Phosphorescent Soot

Just. Breathe.

2011-11-02T19:35:00.001-07:00

I've counted days and days. I've counted hours, minutes, seconds, breaths. I've watched people pass by me every day, their same routines, their coffee cups and important phone calls. I've stood still in the middle of this roundabout, wondering where to go next, hoping that you would come around and everything would go back to normal.
I've spent days not giving a fuck, sealing off my emotions, jumping from one guy to the next, just to find someone who is remotely like you. I've sat here for hours wondering what to type up next, just so I could get you out of my head, my life, my mind my past. Everywhere I've gone, I've looked for a face that doesn't exist anymore.
I've tried to cry you out, to scream you out, to phase you out, to blur you out, to shut you out. I've tried to drown you out, breathe you out, write you out, stress you out. Everytime I've just drowned myself in my emotionless pit of solitude. I've tried to come up to take a gasp of fresh air, only to push myself back down again. I've spent months in guilt, wondering what I else I could have done to make things better, to make them right.
"You're looking for a face that's long gone. It's time you moved on. He's not coming back."
That one line was a slap on my face to bring me back to reality.
I have finally moved on and found my place in the world. And I'm beyond happy that you're not part of my new life.

Round 2

2011-09-16T12:47:00.001-07:00

Fuck you. And your existence.
You're the same.

Upside down.

2011-09-01T19:46:00.001-07:00

"Are you frightened by perfection?
Is this who you are, not who you want to be?
Are you frightened by neglection?
Am I who you want to see yourself to be?"

Trigger-happy.

2011-08-02T15:30:00.000-07:00

And she sits in front of the mirror every day at 6PM, just as the sun is about to set and her husband is about to come home, and she sees the caricature the mirror throws back at her. The lips just about to crack into a smile, the eyes just about to spill their secrets, the fingers just about the texture of silk.
Just about, but never quite. Never there. Never complete.
And the rouge cracks in its little black box, and the perfume evaporates in its pretty little bottle, and the lipstick dries in its little gold case. The dressing table grows old with age, the termites bite through the wood. The mirror gets dusty and distorts her face everyday.
Old age, and cracked bones. A dead colony, and dusty shelves.
And even if she cleans it all up, sweeps it aside with one hand in a drunken rage, it does nothing to hide her scars and wrinkles. The rage does not take away with it her dirty secrets and ugly lies. The broken boxes and bottles and cases all taped together do little to help her glue back her crushed spirit.
Battered and bruised and broken. Dark and dingy and depressed.
Yet, she has lived her life. She has lived a life. She's had the sunshine and the rainbows, the hurricanes and the showers. The ups and the downs, the good and the bad. Brunches and weddings, smiles and tears. Children and grandchildren, friends and foes. Fireplaces and crystal mantelpieces, skintight dresses and knitted Christmas sweaters.
So she'll make do with her cracked makeup and cracked mirror and cracked life. She'll wipe away non-existent tears, and give her non-existent smile.
Perfectly flawed.

So kiss me.

2011-06-28T04:04:00.000-07:00

I could have kissed you
under cherry blossoms,
pale petals drifting down
like the trees wanted to
pretend they could be
snowclouds.

I could have kissed you
in the rain, drenched to
our bones and not even
caring that the skies
opened up above us
and tried to wash us out.

I could have kissed you
in a clearing in the most
secluded woods, with
just the sound of wind
rustling through the leaves
and a few voyeuristic
finches peeping at us.

Instead, I kissed you
in the parking lot of a
Waffle House, just shy
of 2 a.m. in the middle
of a hectic week, with
our waitress grinning
at us from the other
side of the window,
because, honestly,
how could I not?

Home.

2011-06-11T08:35:00.000-07:00

My earliest memory is of nearly drowning. This place is making me drown.

7105.

2011-05-22T22:55:00.001-07:00

Baby blue eyes and a mohawk. That's what I miss the most.

Amidst all the chiffon and silk, brunches and tea parties, makeup and fake smiles, I remember what reality felt like in the past one month. Grass blades, midnight walks to track fields, drunken stupor, and those baby blue eyes. If I think hard, I can almost see the fine details of a shoulder tattoo, I can remember the defined outlines of a ticklish back, I can almost feel the dips and curves of a toned body.
Many times I've picked up my phone to type out a demanding text for meeting up. And then I remember that there's 7105 miles of oceans and seas and countries and islands in between; 7105 miles of things that I don't care about, things that haven't mattered any less; 7105 miles of the earth, of politics, of people that do not matter; 7105 miles that I wish I could drive in a few hours and see you again.
Hog the bed, sleep near you if not next to you, be able to touch you when possible. Force you to come out, chase me around the grass without shoes, pick me up and throw me over your shoulder.

I miss the feeling of having you near me. The feeling of being able to walk out and seeing you whenever I want. The feeling of running into you at a bus stop and having an awkward conversation in front of someone who hates you.
I just miss you. That's all. You and your baby blue eyes, shaved mohawk. And fat face. Always the fat face.

Superhero.

2011-05-06T00:54:00.000-07:00

Hi, Quinn.

2011-05-05T09:45:00.000-07:00

You're a distant memory when I'm here.
You'll be too close when I wake up every morning.

I hate knowing the way to your house. I hate knowing your number after all this time.

