Quote

Distance between hearts

Two Hearts' Distance1

“She’ll always hate me, no matter what I do, There’s no mistake this love is gone”. This song is freaking the hell out of me right now. I can relate to the song after a little fight I had with him and now I have the fear of losing him.

We have fights sometimes, just like normal couples. In the arguments, I lose myself in anger and yell at him. When I’m angry, I lose my ability to think clearly and cognitively. I get infuriated when he either interrupts me or if he doesn’t listen to me or misinterpret me. It freaks the hell out of me.

In our arguments, I yell and get crazy and at the end I ask him to leave. And after he’s gone, I try to calm myself, I understand things better also with a touch of fear to lose him forever. But at least this saves further heated arguments.

Two Hearts' Distance

Today was not different to the aforementioned scenario. We had a fight because he didn’t answer to me when I was questioning him. I lost my calm and obviously asked him to leave. But after he was gone, I became a maniac. We boarded the same train to the way back home. We were in the same compartment of the train, he, at a distance from me, but still in my sight. I was just consonantly looking at him, and wanted him to look at me but he was controlling his anger too. And then he looked at me, we constantly stared each other from the distance, we let out eyes talk that time. My anger was gone. He had to deboard as it was his stop, so we said byes. I get angry at him, soon get filled with immense guilt too. My anger makes me crazy but doesn’t lessen my love for him. I’m glad he understands this. After he left, I couldn’t stop thinking about him or the fight, the distance, the love.

It got me wondering on how odd is this? How quaint this feeling of love is? I accidentally got on this conclusion- the title of this blog.

The distance between two hearts is unfathomable. Contrary to the distance between two places, which can be gauged with the help of tools, scales, anything. Two places will always have a constant distance irrespective of any factor but measuring distance between two hearts can’t just happen. You just can’t measure it. It doesn’t care for the geographical longitudes, latitudes, it’s beyond scientific calculations, beyond the horizon of eyes.

They can be on the opposite ends of the world but still close in each other’s hearts or in the same room totally strangers. Not glancing, not caring of the utter existence.

That is the beauty of Love. No distance can either separate it or can reinforce it. Love is the strangest yet the most beautiful feeling in the world.

Quote

Ban Insecurities not Makeup!

Black

I was born Black but I didn’t know it. I was my Daddy’s cute little girl. My Daddy! He loved my hair, he used to arrange them every day, be it ponytails or braids. Tickling and games, my childhood was all about it. One word can summarize my childhood and that is Happiness.

I never saw a Mirror, never needed to. I was the prettiest and the most beautiful girl as my Daddy called me. Then I became a teenager, the time of tonnes of changes, biological, physical, mental, loads of them. The time of fragility and abysmal confusion. The people started commenting on my looks, told me that my skin was not white, not pure.

I never knew the difference between the white and black skin. The only way I could distinguish people was their acquaintance or relationship with me. There were people I know in one group and the ones I didn’t know in the other. That was it, there were no further classifications with their color, class, religion, caste as a base.

With each day, the number of comments was rising, I was becoming a mess. I got confused between the notion of Daddy and that of the society. Daddy called me the prettiest and now people were eyeing me and calling me Black. He was not there anymore, couldn’t ask him too.

black1With new and different comments, weird and awkward stares, strange insecurities were being born in me every day.

I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t want to believe that my black skin was not pretty. However, bit by bit, the strange insecurities about the skin, color, lips broke the belief. The belief of being the Daddy’s Most Beautiful Girl broke.

I got to know the difference finally. I became uncomfortable in my skin. I was ashamed of being black. They forced me to be ashamed of my black skin. Each day was a sin after the realization.

I started to put makeup, layers of it. Primer, concealer, foundation, highlighter, kohl, mascara and tone-enhancing, fairness creams and what not at night as well. I thought it would be okay. I felt good in the beginning when my kith and kin complimented me. It gave me a satisfaction, a feeling that I was accepted. I felt happy. Months and years passed. My obsession for makeup also rose. I couldn’t picture myself without makeup anymore. It became my identity, the outer one at least. I got dependent on it. It became my drug.

