13 days into marriage I find myself itsy bitsy homesick but at the same time happy to be where I am at this moment. This makes me question the true meaning of ‘home’. So what is home?
Home is just not only the place you keep your stuff at. Its not a 4 walled plastered structure you slap your name at. Its not an address. Its not a location. Home is…the familiar. The known. The rush of the new. The mystery of the unknown. Home is recognizing. Home is getting attuned to new feeling. Home is rediscovering the old. Home is adapting the new.
'Home' is an abstract feeling of comfort. Hot food, cold winters, warm smiles. Home is nostalgia. Home is hidden between tattered old photographs. Its hidden in Mom's cooking. Its richer with Dad's usual scolding ( :p ). Home is typing without looking cause you remember a pattern, your fingers fly with knowing.
Home is leaving parts of you around and coming back to find them safe and sound. Home is being connected, laughing on senseless jokes. No armour. No nonsense. No catch. No fold. Home is belonging. Home is being centered. It grounds you. It holds you. Home is being safe. Comfort of known.
Home is in familiar pattern. Morning coffee. Softest blanket. The smell of your shampoo. The patterns on your carpet. Home is in routine. Home is where your people are. So home I think moves around with you. Its in your heart and you carry it around. Home is where the heart is.
Just like right now this piece of cake Osama surprised me with is like coming home :D
These days all my Dad and I do is nearly live in the attic. From storing new stuff to going through things twenty to thirty years old is a treat. You get to see old awkward photos, reminiscent of the old times, kill some spiders, find tattered yellow old newspapers (in which Saddam Houssien is alive) and have a crash course in walk down memory lane.
General consensus is that your most prized possession is probably the most expensive one. Thats how usually people work. Ask somebody what ‘stuff’ you can’t live without. They will usually start counting all their gadgets on their fingers. Tablet, smart phone, laptops and all. In this age of digital innovation people have moved on from cherishing the old to being simply entertained by the new. Don’t get me wrong I am myself am an owner of two smartphones (Which I admit one I only use to play Subway Surf on) and fully support the technology revolution but sometimes just sometimes I miss cherishing the old, the treasured, the vintage. Maybe it reminds me of warmth and comfort, maybe it just brings me back to memories of my mother but mostly it reminds me of simpler times.
Prized possessions these days have more to do with the ‘price’ itself rather then the cherishing memories behind it. For me my most prized possession will be my mother’s wristwatch. Its a plain golden band 30 years old Seiko. Even though the luster of its polish has dimmed it is by far my favorite accessory. My father is not what I call a ‘mushy’ person. He attaches no feelings to objects or so I thought but I pleased to admit that I was wrong. something that I learned today.
Back in 80s my parents used to live in England and they have a massive collection of photos to just show that. In all these photos my Mom wear this beautiful white vintage Miss Smith snow coat. It lush cream shade with the softest fur around the collar. She’d complete it with putting on a fine red lipstick, she was in short as classy as a woman could be. I had always seen this coat in pictures and never saw it in real. Picture after picture, in front of the Big Ben, at Madame Tussauds, holding me in her arms smiling as she posed in the same vintage coat. I think that coat saw most of London with her.
I tried to locate that coat. Maybe just running my fingers through the fur will bring me closer to her. Maybe I have always wanted closure or maybe I just wanted the coat, period. Sometimes I even pictured myself going to London, visit places she visited in that vintage coat. Later I found out that it was in our attic. All the while wondering and it was sitting in our attic! Why in attic though? I could use it! (not that I was going to visit any heavy snowstorms any time soon). I made a commitment to myself to get it down from the attic myself.
Today as Dad and I were going through things, suitcases and all the hoarding Behari’s love, I found the coat tucked away safely in a suitcase in a zipper bag. As I gathered my courage to ask my Dad for the coat I saw him looking at it fondly, dusted of its cover and closed the suitcase. It was like an epiphany struck me at that exact moment. In a split second it made so much sense why I never found the coat. It was then I realized even though I wanted it maybe it was not mine to have. Maybe it was someone else’s prized possession.
In extreme dusty corner of the attic I stumbled upon a toy airplane, if my memory serves me right it was my first ever toy. I am pretty sure I even broke one of its wing and the air-hostess was missing her head. I was amused to find it sitting there, after all these years.