Testing time. Bring it on.

Random Thoughts.

2011-05-03T00:22:00.000-07:00

If I stand here and twirl, I can almost make sense of all of this. I can connect the grey hues and the black dots and the white lies, just to figure out the bigger picture.
If I run my fingers through my hair, I can almost tell what silk feels like if I let it define the curves of my body. I can run around in the wind, hair blowing behind me with my skirt, and I know my laughter would be music to my own ears.
If I take a deep breath, I can almost feel you around me. Or I can pretend to hold you close and breathe you in; musk and sweat, laundry and heat, me and you. Or just you.
I would love to lie on the grass with you, touch your fingertips with mine and stare in amazement. I would love to feel like a child again, protected and carefree. I would want to forget about everything that surrounds me, and dance around in the rain without my shoes. And what would I not give to wake up to your breath on my ear, your lips on my shoulder, and your eyes saying everything I need to hear.
What if I never come back? What if I believe this is enough to last me a lifetime? Am I being selfish?

Let Go.

2011-04-20T06:02:00.001-07:00

Nothing's changed, darling.
I changed, you changed. But nothing has. We still sip our morning coffees, read our papers, get ready for classes, and carry on with our lives as if everything is back to normal. But I've really moved on; I've moved on from giving a fuck. I've moved on from trying to make you stay. I've moved on from trying to push you forward. I've moved on from talking about our future together.
How you failed to notice is beyond me. You said you won't just let me slip from your fingers like that. And yet I flowed through, like murky water, right through your unclasped fingers and chewed fingernails. The "I-love-you"s stopped being muttered aloud, the visits shortened, the quietness hanging like a velvet curtain, my hints elusive, your oblivion ever present. Always present. Never gone. It was like your oblivion and I were competing for your attention, and I guess it won.
Your work won.
Your brothers won.
Your school won.
Your friends won.
And all the while, we sat across from each other and I bullshitted my way through our morning coffees and evening meals and bedtime sex and post-cuddling.
I smiled and I guess that was enough.
Never enough. It's never enough.

Update, almost.

2011-04-20T05:19:00.000-07:00

My posts have depressing story-lines. Maybe because I write when something is really bothering me. I'll play slow, depressing songs and pour out whatever is in my head. Call it a cure for writer's block, one which I suffered for nearly two years. My old blog just depresses me, so I don't even bother re-reading the posts anymore. Maybe, someday I'll move some of the stuff from there to here.
Question is: should I?
My past was pretty depressing, hard, and angry. I put myself in situations where I could get hurt or ridiculed. I went from being a happy-go-lucky child to a sad adolescent. Sure, I grew out of it. But there's a reason it's the past and maybe I should let the demons sleep peacefully. My old blog is almost like an old wooden box where I stashed all my past, locked it, and hid it away until I grow up.

I don't think you need to know how to write abstractly to be a good writer. Just helping readers walk through your emotions, the scenario, the circumstances is good enough. I try. I've done better many times before, but the circumstances back then were different: I could write. And I could write well. I guess I wrote too much, and I stopped writing then.

Zy. You remind me of the old me. So I won't comment with sad faces or "It will get better". Nothing that fucks up gets better, no way. But there will come a point where it won't matter because you have more (depressing) important things to focus on. And then some time later you'll stop caring about reacting negatively to things because you'll just tire of depression in general.

This post is pretty random. I'm sleep-deprived, depressed, and need something besides parties to happen in my life. I need someone to show me that I can run around in the sun and have fun.

Unfortunately, it's never sunny in Amherst.

Everything Trying.

2011-04-12T00:43:00.000-07:00

It's a nice house, yours. With the spiral staircase and the portraits on each wall. The grand ballroom, and the golden corners. The shabby servant stairs, and the unwanted junk. I specially love the balcony. When I'm overwhelmed with all the lies, I like to go out there and smoke a cigarette. We know what the other knows about what we know. Yet you stay as quiet as the night that keeps me company.
When the smoke unfurls, and you whisper careless things in my ear, I watch your lips moving. I watch the pink of your tongue hitting the crookedness of your teeth. I watch the thin flesh make an O. I watch the edges attempt to break into a smile to keep me smiling.
And I know you're lying about it.
When the lights go off and you pull me into bed, I feel your hands exploring - hungry, telling me they've missed me. I feel myself drown in your kisses. I feel your legs wrap around me, entangling me in your web.
You're lying, still.
When I hear the static over the phone, I pay close attention to the emotions you pour through the phone 50 miles away. I hear you tell me things I wanted to hear months ago, I hear you making excuses. I hear the happiness you put in your voice.
And I still know you're lying.
You're just being...you. And I'm expecting too much by being me.
Yet I always find myself back in the same shabby house with the spiral staircase. The beautiful architecture and the beautiful art that you are keeps drawing me back. It's nothing personal, darling. It's everything and that.

2011-04-12T00:33:00.001-07:00

Tried my best to be guarded.
I'm an open book instead.
I may have lost my way now.
I haven't forgotten my way home.

What now?

