Purple Notes

I never thought there'd be a day I'll sit down and stare at a blank paper thinking WHAT should I write about. I think about life but it is too cliched too write about mine. I've been through the same amount of crap a regular person would so why muse about it? I think about writing a short story or poem but I'd only create more tragic endings and drama which would impress people but not my inner self.

Writing is a gift; a God-given, innate gift. Yes, I abuse it by not using it because its just one of those "things" in life I have but I don't need. I could make it an escape or a tool or my voice but I don't because I'm not the idealistic girl with utopian perspectives on anything anymore. Over time love has become work, affection has become nuisance and responsibilities have become burden. Life has become a schedule of classes, meetings and internship hunts; the heart has become an unwanted object, broken then healed then broken again.

Who cares about my heart-aches anyway? Everyone's got their own to muse about in solitude, to cry about seeing others happy. Yes, I get so jealous and envious of those who get happiness in silver platters. We all feel the same but don't have the courage to admit that we are not always strong enough to muster genuine smiles and wishes for a happy couple, a successful career leap or lavish riches bestowed on those who don't deserve them.

I hate seeing people faking good wishes and happiness when they don't mean it. Why make your own heart go through hell if your ex found a better person and all you do is smile and tell them, "Yes, I'm so happy you found someone better!" when from inside every atom is shrieking, "You bastard! How dare you move on so quickly?!" But that's life. You gotta move on.

The best way to move on is with friends who share common feelings or at least common phases in life. I never thought of friendship as something we could offer or have half way through life. It never occurred to me that friends could be made without sharing moments of childhood or teenage that shape us as adults. That is, until I made friends without sharing my whole life with them. What is adulthood anyway? The freedom to purchase booze while after getting drunk repressed emotions of those early years still show up?

Or is it the sacrifices we make so later on we can tell our kids when I was your age I gave up smoking to live a healthier and more successful life with my family? Not to mention it'd hardly ever strike the young bugger in the right cerebral spot anyway.

Life, love and death all happen once. Yes, I quote Bollywood here but its true. Why jeopardize all that for sacrifice and responsibility when we'd end up with a rusty heart at eighty, short-vision and dementia? Why not take the other road, suffer but feel content at least I don't regret doing nothing.

(to be contnd.)
(contnd.)

Gaza will still suffer if we protest or not; Third-world countries will remain unstabilized no matter who heads the government; Brangelina would keep on adopting kids and looking gorgeous and American cell phones would continue to piss people like me accustomed to the cheap, excellent and efficient services of our home countries. Bush will remain hated till the end of time and the global financial crisis will hit us all hard equally.

Why suffer in times of perpetual hardships and never-ending propagandized wars?

Life is here, it is mine and nothing except life can I change myself and rule over. So I'm going to think about it, treat it how I want to and try my best to live it as I intend to for as long as I don't turn into another slave of social bonds and worldly responsibilities. Take that for impelling me to become a mechanized being than a "human" being.