But one night, I was removing my makeup, I removed the Kohl first, it got smudged and smeared. Then I took the cleansing wipe, rubbed it on my lips. The bold red lips became dull, lifeless at once. I panicked a bit. I folded the wipe, started to clean my face. I could see, stroke by stroke, the two juxtaposing skin tones. I was horrified. I can’t explain the feeling, what I felt that very moment, suddenly there was a tear in my eye. I wiped it, cleansed and washed my face and went to bed. I tried to sleep but I wasn’t able to.

I was confused about this incident for many months. I was losing my sleep. There was this identity crisis in me after all of it that I was neither able to embrace my natural shade, be comfortable with it or wear it publicly nor I was able to be happy in my artificial shade, I was wearing it to work but I wasn’t feeling myself anymore.

Then to worsen it, one day, while I was checking Instagram, I saw a white women’s post. It said-“BAN MAKEUP and FAIRNESS CREAM”. I was angry, sad, happy, worried, optimistic, and pessimistic in a single moment. Can you believe it?

Angry! As why a white woman is posting it, she’s not black, she doesn’t feel us then how did she get the right to post it.

Sad! As I was already disturbed about my skin. I was worried if should this happen, what would I do without makeup? How would I see myself without these products?

Happy as at least someone thought of it, a woman thought of it despite she’s white, she cared enough for others. She wants others to feel beautiful with whatever God has gifted them with.

Worried! I was worried how will I go out, in such a dull and lifeless skin. What would others think of me if they see me like so?

Optimistic! I thought maybe if there are no products, everyone will eventually accept their natural beauty despite the differences and the diversity. After all, we all are the same, all humans, we all have eyes, ears, mouth, lips, brain, heart etc. Maybe the world will embrace the black and white alike now.

Pessimistic! What if this all was a bubble, my bubble of hope. What if this all was my imagination while the reality might be unfavorable? What if the world refuses to believe in black, denies their rights and opportunities. What if we’re all left out.

black1Yes, all these thoughts in a couple of seconds. My head was all about it, and it started to pain because it was a Brain War.

I was messed up beyond words that night. I took a pill and tried to catch some Zs. I slept with a wet pillow. The pill put me to sleep.

Luckily, I had a good dream that night. In my dream, there was a different world, an animated and a really beautiful one. I saw chocolate rivers, colorful trees. Some trees had candies hung on them. Some had cupcakes while others had star shaped fairy lights hung on them. On one side, there was this huge fall, from which strawberry shake was falling. The people’s face were teddy like, had a cherry-like nose. There were big mansions made of waffles which also had noodle shaped curtains on their glass panes. There were statues of chocolate, ice-cream filled ponds. Pasta shaped ducks and all cute little animals. Surprisingly, all the teddies looked alike. A huge bell rang in a while, at the center of the beautiful Garden. Suddenly all the teddies sat on the green grass for lunch. They held each other’s hand and made a big circle, leaving no one behind. All sat and had lunch circled by small puppies and kittens, they also joined for lunch.

The speciality of this very time was the way they all sat for the feast. Their regular meal was a feast each day. They were so happy and joyous. Each one of them started to feed others with their plate. Each one was filled up with not just food but love. The cute animals were not left alone either. What an adorable scene that was! I wish I could capture it on my phone. Suddenly played the Beep! Beep! My alarm played and woke me up.

I woke up with a smile on my face. I remembered each scene of my dream, so clearly and vividly. I was in awe of it. I was happy about it, the dream fed me some positivity, and a long lost one. I went to the park, bathed, ate my breakfast and got ready for work.

I did not wear makeup that day, it was hard but I didn’t. I tied my hair and went for work. Some colleagues questioned on why I looked so dull. To which I replied—“I look real.” Some appreciated while others chose to whisper and laugh. I won’t say it was easy. It was bold, you know, doing something, unafraid, indifferent to the consequences. I did it or maybe I didn’t. This was daddy’s pretty girl who did it.

The wicked and surprised eyes disappointed me a little at first. But the impression of the dream were enough to keep me strong enough to not be hurt by the stones pelted at me.