I said, ‘Why is this still here? Lets just pass it to somebody or toss it out, its just occupying space’
To which my father said ‘Just let it be there’
So just maybe our most prized possessions are the ones which we have no use for but we cling to them for the memories they remind us of. The good times, the comfort, warmth and security. Most of us it reminds us of the person we used to be and how we have changed. Maybe just holding on to these stuff makes things better.
Let me begin by saying that for 2013 was the worst year for movies (at least for me). I didnt like any dramedies, comedies were awful and some actions movie make the list. All this super heroes mayhem needs to be stopped. Well to lump them altogether would be not just. Few stood out but well I am not here to talk about those.
For sometime I have been wanting to watch a movie like Perks of Being Wallflower, a movie that would speak a lot without words. Today I finally found one.
The Kings of Summer is made in an unconventional, independent movie style. The story surrounds a group of three boys and their attempt to live in the forest by building a house. Their journey about ‘wanting to be Men’. Being amusing and very charming at the same time The Kings of Summers is truly for the child within. We all have gone through that version in our lives when we are caught between ages. Thinking we have grown up where as we still have a lot more to learn. This movie is for the kidult in you. It touches on so many simple things, the weird, the quirky, the over the top adolescent ‘tantrum’ and Adults Being Adults drama. Its about figuring yourself out in retrospect. Its about space, growing up and letting go.
Majestic forest shots, beautiful nature, the running river, the woods and the sound of the forest - I absolutely loved how the movie was shot. Provided too close to natures shot made me queasy at time.
Its a good afternoon watch, provided you watch it alone and actually understand what the movie is trying to tell you. When you will finish watching the movie you’d have a rueful smile on your face. Its THAT amusing.
I can absolutely say The Kings of Summer is my pick of the year.
PS: Some worth mentioning movies for 2013 would be - The Spectacular Now, The Way Way Back, Pacifim Rim, Before Midnight Gravity & Prisoners,
Have you ever seen your naked soul? Thread bare out there, put on display right in front of you. All your scars, your fears, your issues. Slowly reflecting almost cruelly back to you. There is no escape from the scream that is frozen in time. No escape from disappointments, half truths, failures. All exhibited in a lovely manner for you to watch again and again and all over again. Like a bouquet of roses but wilted and dead. This is where she has banished me. ‘Hall of Mirrors’ she says, ‘Cause Darling, mirrors never lie’
I have told many people in Purgatory that she is cruel. She is a sadist. She wants me to crack. Wants me to beg for her to drop me from the limbo. Push me and let me fall to peace or fire; just fall. But others lap at her demand. they just want to be forgiven or forgotten. They believe she is an angel, this Queen of theirs. They will do anything for her attention, her atonement, her time. Maybe its my pride, maybe its my stupidity or maybe I think its my foolish attempt to redeem myself. She comes everyday around here. In the dept of these hollows her crimson gown scorching a trail leaving behind her smoke of gray. She teases, she baits, she watches, she waits.
She walks upto me. Her intent stare rakes my skin dry. Like she can look into me all the way to me soul. She stares quietly with her head titled. Up close she is beautiful. I can see her alabaster skin, so pale it glows on its own. Her hair, a spilled halo. How can someone so beautiful be so cruel? Suddenly she throws her head back and laughs ‘Vanity darling. I love these mirrors, they keep my vanity alive’
In these halls are mirrors gilded of gold. They are in an infinite spiral, going all the way up to nowhere.Round and round the reflections of sins in every mirror. This is where my story is reflected, my life, my fears. On and on the indefinite loop goes. Here is where my sins come to life repeatedly, in these mirrors the reflection of my doings are etched. Mirrors never lie. These mirrors don’t. Some before me who have passed through these halls told me to not look and close my eyes shut, but aren’t they the ones naive?
Have you truly looked yourself in the mirror. See your scars for the first time? Your withered soul? Your dead dreams? Have you ever seen yourself in the mirror and not know who you were seeing? There is loud pounding in your head. Your skin feels alien to you. Something is clawing at your insides wanting to burst forward. Its wanting to surface and its wanting to take control but you don’t want it to so you learn the easy trick. You learn how to not know yourself. You don’t recognize the Man you see in the mirror. It becomes a vessel, a body unknown. You think you have protected yourself. Bargained your reflection for your soul. You dupe yourself in a lull of protection. Easily forgotten.You comfort yourself in denial. But I a telling you, when she will walk pass by you it will be too late for you to realize, it was the other way around - you bargained your vanity for your soul.
Cause as she said ‘These mirrors don’t lie’.
This is where your demons hide.
Have you ever felt silence?