2011-04-03T19:33:00.001-07:00

We're gonna go our separate ways in a few years time.
No matter how much we laugh together, how many times we hold hands, however many secrets we share. The number of drunk nights we have together won't matter, the hugs will be forgotten, meals no longer joyous, skin crinkles of laughter will turn into lines of worry and I will forget you as you will forget me.
I will forget your brown eyes and matted hair. I will forget a protruding stomach and muscular legs. I will yearn to remember musk and the smell of old books. The overworking will take over and I will slowly erase you from my life, from my story. I will get lost between the sea of black clothes in a metropolitan city, waiting for my life yet to begin; and you will be a face I see every day but never recognize.
You will have a story of your own. In my little book, with my story, I will have a small chapter dedicated to you. How you failed to notice us both slipping away, forgetting that we had a home to come to, a person to come home to. How you failed to stay in love with me, as I failed to with you. Our story will fade away with the dust that grows on the mantelpiece of what was once our home.
When once I thought I could bury myself in your body and never forget your smell, I will substitute you with my work and my books and my oblivion. I will forget to cook meals for two people sitting and sharing their successful lives; you will fail to remember that you have to come sleep on the same bed as me.
There won't be any good morning kisses and cups of coffee made for the other, there won't be any mid-day update phone calls, there won't be any restaurant reservations. We won't drift apart. We'll just stop running into each other in the same house, we'll stop thinking about each other.
And soon we'll just...forget. That you exist. That I exist.
But I would rewrite our story all over again, if it came to that. I would meet you at a fraternity again, I would spend sleepless nights full of sex again, I would ride on an emotional roller-coaster again, I would fall in love with you all over again if I had to.
I would do it just for you.

"And I would sail back to you
I'll be sailing on your deep blue eyes..."

Shine on forever.

2011-04-03T13:13:00.000-07:00

Major events start off with the tiniest things. And he started off with a pink camera.
I hate pink.
And my cousin. I hate my cousin.
And the sea. And I hate the sea.
And the smell of musk and cigarettes. Rough hands and a rugged stub. Boyish grin and playful eyes.
You falling in love to Empire State of New York. Watching me dance; sing happily, carelessly. Laugh at you not knowing the lyrics. In my short dress and long legs, in the whispers, in the hot summer night we spent at the party.
Me falling in love at the beach. With the waves crashing on your body, the breeze threatening to blow my skirt away, the untouched food and half-finished cigarettes and beer.

There was no love-at-first-sight, no stealing glances, no small talk. We barely noticed each others presence. All I knew was that he was driving my favorite car. All he knew was that I was his sister-in-law's cousin's friends cousin. Too much to memorize, we moved on with our lives.
If only 12 years of schooling had prepared me for what was gonna hit me next. Hit me like being slammed onto a brick wall. If only I had not left a stupid, pink camera in my favorite car, his car, I would not have had to meet him again and pay attention to the chiseled lines on his face, not notice the dimple on his left cheek, his slight stub, his locks (longer than mine).
6 hour long phone conversations, a supervised date, and a lecture later you made it official. I remember fighting against all odds to make it work, I remember feeling self-conscious because we hadn't had our first kiss for 2 weeks. Getting approval from friends was one thing, getting approval from mom was another thing, but getting approval from my entire family was a completely unexpected discovery. He achieved something none of my exs ever could have.
Short-lived, it was. I hated all the circumstances that brought us together. I hated him for not having a plan in life. I hated having to sacrifice every time. My love story turned into a confetti, paintballed mess. I watched the story I had perfected in my head crumble before my eyes, and there was nothing I could do to keep it glued together.
It was my fairytale turning into a nightmare. Like a bad trip, the last 3 months were the worst I have ever experienced.

But I'm glad you existed, I'm glad it happened. Cause now I have a plan in life that doesn't involve a love life, that doesn't involve settling down, that doesn't involve anything except the path I carved out for myself. I party. A lot. I mess up every now and then. Who doesn't? I make the most of my life, now. I don't hold back, I don't let politics come in my life, I don't let anything stand in my way to success.
And thanks to you, I found someone who shares the same ambition, drive, and stubbornness as me.

So goodbye, my lover. This is where we part ways.

"'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won."

2011-03-21T10:56:00.000-07:00

In the world spinning around, in the casual conversations, in the midst of all that commotion, I saw him and thought: God, I love this man.
Isn't that right, V?

Look Right Through Me.

2011-03-17T01:55:00.000-07:00

I'm not the person I used to be. Behind all the Pakistani traditions, religious rules, and cultural values I was brought up in, was a different entity just waiting to be let out. I left everything behind and came here for a better life, a better future. Happiness.
I found myself chopping my hair off, piercing my lip, falling in love with a white man, and other very anti-traditional things. Does it get lonely? No, not really. It gets quiet around me. And in my head. But that gives me time to think about how far I've come along. Escaped, almost, from all the horrors that society had in store for me. I look at the people left behind, how happy they look in their pictures, in the small world that I was once part of and I find myself more than happy to have left it all behind. I can't imagine being part of that life again.
My brother called me over the weekend and told me he wants to move back home. After 6 years of living here, after transforming into a typical American-born, Pakistani-raised, American-college graduate he wants to call quits and be around family. It makes me a little mad. I looked at him as my future. I looked at him and thought that yes, it was possible to live away from family and be happy. But then again, he likes getting attached and I don't.
Of all the things I could have picked up from Brian, and not to say that I haven't picked up good things too, I learned that it's easy to distance yourself from your family so no one gets hurt in the end. I will do things that they will never approve of; they will set up rules I will never follow. And thus the vicious cycle will continue on and on, like a mouse scurrying on his running wheel. It's not easy, nope. I have 20 years of memories, ups and downs, good days and bad days. But the negative shadows the positives. For me, the grass was never greener on the other side.
For me, the sun burned all the grass leaves in every corner.
Will I go back? Probably not. Home is where the heart is. And my heart is right here.
Here where I can walk around in shorts and skirts.
Where I can hug guys without being called a slut.
Where I can have out-of-the-closet gay best friends.
Where I can kiss Brian in public.
Here. Where I'm free to love him openly. Without being judged, without being scared, without worrying.

