Sound of silence

I have a disease. My disease makes me very sad and causes me to feel sorry for myself. I’m not sure if there’s a name for this disease but I don’t think I’d like to discuss it with anyone because I’m embarrassed of it. How can I, being fully aware of the actual pain inflicted on so many people everywhere be so self absorbed in my vapid need for self worth?

I’m not a sex slave. I’m not physically handicapped. I’m not an orphan. I’m not abandoned. I’m not unemployed. I haven’t seen anyone die. I’m not financially poor. I know I should be extremely grateful. I know I should be counting my blessings. I know I should be thanking someone.  But what I do instead is go to this dark twisted place in my head where it’s devoid of any happy connection whatsoever.  In this desolate creepy alley of mine, I find myself being tortured by anxiety, fear, loathing, anger, loneliness, bitterness and mostly sadness. And so I cry. That’s my symptom. This is my illness. You see why it’s embarrassing to talk about it now? Because I can’t explain it. I don’t know why I consciously choose to walk up that alley since I know what I’ll find there.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t indulge in self-harm of any kind. And I’m not suicidal either.  I’m just selfish, vain, spoilt and lost. I have to figure out a cure for this disease before it gets to a point where I can no longer find my way back from that alley. I have to find another escape to whatever I’m running away from.  A happier escape. One that doesn’t leave me crying. I also need to find out what I'm running away from. 

I wonder if there’s anyone else out there with similar symptoms.  I wonder if the reason why everyone’s constantly running is so they don’t end up at that alley. I wonder if I should treat my disease the same way. I think I’ll give it a try. Guitar classes. Philosophy workshops. Half marathon. Book club. Volunteering. Hiking. Yoga. I think that should be a good dosage for my disease. I’ll prescribe it for 6 months and do a self evaluation in Jan 2015.

I do need a fallback plan though. This prescription has a very high risk of failure based on previous experiences. But hope trumps sadness, right? It has to. So here’s to hope. One more time. This disease has got to go. I want to gloat in happiness. I want to bathe in the warmth of gratitude. I want to climb the mountain of courage. I want to be swept away by a wave of fulfilment. I want to be blinded by the faith in humanity. I want to get lost in the sound of silence and not wind up on the dingy alley of depression again.

Where is the love?

While reading a random article about a certain actress pictured while on her morning run, i came across a certain comment from a certain 'gentleman' X who wrote, "I could give her a better workout". That comment had about a 100 odd likes. It got me thinking what it is she did to deserve this unanimous "applause".

Growing up, i remember my mom watching these serials and movies where women in traditional attire, married and devoted to their husbands and kids were seen as 'goddesses' and working women who wore pants and drank and smoke were...well...sluts. I wonder if that has anything to do with why men stare at you when you're standing outside smoking. Or why women having a drink get beaten up in bars. So in effect, we tell people if you want to be respected, you follow a norm. And if you don't, you face the consequences. Abuse. Harassment. Molestation. Rape. Those are the consequences. Pretty harsh. And yet a lot of women out there choose not to follow the norm and risk those consequences. So let me ask you this Mr X: when these women choose to take the risk, do you think they're inferring that they want those things to happen to them? Do you think a certain porn star wouldn't mind being abused, harassed, molested or raped?

While we're at it, let me ask you another question Mr X. Lets assume you have a teenage daughter. And just for the sake of my sanity, lets assume you really love and care about her. Did you say you don't want her to wear skimpy clothes? Why? You seem to be paying a lot of attention to women in skimpy clothes. Isn't that what your teenage daughter wants too? Attention from the opposite sex? Did you say you do it discreetly? Oh but every time you stared at a woman while you were out with your daughter, every time you left a huge tip for an attractive waitress, every time you flirted with her very attractive mother or God forbid friend, were you trying to educate her on the importance of world affairs?