So quiet, so calm that you can feel the beat of your heart, the blood coursing through your veins, the sweat running down your cheek. Silence so loud that is its deafening. Silence so intense that you shake from it. You quaver in your boots; your fingers draw blood in closed fists. There is black behind your closed eyes, dark like a crow’s feather; an abyss of silence.
Welcome to the limbo. The edge of hell. Where sinners and saints are all stay the same.
Some of us here fall and some of us don’t. Some of us want to fall while some of us want to push others. We offered our souls, our money, our gold and our children to go back. Nobody is listening. Redemption seems to be out of question. We tried in vain to bargain. Argue our sins and sell our blessing. Nobody is listening.
Welcome to the limbo. Here we free fall an endless fall.
You can smell the fear. It’s rustic at first but nauseating as it rolls of their skins. The collision of hate, terror, self sacrifice and fear plays out in a beautiful symphony. First comes Hate, easiest of human emotions. Hatred for dying and yet not entirely dying. Then comes terror of being suspended in air, of the fire beneath the feet. Then you will see them offer themselves up, like a small child begging for salvation, for redemption – to save themselves still being selfish and still not learning. Oh they never learn, they never do.
You see these emotions go to war and only one that manifests - Fear. Like a battle waged in the mind, masked on their faces and dejected by their bodies. Only Fear wins out in the end. The fear of never falling. The fear of never hitting the ground. The fear of running out their screams. Their bodies dropping like stones anchoring down with their sins to hit no ground. Lastly, the fear of never being heard again.
Welcome to the limbo. Where there are no echoes and nobody is listening.
I have been here for years. I have seen Kings, peasants, Dictators, mothers, poets jump to their fate. Just saints and sinners alike rushing for a result. Trying to reach the end of it all. They jump, they crawl, the push – they fall. Thinking it would be their last salvation. Believing their sins will be atoned for through their act of self sacrifice. Little do they know that they will never land. Never will they feel the earth beneath their feet. I have stood here for years watching people scream. Scream to high power, their Gods, their brothers. I have seen them bargain their medallions, mumbling away on their rosary beads slowly counting away their sanity. Crying, begging with tear stained cheeks. You can watch it all but never hear them. You can see their anguished red faces, their pent up frustration. Some of them break down and just beg to be taken, but to where? They themselves cannot hear their answers. You can see them scream to themselves still deaf to their own ears. They still keep on doing it never learning. Oh they never learn, they never do.
You can feel what they feel like they are inside your head but you can never put words to them. Like a puppet they move an act but you can’t hear them speak. My feet have never moved in centuries and I have seen them all go raving mad with need of being heard, the need so basically human – just to be heard once but nobody is listening. There is only one thing that you can actually hear here.
It’s the silence. The silence of waiting.
Welcome to the limbo – where we wait. Wait to meet our fate.
Ties that bind us, Are the ties that break us,
In this haze of gun smoke, who is the devil and who is the killer?
Oh what futile effort trying to solve this two piece puzzle
Somebody is torching this home but there is the kingdom which burns in fire
Finest Queen visits me, surprises me with her halo.
Dressed in red, a devil, an angel, a secret she holds
Caught between heaven and earth, a purgatory, a torture
There are wings, there are mirrors, there are cures, there are doors
This two color pill she offers, a choice, a solution, a way out
Death is near, the bridge to continue she says,
Bargain torture for light, follow through You Sinner, you have to die!
What she does know is that,
I am too happy to be here, cuffed to these grays
Too comfortable, too numb, too calm, too soon,
I won’t race my time away, I won’t cut my time short
So I am caught in this dreary, crimson nation population
I won’t waste my heart on this faith you offer, a pill of choice, a door of crisis
My body tells me no, my soul maybe sheared down to core
Your spiral crown, your jewels of gold, O you Queen of Purgatory!
Who are you to tell me which way is my home?
When Taylor Swift dropped her album Red late last year, she was asked if she considered herself a feminist. She said, “I don’t really think about things as guys versus girls. I never have. I was raised by parents who brought me up to think if you work as hard as guys, you can go far in life.”
I am not a Feminist, I am a Woman and that should be Feminist enough for the world.
Diary of Num turned 1 today!
YAYYYYYYYYYY :D Good times tumblr, Good times!
George Orwell was a writer’s writer.
While he knew what it took to write a cult classic – the likes of Animal Farm, for examples – he knew much more about the very act of writing and creation itself.
In his 1946 essay Why I write, Orwell explores the four reasons why he believes…