It's fun loving someone this way. Isn't it?

"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had".

Update?

2011-03-10T12:06:00.000-08:00

Spring break officially starts tomorrow at 6pm, but going to UMass generally means that you start celebrations the Thursday before the weekend. Which is basically today. Honestly, people here couldn't care less about Friday classes unless they have an exam. 90% of students will skip Friday lectures because they will either:
1. Be recovering from the previous night's drunken stupor.
2. On their way home.
3. Still be drinking.
4. Just not giving a fuck.

Spring break couldn't start sooner. What's weird is that freshman year passed like a breeze. It seems like only a week ago I moved to Amherst, and Spring is already upon us. In 2 months, I'll be on a plane going back home and waiting for sophomore year to start. 8 months ago, 4 years seemed a long time to have fun and get life back on track. But if a year passed by so quick, what of the next three? What about after sophomore year when Brian moves to California for grad school?
Here, I've found peace. I've found happiness. I've found a new family.
This place has literally given me a reason to live.

Last night we watched Far From Heaven. Set in the 1950s, the movie is about a woman's ability to stay strong as ever even after she finds out her husband is gay, falls in love with a black man, gets divorced, and finds her love leaving her forever. Inspiration, much? Now I'm not a person who cries, but I swear to God I cried for 15 minutes.

On a more positive note. I'm making Brian meet my brother this weekend. I don't really know what to expect. My brother has known about one of my ex-s and he had every right to pick flaws; I could see where he was coming from. This time around, he has nothing to complain about. Being with Brian is probably one of the maturest decisions I've ever made, and I know for a fact that my brother won't be able to complain. If he will, it's going to be about how I'm too young. 20, really? Shit will either hit the fan, or everything will be great. How could you possibly say no to an MIT student (specially if you're one yourself. Read: my brother)? I need to take out my lip piercing before I go see my brother, though. It's already cost me my relationship with Dad. Not much to care about that anyway, but I'm pretty close to my brother, so I don't want things to mess up with him cause of something so trivial.

So I'm probably gonna be blogging like crazy over Spring break. My initial plan was to go to Montreal. That got canceled. Then Florida. No money. Then California. No place to stay. Then Boston. Brian will be busy. So I guess Philadelphia it is! To see my sister. And drown in her bubbly personality, excessive talk of her husband's niece, her lack of humor, and how she thinks taking (pseudo) karate lessons has made her Wonderwoman. It hasn't. She only manages to bruise herself. Lets not get me started on the stupid karate lessons. I'll rant on for half an hour.

Also. The Boston trip was fucking AWESOME.

OMG.

2011-03-03T13:09:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is gonna be a good day. Tomorrow is gonna be a fucking AWESOME day. Me, Lilo, Pablo, Sky, and Zack are making a trip to Boston.

We've also decided to take all our favorite candies. And to stay for the party Brian's frat is hosting on Saturday. A huge party with a dancefloor. And good music.

I need to study at some point. And not let the excitement ruin my life. As it is, currently, for me and everyone else going.

2011-02-28T00:59:00.001-08:00

I went from being the depressed, emo, anti-social child to being an insane, partying, social butterfly.
It's funny how college changes you. It's funny how a little taste of independence can make you feel invincible.

"And I'm crazy but you like it. Loca loca loca."

2011-02-27T21:45:00.000-08:00

I'm gonna change my writing format a little. I'm going to start adding one picture of my life per blog entry.
After all, it is about sharing parts of your life and thoughts, yes?

Breakaway.

2011-02-27T19:22:00.000-08:00

"When I get older,
I will be stronger.
They'll call me freedom,
Just like a waving flag.
And then it goes back."

Lets Talk.

2011-02-24T16:08:00.000-08:00

So I'm pumped full of nicotine, concerta, and coffee. I need to talk. I need to write. Even though when I'm concerta, I want to just talk for hours on ends. Cause of my ability to interrupt everyone during a conversation and start my own topic (blame the ADD/ADHD meds -_- ),I've been bequeathed the nickname "MotorMouth" by our very own Zack:

My friends were drunk on one (of the numerous) night, and trying to get an even drunker Matt to bed (imagine a tiny corridor, a big drunk guy, and bouncing off walls. You'll understand why). In his drunken stupor, Matt says out loud "I can fight any one of you," points at me and continues to say "Except you, cause you're a girl", points at Sarah and says "And you, cause you're a girl". And then (we still don't know why the hell anyone would do that) points at Zack and blurts "And you, cause you're gay which is like being a girl." At this point it's clear that we are not getting this guy to bed. Zack throws his hands up in the air and walks away mumbling "I can't deal with this right now".
Four months later, this topic is still a point of laughter.
Let me tell you how UMass Amherst works. UMass (alias Zoomass The Fucking Jungle) is the flag campus of the 4 Massachusetts state college campuses (we don't know what goes on in UMass Lowell, UMass Dartmouth, or UMass Boston. Except that they suck our balls). We begin our weekends on Thursday, with the traditional Thirsty Thursday celebrations. If you go to UMass, you must celebrate Fucked Up Fridays. If you're even more adventuresome, then you have to celebrate Sloshed Saturdays. If you're even more crazy (i.e if you want to be a true UMass student), then once a month you celebrate Sippin' Sundays.

