate. You believe I have a lot to write, don't you? But let me tell you, as much as the attachment that I share, I have as well been the cause of people's tears. Recalling that, it sends over chills, feeling colder and thicker than this season's presence. And despite it all, I fall in love with Winter every year. Someone asked me, "Is writing like a drug to you? Why do I see shades of sadness in all of it?" A drug? I smiled. I am trying to get closer to everything that I need to remember. This coldness of Winter resembles...