Puddles

It was like jumping into a puddle mistaking it for an ocean. While you thought it was deep but the ground touches your feet just as soon as you jump. The murk stains your shoes and the wetness seeps into your socks to your feet. That's when you know it was a mistake and you start thinking about cleaning it up. It hurts when you were hoping for good and it never occurs to you. You stand in the puddle and keep staring at the murk on your boots. You retrospect and calculate how you got into this.

For some this ocean is the ocean of promises that turns out to be a murky puddle of lies. That's exactly where you fall and stain yourself or even worse, break a leg. Breaking a leg and never trusting anymore to dive into oceans. I don't know if heartbreaks are only for those in love, because it hurts twice as much to know you were a fool. And you know what's the worst part than breaking a leg? You getting used to falling into puddles. The first time you exclaim with a 'What the hell', 'Oh shit!' or 'Oh my God'. The next time you might say, 'Oh! Not again!'. But when you are habituated, you smirk and move on thinking, 'I knew this was coming.' This is when you carry on with a bittersweet relation with puddles. And one day, when falling in puddles aren't new anymore you dig a hole for someone. An ocean or puddle, the choice is yours.

Letter to Plath

Dear Plath,

My younger soul was fascinated by your courage to express and I was intrigued by your story. I could feel the fire in you through your poetry. I have learnt to hate with a passion and to not fear death. For when it doesn't come, I can still crave for it. Now when I am a few years older, I have started thinking about you again. In my lonely hours under the shower I chant in whispers, "Dying; Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well." I have died several deaths. One time with a broken heart and all other times I have done it myself. But I left no visible scars. No one knew. I stare at glittering waters of the river shining gold during the sunset. My mind feels like diving in. Not because I love water or swimming. But because I can't swim. I imagine how would it be to have a watery grave. But I realize they would take me away and put me elsewhere. People would be scared and unknown people would hold my wet body. Children would be scarred for life. So I only stare.

Plath, I wish to be like you. When heartbreaks don't feel like anything to me and my thoughts fade with my unfocused gaze. When blood becomes a mere colour and a burn, a wound that leaves a mark. When pain and ache are not sensible anymore. When my mind calculates years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds and breaths. Till I take my last. Honestly, I do it now. Not all the time but very frequently. Those who hurt me, I look at them and say in my mind, "I'll be gone. I'll be gone soon and you'll not find me to hurt me again." It's thrilling to understand how one day I'll be an empty space in someone's life. Some will remember me with love and some with hate. Those who won't remember with either of the two will still remember me. And there'll be someone like me, who will want to be me like I wanted to be you. Till then it is a long way to walk on pebbles barefeet. A path sometimes laid with thorns. The thorns that came with the roses I once craved for. The thorns that prick and bring blood yet make me more adamant to keep walking. I'll walk till I reach the edge from where I'll fly down to hell if there's no place in paradise for me with you.

Wait for me, Plath. Till then wait.

Hues to the Rescue

Depression, anxiety, panic attacks and other mental health issues have stricken the youth today. There is no embarrassment to admit that I myself has been diagnosed with clinical depression. But I am not here to talk about myself. The purpose of this is solely to help anyone who is going through depression and anxiety. I am not a professional nor have I consulted any professional before trying this remedy. But I guess colours and shades can never do you any reverse harm.

Long time back, I read somewhere about drawing lines and calming one's mind. It had recommended different patterns for different mental breakdowns. Every pattern had a different remedy and this intrigued me. For the last couple of months or to be more specific, this year I have been occasionally going through phases of anxiety, stress and mental break down. These were there before on a more subtle level and were easier to tackle. I used to speak it out or the best that worked for me was writing it in a poetry. What happened later was that I was unable to write anything at all and I was delved into a major writer's block. I tried reading books, watching films and web series but nothing seemed to work.

Now let me tell you, I have always admired people who can draw. I am awed by the perfection of their skills and felt it was the direct form of expression through art! No manipulation, no facades yet open to interpretation. During my bouts of anxiety I felt a deep urge to express it and one day when I came across a box of old pastels, I was determined to try my hand at drawing. I was never trained so I took to YouTube. I started with the most simple drawings to learn the basics.