Oh, and once a semester you have to drink throughout the week. No sober days, you'll be an outcast.
Candy = drugs. Fuck KitKat. Who the fuck is Willy Wonka? What is a jelly bean? The crazier of us usually mix two drugs, even coming up with sweetening names like Candy Flipping. We know how to sound enticing. I'd say 80% of us lose our drug-cherry out here. Code words, invented by the Creative, help us. Occasionally you'll see FB statuses saying "Molly's my best friend", "Your love is my drug", "I love Mitsubishi", "Molly is coming over tonight", etc. This is to advertise that we are cool, and at the same time keeping our audiences guessing at what we're talking about.
Oh and also to stop getting arrested by the cops.
Cops? More like a joke. Members of our impeccable college law force make it their duty to stand around and watch underage teens drink till they blackout, make fools out of themselves, and sometimes (if they're lucky) end up getting alcohol poisoning. That's when they decide to stop laughing because, y'know, someone might be dying. I mean, it's obviously no big deal if a 5 foot tall, anorexic girl downs a handle of vodka. Until someone is puking everywhere and unable to move a single muscle, it is perfectly harmless to let freshman kids drink to their death.
Oh, and don't get me started on alcohol-induced blackouts. You'll lose count here. Here, we don't believe in excess. We don't believe in stopping. We don't believe in lightweights. We believe in the spirit of getting hammered. (Hallelujah!) Dancing on picnic tables, made orgasmic noises in public, peed in a parking lot, gotten into a FB relationship with (above mentioned) Matt, lost entire bags and walked way back to the dorms without a sweater in freezing temperature.
Pablo has broken his ankle falling down the stairs in blackout stupor, and consequently laughed at a cops face when he was asked "Sir, are you okay?"
Zack has lost his keys, college ID, and phone.
Jackie has gotten her breast suckled on the dancefloor.
Numerous friends have cheated on their significant others.
Numerous friends have burst out crying at the end of the night.
And yet how we fail to remember this in the morning is beyond me. We are filled in with the details the next day over (a very hungover) breakfast.
"Omg do you know what you did last night?!"
"I think this happened to me last night!"
"Were you there when (insert name) ended up (insert scenario)?"
"Do you remember anything from last night? You were so funny/crazy/gone!"
And all these questions are followed by either "Oh shit no I don't! Did that really happen?", or "I blacked out around (insert time). I don't remember anything after that!"
I feel like this post is getting too long. Yet it's fun to share my weekend experience in a party school.
In conclusion, let me add a few pictures of our nights. Nights we barely remember.

Weekend. Alcohol. U-fucking-Mass

Jackie and I humping walls.

Getting a lap dance from Pablo. Halloweekend.

Our form of sports. Kings.

Mt.Holyoke nights.

Foursome dances

Every day.

2011-02-24T14:08:00.000-08:00

Failed homework parties. That's how we roll.
It starts off with very able and focused students who have to finish their two page assignments due in the morning. Classes over, chilling, dinner, and come 8pm we all lounge about in Pabs' room. Laptops. Music.
Action.
In and out of the room, filling water bottles turn by turn, grabbing snacks like fatasses. We are the definition of hardworking college kids, completely engrossed in our work, concentrating on the task ahead of us.
And then the clock strikes 9.
"Anyone wanna throw down?"
And within a second the atmosphere changes from career-oriented, work-fixated, attentive to-be adults, to chilled, lazy and relaxed teens.
We are now the reason parents don't wanna send their kids to college.
Wallets opening, quick texting, and five minutes later you have two of us rushing upstairs to find our Eden. Quick exchange of hands, and we run back down to drown in our own worlds.
Once you enter the room, you're surrounded by a group of very excited individuals who all want to smell this thing of beauty. They all want to touch it, they all want the first hit. No one wants to be left behind.
"What kind of weed is it?"
And the taboo word has been said out aloud. Pack a bowl, pack a bong, pass them around in opposite directions. One hit, two hits, three. Laughter, stupidity, and zoning out. And we're good. We are great. We sit back and just....
Chill.
"Does anyone wanna go eat?"
Layer up, run out, smoke a cigarette, stuff your face.
Go back to room.
Repeat.

Dum dee dum.

2011-02-23T08:45:00.000-08:00

Don't worry about a thing.
Cause every little thing
Is gonna be alright.

2011-02-22T14:50:00.000-08:00

Ugh, writer's block. Go away.
I need to write.

Outcast.

2011-02-19T13:31:00.000-08:00

Not father if lip ring.

Not mother if Brian.

What else is there?

Oh non.