Lets say she grows up and and one unfortunate day when she gets back from work, she looks rather upset. She tells you a male co-worker had misbehaved at work by making some nasty comments about her body. Did you then tell her to dress more conservatively and not go out drinking with her male colleagues again? Of course you did.

Lets say a few weeks later, the same guy attacks her on her way back home. She comes back home shocked, shaken and traumatized. Lets say you go out and beat the living daylights out of him. When he does speak, he manages to say "I'm sorry man! She's just so hot and the clothes she wears, the things she does to other men, i thought she wanted to do those things with me too". And what do you say Mr. X? Isn't your daughter's torment justified? If everything he said was true, did she not automatically subscribe to the "I want to be abused, harassed, molested & raped" list? Will you go back home and tell her "I told you so!". For your daughter's sake and mine Mr. X, i seriously hope you don't.

And you Mr Y, the creator of these serials, movies and advertisements that is setting the norm for men and women, should you not take your job more seriously? If you think you have the authority to decide how the society as a whole perceives right from wrong, should you also not be accountable for the damage it causes? And how should we hold you accountable? Should we say that your daughters, wives, friends and mothers would not have any trials in court should they ever be abused, harassed, molested or raped? Would you say that was fair?

Least but not last, why are you women so intent on tearing other women apart? Does calling other women fat, ugly, immoral & unworthy make you feel superior? Perhaps yes. But does it make you feel beautiful, moral and worthy of more respect? Why would you look for imperfections in them with a magnifying glass? Is it that important for you to judge others to make your insecurities go away? Its as if you're looking for reasons to hate someone and then the hatred is so overpowering that you'll believe anything it manifests into. Where is the love that the world seems to think you have in abundance? If you think your man is having an affair with another woman, will hating her make your man more faithful? Will it guarantee that he won't be unfaithful with another? How many will you hate? Does hate not do you more harm than the other? It's much easier to hate someone than stop loving someone, isn't it? But hate doesn't give you hope. Love does. And don't we all survive on hope? If you didn't have any hope, how different are you from the rapist awaiting his death sentence? 

There goes my baby

I think i'm beyond feeling butterflies in my stomach now.
There was a time when i stayed up all night thinking about how i'd look wearing what i thought i would wear the next day because the guy working two floors above me might accidentally have lunch at the same cafeteria as me. Oh the butterflies!

Now, I just wonder if I should shave my legs for my Sunday night date. I'm wearing tights so i most likely won't. Why have the butterflies forsaken me? More Elizabeth Arden and less deodorant maybe.

When i was about 10, my idea of love was Kevin Arnold from the Wonder Years. And then i moved on to Maverick and Robin Hood and Hansie Cronje and Pat Rafter and Edward Scissorhands and Neo and Maximus and Batman and Iron man and Del Piero and the bald mummy man and you get the picture. My idea of love is so gravely distorted, i'm afraid i won't even know when it hits me for real.

Sure i cried into a pillow for nights when my first boyfriend left to work in the US. That we'd been seeing each other only for 2 months didn't deter me from dramatizing the heart break. I did hold on to him for four odd years and i don't quite know what i was waiting for. It was all there, right in front of me. YOU'RE NOT MEANT TO BE. Yes it was in capital and a much bigger font size. I think it came into focus only when he moved out of focus. He was a wonderful man. But when you're young and naive, you think every little act of wonderful from a man you're attracted to means they'll want to have babies with you. One baby actually, the other one would be adopted. With a cat and a dog. In a beach house. With white picket fences. And a gazebo. A rocking chair on the porch. And a fireplace inside. Oh yeah! It was that clear in my head. And i couldn't picture that with anyone else but him. Of course i moved on.

8 years and a few men later, i don't think i know what i want anymore. The fantasy evades me. The romance doesn't register. The butterflies don't flutter. They just mock me. There's nothing pretty here no more. She's gone. And so have the butterflies.

Now, there's a need to mend all things broken. A need to look for imperfection. A need to stay in the darkness. A need to be elusive. A need to look for an exit.