My motive was never really to be perfect but I just wanted to learn it. My first one was absolutely a novice product but I was satisfied. One after the other I kept on colouring, blending and drawing. Every time I realized my mind was messed up I left everything and quietly sat down with my art supplies.

Here's how I feel now after I started this:

My mind is focused on the drawing completely without any distraction bothering my mind.

After I finishing the blending, I started improvising my own ideas into it.

When I am done with the drawing I feel an immense joy. I look at it and say to myself, "That's my creation!"

I love creating different coloured skies, trees, birds and human, mostly silhouetted figures.

I love how the pastel shades side by side while blending creates a new shade. Like blue and yellow makes a lovely shade of green. Just like the people around me share their good vibes to create a positive atmosphere. Sometimes, I relate to the lighter shades being overlapped and smudged by the darker colours. So much like me and the monsters inside my mind. Everything goes well until the darker shades smudge while blending. As if the darker shades defeat the lighter shades. They don't create any colour. They just leave behind the dirty stain.

I have discovered the most effective way of handling my sudden break down and anxiety issues. I feel the lovely hues have rescued me!!










Let me know in the comments below if you want link to some awesome YouTube tutorials for pastel shading. 

No Escape Until You Are Winning...

If you are a person who is constantly facing failures then you know how it feels like to make the people who matter to you disappointed. It will always bother you thinking that the people who cherish your littlest achievements will definitely be disheartened at your huge failures. Sometime, the failures are uncalled for, unforeseen and you don't even know what went wrong. In my experience, some failures occur at the situations that needed to be on your favour. The failure that occurred to be a disappointment could change your life if it wasn't a failure after all. 

I always ponder over how disappointed my close-ones are because I repeatedly let them down yet they put up with me. They smile and show confidence in me and that kills me from inside daily. Every time I know I need to take a decision or prove myself, I fear I wouldn't be able to. The disappointment is not personal. The funniest part is that it is always of the people I care for. I wonder sometimes, if I had no one to care for, no one to care for me, life would have been far easier. I would take risks, shun everything I am compelled to do and live freely. There would be no eyes looking up to me with expectations, no face frowning at my downfall and most importantly no heartache for the ones who expected something out of me.

This whole expectation game is so so bitter that you can't even quit fighting. You can't yell and say ENOUGH! You can't say I QUIT! You can't say I AM LOSING! Because come on girl, you are strong and you have responsibilities. You were meant to be a fighter. And you know what? This fighter never wanted to fight, never wanted to put herself in this battle. 

The easiest thing one could do in my situation was to give up on life. All black, all gone, lost into the mysterious blackness of afterlife. But you know what compelled me to refrain from it? The same disappointed faces of the people who care and I care for. There is no escape from disappointment. No running away from it unless you are winning. 

Incomplete Diary

I often got bored when alone at home. I did not like the idiot box much so only music could eradicate my boredom. But today I had something else to keep me engaged. Yesterday I had found an old discarded diary on the building terrace. The pages were torn & burnt mercilessly. Distorted condition of it made me more curious & I had assumed it to be a personal diary of someone. I hid it in my cupboard last night and thought of reading when no one is around. Finally I had the chance.

I sat at my study table & opened it. The yellow pages were all torn, except for a few. Among them some had old bus tickets & cards.

After a set of cards; half burnt, came a few written pages. 

The 1st page said,

"The way I met her today was a miracle. She was walking alone in the lane at 3 pm. The whole locality was in a lazy afternoon slumber when I saw her coming. Her bangles jingled & her hair was messy yet pretty as always. I wish I could tell her this. Ahh! I will miss her once I leave the country. Only if just for once she knew what I feel."

I smiled and realised that the owner of this diary was in love with that frizzy hair girl. I was more curious and turned to the second page. This page was in a better condition. 

The writings were:

" I saw her once again. She was standing under the sun, on the terrace. Her hair open and wet. She was drying her hair with a pink towel and her bangles jingled. The sweet jingling sound composed a tune of love in me. The love that bloomed within me for the past seven years, swayed smooth at her glance. I wish she knew all this."

The third page was torn and the rest were blank. I closed it with annoyance while my bangles jingled. Jingled like always.

-Jaismita Alexander