2011-02-18T12:16:00.000-08:00

De toutes les choses que je ne peux pas faire, avoir une conversation sérieuse est l'un d'entre eux. C'est l'une des principales raisons de mes relations ont toujours échoué. Demandez Baka. Il a dû me forcer à parler mes sentiments à propos de. Je déteste me joint. J'ai embrassé mon meilleur ami, Steph, il ya deux nuits dans ivresse. Et j'ai dit Brian. Qui est colère. Et veut "parler". Et je n'ai pas.
Je voudrais juste en face de sauter une voiture pour éviter la conversation.

"Je ne sais pas comment te dire j'aurais peur de tout foutre en l'air, de tout détruire
Un tas d'idées à mettre au clair depuis longtemps
Mais j'ai toujours laissé derrière mes sentiments."

Enigma.

2011-02-16T01:14:00.000-08:00

He watches her soft curves move ever so slightly as she breathes. Her skin warm against his (first thought when she first fell asleep with him), so soft (first thought when he fell in love with her), so smooth (first thought when he kissed every inch of her body).
"I ask for what I have the right to. Why must you make that so difficult?"
He observes her, the enigma she is. (Journal entry: She comes across as a mystery to me. I want to know her, I want to explore her. I want to know her story. I want to figure her inside out. Her life, her culture, her past.) Watches her skin crinkle in joy when she laughs, her barely-crooked teeth smile; watches her brow furrow when she's deep in thought that she wants to share with no one; watches her when her eyes twinkle with delight at the thought of rebelling.
"I came all the way here, half cause of you. Why did I, if this is how it is?"
He sits by and lets her run around in circles in the garden, ever so happy with the warm sun on her face and the wet grass under her feet. He laughs at her clueless attitude towards his work, as she brushes off the (boring) topic by firmly kissing him and declaring that she doesn't want to waste time on stupid things.
"Last I checked, this was a two-sided relationship. Why am I the only one who makes an effort anymore?"
All this beauty, this mystery, this careless little girl of his who he wants to hide from the world and its horrors forever. He watches her crumble under the burden he keeps adding on her day by day. He notices her crying alone and not tell him because she doesn't have the heart to. He hears the pain in her silence every time he tells her he'll be home late. He hears the ache in her voice every time she tells him she wishes they spent more time together, but that she understands.
That she's understood for two years.
And for another few months.
And will continue to do so.
"You have an obligation to your work. You have an obligation to your brothers. But you also have an obligation to me."
And so he lets her slip from his fingers. Lets her destroy herself inside out because frankly, in his mind, it's not in his hands. It never has been. It has always been her life, and he has let her live it the way she wanted to. He wondered every now and then, if she needed him to stop her. Yet he never did. He cared, but it was her life (right?). He watched her drink from one day a week, to four days a week. He watched her pop pills one after the other. He watched her experiment with drugs all the time. And not once did he stop her. She always wanted to know that he cared. But she had accepted that the love she had missed out in her childhood was making its entrance back into her life this time around. And so this enigma he had fallen in love with continued to dwell in her pain with her own self-destructive methods. And he just stood there and watched it happen.
"It died a long time ago."

"Love, devotion, feeling, emotion.
Don't be afraid to be weak,
Don't be too proud to be strong.
Just look into your heart my friend
It will be the return to yourself,
The return to innocence."

The Imaginarium of Doctor Drugs

2011-02-10T08:14:00.000-08:00

And so they danced in circles all night, absorbed in their own little world of swirling door frames, polka dotted walls, 3-D posters, and forever-lasting cigarettes. Glitter, lights, music, alcohol, weed; everything was in place. Every now and then you'd hear one of them freak out over something. This would be followed by a 10 minute round of coaxing, baking, and youtube-surfing. In this little room, this little nest that they had so lovingly decorated for the perfect time, you would find 5 college kids tripping balls.
I first started experimenting with drugs in September 2010. Back home, they were hardly available at a decent price. Back home, me smoking weed left me with the title Charsi (pothead). You can imagine my surprise when I came to Amherst only to find there were bigger potheads, more drugs, and everyone I knew had already experimented.

Take One:
So I guess when I was asked the question "Do you wanna do molly over the weekend?", I could not resist. Molly (MDMA, purified ecstasy), a drug with the least mind and body effects, is no small deal. It was like losing my virginity all over again. This time I lost it to drugs.
And it was beautiful.
Every single pore of my body seemed to open up to anything I touched. I was in full control of myself, everything was normal. But the second my skin came in contact with something, I wouldn't be able to stop touching it. The five of us, all rolling (effects go up and down like waves, like rolling), ended up sitting in a circle, shirtless, and massaging each other. I can honestly say it was a massaging-making-out orgy. When I walked, I felt like I could walk for hours and never stop. When I talked, I felt smart. My rolling lasted about 3 hours.

Take Two:
The next drug I took was about a month later. Rolls, though another form of MDMA, was nothing like molly. I was expecting the same intensified-touch feeling that I had experienced before. What I ended up getting was my friend's lights dancing out in front of me. The feeling was phenomenal. At one point we were being music-fucked by this one song (Housi - Les Petit Pilous). This was definitely more intense than molly, though nothing I could not handle. Me and my friends walked around, full of energy (and drugs), talked, stroked each other, and smoked pot. This rolling lasted about 4 hours.