Instead, the second time I chose to fire back at the ones who came and commented on my skin. I chose to bomb kind words wrapped in sarcasm with a smirking smile on my face. I could see them almost dying as they couldn’t make me insecure anymore. I saw that dissatisfaction in their eyes when they saw my proud eyes. I wish I knew this cycle in my teenage. Comments if not answered turn into our own insecurities while also powering the perpetrators.

I was not looking for an acceptance anymore. I accepted myself entirely that day. Isn’t there much more to me, my life than the shade of my flesh?

Problems never last so does satisfaction. I was pondering over a cup of java that what if I had not seen that Instagram post that day? What if I had not cared for my dull lips and different shades that day? What if my daddy never called me beautiful? What if I hadn’t had that dream morning?

I could be happy in my flesh once again, the way nature made me, the way my family loved and accepted me. But what about the others? Who are as black as I yet with golden but fragile hearts? What sequence is designed by the nature to make them believe in their selves again? What if they don’t see that post or have that dream?

What ifs are tonnes but so are the what now’s. We all should be that human to at least someone that betters their life directly or indirectly. I want to inspire many by this small tale. But I’m not going to say Ban Makeup or Ban Fairness Cream.

I would go and shout out loud—“BAN THE INSECURITY”. I would teach the trick to silent the commentators. I’m going to teach the blacks to educate the racists and pity their limited thinking.

I would teach the teenagers how the color palette is incomplete and somehow blank with just white and alone without the black.

The world is also the color palette of the Lord whose colors are white, black and so many others and his arts are equally colorful. If God wasn’t partial to his color palette, who gave humans the right to criticize his art pieces?

Quote

A Writer will always be Mistaken

A Writer will always be mistakenA writer will always be mistaken.

Everyone thinks but only we choose to pen down. We write the earnest, the deepest of the thoughts with a pen which runs silver ink, the same silver that makes a mirror.

We pen down what we see with honesty, what we feel or imagine. Our feelings or imaginations are just like us, simple and true with not even the slightest intentions to misguide or mislead.

A Writer will always be mistakenWe choose to write down on vivid and diverse topics but not all are our past. We want to write something that’s someone’s something, that makes out a meaning, that brings clarity to someone.

We don’t always pen down our life. So it doesn’t matter if I write about love, I’m actually in love with someone, it maybe past or pure imagination. I want to write it so well, pouring my heart through the silver ink. And when people read it and ask if that’s happened to me.  I take it as a compliment, I feel on having written it so good that people find its true.

But not always do I like the question. The question- ‘Has it happened to me’. I want to write pure fantasies, someone else’s darkest realities, fictions without the fear of judgments, without being questioned on my physical connection with my writings.

If they want to know my connection with my work, I can tell you whole day how deeply connected, embossed it’s in my soul not because they have been my past but because I could feel it without them actually happening to me.  I feel all my work so deep just the way I’d have felt if it’d have happened to me.

But am I gifted or unfortunate? I can feel anything so well but still can’t deliver it as my pure fantasy. I mislead my readers through my work that it has happened to me without my truest intentions. A Blessing or a Curse?

The writer will always be misunderstood.

Quote

Cloudy Sky is as optimistic as the clear sky

The dark sky and clouds are as optimistic as the clear sky.

The Silver-Line above the cloud is optimistic, but so are the black clouds. They’re as optimistic as the clear sky.

The clouds tend to dim the sunlight. However, only these clouds don’t let the sun’s light to spread in the vastness of the sky and then somewhere between the movements of clouds, rarely, you see a bright ray of light as perfect as the lord.

The ray with a sharp piercing focus, beautiful line running downstairs like an angel in white but with vividness of a thousand rainbows.

Dark Skies are as optimistic as the Grey is (1)

Then there is the dark sky that seems to be yelling spells and curses by lightening and thunderstorms but only in some time we are able to decipher the spells when it rains on earth, extracting aromas and auras and spreading it all around. Only the dark skies have the ability to rain on earth and the people. The rain that’s purer than the purest water on the mother earth.

In only the dark clouds, the thunderstorms- when lightning strikes the earth; people are silent and they enjoy nature’s play while they feel the power of it, in awe of nature.

