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