Take Three:
Nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for what was next. I had seen my friends do it, they had described it to me, it looked amazing. What they failed to emphasize, like reaaalllyyy emphasize, was the dark side of this drug. I had read about all the bad effects, but theory is different from practice. I had an opportunity to do it, me and 2 of my friends jumped right in. On a Monday night, half a month after my experience with rolls, I popped a tab of acid (LSD).
Craziest. Ride. Ever.
Now I'm pretty sure that heroin, cocaine, crack and meth are crazier. And believe me I'm not going anywhere near those. But acid was intense. I can't even begin to describe the effects. I took it at 7:30, in an hour me and my friends were tripping balls. All the still-life posters were suddenly 3-D and moving, I saw faces in paintings, I saw the wood pattern on the door frames moving, I saw colorful lines on people's faces, any spiral pattern would suddenly start spinning, cigarettes never seemed to end. I was ecstatic. I was beyond happy. I was in a world of my own.
And then I started to have a bad trip. Sometime during my trip, I developed a headache that wouldn't go away. The smallest negative thought can trigger a whole downward spiral of nightmares. My thoughts went from the headache, to going to the hospital, to being expelled and deported, to my parents killing me, to going to hell, to never redeeming myself. It was awful. I was freaking out. I didn't know what to do with myself. It was the worse case of helpless despair, hopelessness, and fear that I had ever faced. My sober friends decided I had been out long enough, and stuck me and my other 2 friends in a room. Lights closed, water bottles, cigarettes, TV, music, and people around me that were tripping too. I felt like I was in a cocoon. I never wanted to leave. I started having a good trip again. We watched trippy videos after videos on YouTube, watched 2 movies, and by 7am fell fast asleep. I tripped motherfucking balls for 10 hours straight.

Take Four:
Shrooms. The baby of LSD. January 2011, when people are still (attempting to) stick to their New Years Resolutions, I was busy planning out my next adventure. Icing on the cake was my drug-clean boyfriend Brian, who was spending the weekend with me. I decided what better way to help him break his drug-cherry than make him trip with me? Most. Expensive. Investment. Ever. I had a party in my room and we both took half an eighth, and within half an hour I was tripping. I knew what to expect, I was prepared. I was tripping, I was happy, I was high, I was social. At one point me, Brian and Caleb (who was baked as fuck) decided to watch Of Montreal's music video Wraith Pinned to the Mist. This resulted in all three of us clapping, and screaming in happiness. I actually thought my head would explode, I was that happy. In fact, I liked the trip better than the trip I experienced on acid. I could control it, whereas acid made it extremely difficult to get a grip on negative thoughts. As much as I liked it, I stopped tripping in 2 hours.
That's when Brian started tripping. And he was drunk. Let me just add: drinking when you're on shrooms is fine. Just don't get drunk. I've seen almost all of my friends tripping, but Brian's reaction to the hallucinogen and alcohol combined scared me to no extent. I had to kick everyone out of my room by midnight. Getting Brian in bed was a challenge. Not only was he tripping and caressing my arms telling me how soft I was, he was also drunk and stumbling around trying to avoid me sending him to bed. My efforts were finally achieved by 1am.

My suggestion: don't do LSD/acid until you are absolutely prepared to handle its effects, until you're in a good mood, until you're in comfortable surroundings, until you've experimented with other (less intense) drugs. For my friends and I, weed is hardly a drug. If you do decide to experiment with drugs, keep a supply of weed near you. It really helps.
Enjoy!

Ever mine. Ever thine. Ever ours.

2011-02-08T18:09:00.000-08:00

A stranger you were once.
Then, with a gentle look you took my hand.
As our lives engaged,
you lit my life and I held both your hands.
Now that decades have passed,
ours souls have indeed become one.
How fortunate we are
that we have found the love so true
that everyone dreams about.

Thank you for existing, Brian.

Magdalena.

2011-02-04T08:58:00.000-08:00

Thank you for being a dentist and agreeing to cleanmyteeth4me while I cleanyourbrain4u.

Amherst, MA

2011-02-02T13:52:00.000-08:00

And I found that 'round here
In this city
That I won't disappear
In this city.
I got nothing to fear
In this city.

Hello, home.

Ode Boston

2011-02-02T13:30:00.000-08:00

I'd love to hack in your brain and know what's going on in there. Your silent episodes, your drunken physics brilliance, your tripping blabber. What makes you tick, what makes you click, what makes you be? I wish I was more than what I am now, that I was what you deserved, that I had a plan in life. Like you: to not be like your parents. I wish I could not be like me, and more like what will keep you forever happy. I will always give you more credit than you think you deserve. Cause you're perfect in every way. And likewise I know you love me for who I am, you accept me and always will for being me. So thank you, for helping me muscle through every day. Thank you for inspiring me. Thank you for being you.
Thank you for existing.
I'm not hallucinating anymore. You're here. I'm here. We're perfect.
Just.
Perfect.

How long do you wanna be loved?
Is forever enough, is forever enough?

Return.

2011-01-24T22:12:00.000-08:00

And once upon it
The yellow bonnets
Garland all the line...

And it's over. And I'm back. And we're doing great. In a great place.

Beliefs.

