"Three dots of suspension..."

(alternative title #1: A year spent in tears)
(alternative title #2: Palmistry)
(alternative title #3: All that ends well)

"Some experiences are so big, they change your DNA."

Dexter Morgan couldn't have been more viciously accurate about that.

In 2010, I went to a Green Day concert in Singapore on 14th January. It was a dream come true for me: To sing along to every word I'd been holding on to for so long; ones I was so attached to. The year had surely started on a very, very high note.

And yet, at the end of that year, I found myself writing a note to myself saying never, ever to lose myself again – to never be lost in the blankets, wrapped in tears.

Maybe we could research patterns and fractals, because 2013 began on a high note as well. With warm wishes of Happy New Years to whom I wanted to wish with all of my heart. Eyes to my first job ever, at, I won't lie, a nice place. And a new car. Who doesn't like that?

But here I am, writing this. Just like 2010. The difference here is that I haven't shared 2010's note with you. Or the lines on my palm. Or the lack of them.

People left me in 2013. Things left me in 2013. I don't want to cry about anything. I do however, want to hold on to the memories, no matter how obsessive compulsive it is. Because, honestly, that's all that I have to look back at. If they won't live in my memories, how is anything in this world supposed to exist for me?

Like a ghost, you come back even today. When someone says some things the way you used to. When I look at your ties. When I see someone in glasses like yours. When I try to look for you in others.

"The keenest sorrow is to recognise ourselves as the sole cause of our adversities."

Sophocles couldn't have been more viciously accurate about that.

It's a shame. Didn't I promise myself to not wrap myself in tears?
I'm sorry to you, whom I've hurt, perhaps. I'm sorry to me, whom I've hurt, perhaps. I also promised myself to make good use of the internet for specific purposes. But then, I pretty much quit everything everywhere. I'm not going to reason against it. Because every other time I feel like I've made a mistake in my past, I cannot understand what the crazy hell was wrong with me. This time, I know I was all in my senses, and I vividly remember every bit about why.

And even if it took all of my day today to pull in my spanner and fix the bolts, I'm trusting tomorrow to be my resting pillow.

Because tomorrow is what you might as well call the "International Day of New Beginnings." 

I don't know why anyone would need a date marker to do things differently. It's a shame, because I don't know why I need that date marked on the calendar as well. Perhaps it's an excuse to revel in my old self for a few more buffer days. Or maybe the it's time I've told myself I will give myself to pick myself again – "Dear Abhas, you have this amount of time now. Take it, cry the shit out of it, then start walking again."

Or since you're hearing about both ways out from me, maybe it's both.

Change. Regret. New beginnings. Endings. Wishes to end everything. Over-emotional? Even my excellent orthodontist seems to think so. Emotionally destroyed? Should I just remove the question mark there? Safe to say love no longer means what it once meant to me? Neither do wishes. Or to some extent, even dreams. Anhedonia? Perhaps. Perhaps this is what they term "growing up."

I don't think I'm my old self anymore.
And yet, take a look back and read this again. Here I am. Just the same as ever.

Do things ever change? Is it the journey that is supposed to matter? I still think it's the smiles.

So, I wish you well. Have a Happy, happy new year.

...

Dear future,

Let's do good, now?

Yours truly.

Yesterday (Moments, IV; People, III; A blog post, II)

People. Persons. The things they do. The change they bring in you. In however long a camera flash lasts, or the snap of a finger – whatever's shorter, yes. 

Shorter than the wavelength of violet light? Perhaps. 

In a deadlock, amidst a sandstorm. When you're stuck in a pool of black tar, or in quicksand. Or whether in rains, when you're standing at the edge of your door. People, or persons. That is the therapy. The key to the deadlocks that you thought couldn't ever be cleaned up. The vacuum cleaner machinery in the aftermath of a sandstorm. That branch from a nearby tree that will pull you out of the quicksand. The person who'll push you out and jump into the rain with you. 

Do things ever get okay? Who knows; the journey is supposed to matter, right? I don't know. I think it's the smiles that matter. The ones you share, the ones you spread. The ones you pull onto your face, those when you see them on someone else's. 

So, maybe some flowers are bright. And the grass is pretty lush in its greenness. I know that some leaves are particularly delicious to some. It's sunny, and it's warm in the cold that'd usually make you curl up. Sunflowers know that for sure. Even those indoors, if I may add. 

Happiness is not just a nine letter word. It is rarer than precious metals when you're seeking to dig them from the ground. Harder to find than a comet if you're looking at the night sky tonight. It's there when, well, it's there. And, dear God, I may not have described it well enough for the millionth time, but some moments will surely go lengths to tell you what I couldn't.

Oh by the way, could you divide that into two equal parts and then get it packed and ready to go?

:)

"Wuthering Heights"

"...haha! You're awesome, man!"

"You betcha."

"You're class ki jaan types"

"Ooooh! Really? That good?"

"haha! You betcha!"

***

"You're not the same anymore..."

"What?! Why!? What's wrong? What are you, like, getting negative vibes?"

"It's not negative..it's just..you're not -- you used to be this lively, cheerful guy. Where is -"

"- what? I'm just..it's me. I'm doing the same things, no?"

"It's different. You've changed. You've..I feel like you've become an old guy now."

"..yeah..that way, maybe. Things did change for me."

"Why?! What made this change, man?!"

Candidly

When I face the things and paths I once wanted to do and be on, after I rebuttal, I get.
Scared.

Famous last words

"...So how is the Fabia in the small car segment?"

We have first times, and we're aware of that. We may even prepare for instances such. But there are last times, just as much. It's hard to prepare for those, not only because it neighbors impossible in successful prediction, but also because even if you do predict it, you can't prepare and dress up for goodbyes.

"So why don't you join our undergraduate program?"

Some people matter in greatness what they withhold. You're played by words and you never know what happens next. But you remember them, because they say things without giveaway of what they've already inscribed for you. You'll remember their words. Especially when you don't know if you'll see them again.

"I'll miss you. Just forgive me. I may have to be brave."

What is important is that you must know that the greatest gift you can give to someone is your time. And the worst punishment is your silence. Sometimes you don't choose what gifts to give. Entropy decides paths. And clocks.

"Stay in touch."

Even with a Masters degree in the art of Goodbyes, there is no one way to choose paths.  Some decisions are taken for better, and some for worse, by measuring and quantifying one source or profit over the other. And with that, you'll know you meet new people every day, some of whom you'll never see again.

But some last words, you'll remember.