When it rains, the purity of water dilutes all the negativity in the people and fills them with gaiety. They are always joyful when it rains.

It’s just about the perspective. The dark skies are as beautiful as the clear sky.

Quote

Feelings post College

4It’s nothing new what I’m feeling for myself and my friends.
College is ending and we’re just marking these days, can’t cross them on the calendar, because they have been the best days of our lives. We’re all on the verge of making our careers, shaping our lives, yet full of confusion and dilemmas.

I’m determined and worried at the same time, for me and my friends. At one end, there’s certainty that says- we’ll all do well and at the other, a commotion. The commotion to know how the stability should come. It’s all gibberish I know, but that’s exactly how I feel and that’s the peak of clarity my thoughts currently have.

3

Jobs, Business, Success, Failure, Entrepreneurship, what had been just simple English terms just a while ago when we were laughing in our classes, are going to be a reality, our reality just in a month.

I panic at the fact that we aren’t going to meet every day. We’ll have to plan a week or a month before, just to see each other for a day.

We all would just gossip about anything, literally anything, baseless conversations on phones for hours. Now in a blink, it’s ending.

I wished to stop the time, in the moment of happiness when I just woke you from an amazing dream when we are meeting in the way and heading for the college together. While waiting for one of us, we all are chilling, creating new happy moments together.

But it was too late to try, because the following moment I was awake, frightened and surprised. What I was so vividly enjoying in the last moment was just a beautiful dream and I was horrified too because in the dream, we all called it the last day. I rebelled in my dream too. But the fact remains a fact, an unchallenged and an unchangeable one, indeed.

Each day is creating a new anxiety in me, there are fears unknown, feelings unexpressed. I don’t know what I should say or do—I just can pray for a great career simply for all of us.

Quote

What’s her Identity?

I don’t believe in truth anymore; I believe everything is relative.  Nothing is absolute and perfect as the ‘change’ itself.

My next words are not an article, essay or a letter but a set of questions. I spend my day enjoying the moments but my nights are mostly spent sleepless. I’m nothing but an entangled human.

I’m confused between myself and my nature, my behavior and my identity. Yes, they’re all very different but they’ve put me in an abysmal confusion.

I’m at a point where I can decide what to eat, cook, buy, where to go, whom to befriend, what to say, all the things a normal person does. But the thing I can’t make heads or tails about is my own-self.

I’m someone’s Daughter—
Obedient, stubborn, innocent, lovable

I’m someone’s Sister—
Younger, naive, responsible

I’m someone’s Wife—
Compassionate, selfless, devoted

I’m someone’s Mother—
Affectionate, forgiving, teacher

I’m someone’s Friend—
Understanding, humorous, trustworthy

I’m someone’s relative, someone’s employee, someone’s colleague—
Agreeable, professional, cordial.

But all these are just the roles that I play each day. I behave well with all, kith and kin, acquaintances and even strangers. That’s my nature and my behavior. But sometimes I want to shout out loud, make my points, express my desires but the etiquette gets in the way of my nature all the time. My nature is to flow; the etiquette is the hindrance.

And then after the role-playing each day, I’m the one who’s perplexed each night. “What’s my true identity”—This question never leaves my mind.

But What’s my true identity? Is it when I’m happy or when I’m sad, is it when I’m angry or when I’m mad, is it when I’m in love with my family or agitated by them, running for some solo time just to be calm. Is it when I’m with my husband making love to him, or with my children, is it when I’m spending time with my mother, fighting with my siblings, or chatting with my colleagues? Is it what I show or what I hide? Is it a Book no one cares to read but all love to display?

Who am I? Is it my identity or my nature or just a name of a relationship I am tied in?

Is my Identity connected with my body or a bare truth of my soul?

Quote

Love should be permanent!

There’s gonna be Million times when I’ll be right, and millions when I’ll be wrong.

But the constant should be you, I can celebrate being right and celebrate being wrong equally proud if it’s you by my side.

If your hands are there to hold me in the times of not just my triumph but my defeat, there’s nothing more that I’m going to ask for.

Because Victory or Defeat, they’re temporary. Love should be permanent!