2011-01-24T22:01:00.000-08:00

I don't believe in marriages. I've seen too many promises broken, too much hope poured deep down the drain in the sewers, where the rats feed on the little pieces of hope like governments feed on the fear of people, like old ladies feed on the pain of other peoples lives, like families feed on each other. And tear each other apart. What is the point? So we're bound together by that invisible string of commitment? Or that we can live under those vows of love? Those vows that are forgotten once the honeymoon is over. Blown away as dust. Cease to exist. Stop living. Expire. Suffocate.
Finish.

And yet the jingling of church bells, the happy tears of parents, the bright smile of the couple, and the swishing of expensive silk against lace always makes me turn my head and wonder what it would feel like to live the dream. The dream that I grew up wondering about, like every other girl. When would I wear the diamond ring on my finger, when would I hear the bells jingling, when would I sign the marriage papers, when would I wear that silk, that lace? That dream that little girls start planning for when we run out of dolls to play with, when all their body parts have been twisted off, when all the hair has been shaved off their heads.
And one girl always learns the dream is a nightmare, except in pretty colors. A nightmare decorated with pink, white, glitter, and cherries on top. One out of us learns that you could cut through the marriage lie with a rusted knife, and the truth would come out gleaming from the other side. The truth, always so pretty until you dare to touch it. Like a bubble that you just have to touch and which has to pop, the truth that you will end up putting a finger on will spew all its black ink out to your finger and curl up your body and consume you.
Like marriage. Like all that commitment. Like love.

Play the piano, walk down the altar, kiss goodbye to the old life, kiss be man and wife, rush out, throw roses in the air. And cry forever. Say goodbye to the old life.
And yet, I won't live the dream I dreamed of as a little girl. Like every little girl.
I just don't. Believe. Anymore.

7 update!

2009-10-07T04:56:00.000-07:00

So between running around between home, tuition, school, S and S, I finally got the time to write something.

What's really bothering me is when I go to school, everyone is whining about how they have one retake and SAT coming up and omfg it's SO difficult to handle the two exams along with A Levels.
Bhenchod try having two science retakes, SAT I, SAT II, mid-terms, and a sister's wedding. And A levels.
And college deadlines.

You wanna talk difficult? Come live my life. -_-
That and the fucked up mind I have, it's not easy to stay on track without losing it. Ah well, I've been doing well so far.

I don't think I'll be going to London. I don't want to. It's time I moved on, and frankly speaking I've always hated London. The british with their pseudo-sophistication and "c(h)up of t(h)eas" with cookies. It irritates the fuck out of me.

Canada or USA it is, then.
Need to get out. Needtogetout.

Some people were just not worth staying back for. Pfft. Immatureemotionpackedchootboxbullshit.

I need to stop cursing so much.
And apparently I also need to stop using "Mk".

Mk bhenchod. Haha.
I <3 S. He makes my day.

There really is no point to this post. I just needed to "update" my blog according to 7. I hate updating if I have nothing to rant about.
Except maybe chemistry.
Bhenchod acids and bases and conjugate acids and bases which can be neutral or basic or acidic, each with their own formulas of figuring out the pH. Who gives a shit? Honestly. They invented pH indicators for a goddamn reason.

Gah. Need to go back to study now. Laters.

XOXO

2009-09-30T13:10:00.001-07:00

"Hindu bhainchod".

Meh. Kuttay ka bacha.

xD

2009-09-30T09:24:00.001-07:00

You are so mistaken if you think you can get in my head, or in my pants. =]

2009-09-28T22:45:00.000-07:00

Heart of gold but it lost its pride.
Beautiful veins and bloodshot eyes.
I've seen your face in another light.
Why'd you have to go and let it die?

A simple man and his blushing bride.
Interveinious, intertwined.
Heart's gone cold, your hands were tight.
Why'd you have to go and let it die?

Why'd you have to go and let it die?

2009-09-26T01:28:00.000-07:00

My mind's a whirlwind of colors. I'd rather put them into words, but you've fucked me over so bad, all I see is black and grey, red and orange, yellow and white. I see no sunshine, I see no rain.
I drown in my self-loathing and self-pity, I scream in my own silence, I curse you in my sweet talk. I dream about the days I've spent with you, I push away the nightmares of the days I haven't.
Where are those times? Where are those cigarettes that formed a curtain of smoke around our happy faces? Where is the laughter that used to ring in our ears even when we slept? Where are those people who made us who we are today?
Where are we?
You tell me I will never accept. I will never regret. You encase me in a crystal jar, and put me up as your mantelpiece, showing me off to your world. Where did you put away mine?
I act as your kryptonite, I act as your china-doll. I am yours to keep, to break, to join together again with glue.
It's sad what we've become. It's sad what we've reduced to. Our ego clashes will never die down, our leaping for power over one another will never stop. I stopped once. I can't stop again. You will not break me this time. Not again.

You touch me, and I crumble under the weight of your fingertips.

Go Gaga.

2009-09-26T01:14:00.001-07:00

Oh wow. No one's going gaga over this one. Wtf? Where did all the blood and the makeup go? I'm sorry, but this woman is WEIRD. There's some psychological disability with her. She needs to get herself fixed.

2009-09-26T01:02:00.001-07:00

Yes. Time to turn a new leaf. Fuck the old shit.

closure .

2009-09-25T04:28:00.001-07:00

You are now officially irrelevant. Goodbye.