16 July 2022

Hello!

Lately, I have been struggling with what to write about. There have been a few fleeting ideas, but I am unable to catch one to nurture it further in my brain.

11:40 PM

It is raining. Heavy raindrops fall freely. Not so urgently, but rolling against the window. The room is closed and cold. Windows are shut and curtains are drawn. I am sleeping under a soft, thin old coverlet. You know, the ones that are overused and have reached the level of cozy comfort that rubs against your skin and makes your eyelids heavy. Scrolling through my phone, I came across some words by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. "You sensed that you should be following a different path, a more ambitious one. You felt that you were destined for other things, but you had no idea how to achieve them, and in your misery, you began to hate everything around you." 

I eventually settled on a thought to write about. A thought from a not-so-pleasing reverie. Some time ago, I had no path to choose from. Every interest is desensitized. Every skill is debilitated. Every choice is disentitled. I was craving an abrupt and quick end. Confusion and emptiness are strangling my sanity me. Then, I discovered a postgraduate program I got interested in. I suddenly forgot the aches and pains in my mind; the scars of strenuous pondering began to move away from my vision. I started reading. I started talking. I started living... a bit, maybe. I delved deeper into the matter of planning a future that would align with this program. I analyzed and came across some problems. I ticked off some to-dos and what-hows. The more I plumbed into it, the more I got interested. But, sometimes, when you are the most excited, you are the weakest. When you are the happiest, you are also the most unshielded. You are on your knees, looking up to the sky, with tears in your eyes and some self-possession finally in your mind. That's when the rain starts roaring. Then lightning strikes. The drops are no longer lingering around your skin. They are falling knives and blades. Cut through your sweetbreads, steal your voice. Rip open your offals and reduce yourself to a carcass waiting to be scavenged. A disappointingly good carrion for the sleek and well-fed vulture of death.

The clouds won't stop tonight, I guess. But, my heart has been cut too close, the spareribs obtained by trimming too nearly. It hurts. My eyes have started to wrinkle again. No vital ichor and no vim root. This is where you stop writing. It is your body's reflex. Shut it. More like a crying call. To fortify your endangered reservoir of the last vestiges of verve and vigor.

- Oizys.

 

13 July 2022 - Thoughtless

I am lying here awake. Alone today as well, in the room.
I am lying and thinking. I was watching some videos and listening to songs yet I was thinking. Thinking about what to write here. I am just speechless. Thoughts have gone away for a long walk. Leaving me all alone with an empty page and a house full of people to deal with.

Apparently, wearing shorts is a crime. I need to wear longer pants so that I can preserve my culture. Marking this day so I do not repeat it, in God's name.

- Oizys.

12 July 2022 - Private or Peril?

The twelfth day of July.

I do not remember how the entire day went. I guess there was a bit of heavy rain, some spilling of tea on the staircase, and, of course, a huge amount of wool-gathering.

I spent the day browsing through stuff here and there. I came across this bunch of writing inspirations, two of them being, "Will you please leave me alone now so that I can continue to wallow in self-pity." and "Please be quiet, I can't even hear myself losing the will to live." I have a boutade for writing right now. Reminds me of the days when I was a teenager and loved writing in my journals, but unfortunately lived in a house where the concept of privacy never existed. Members of my family would read them and then proceed to use them to make fun of me or against me while arguing. I've never been able to trust them again since that happened. Not even with good news about my life. There is a tick in the back of my mind that the news will be tainted. I have a fear that they will snatch away that feeling of success from me. People will say, "Now you can keep an online diary." It is safe and secure. But, what's done is done. It remains with you, and you have the unduly duty to carry that scar forever. I remember trying to keep a journal after that when I had some space for myself but was never able to. I would end up throwing it away in the garbage dump from the rear balcony. And so I stopped being myself. Around them, and sometimes in the pages too. All I do is pretend, filter, mask, and fake.

I can't remember the last time I felt or was myself around them. They do not know at all. It is a level of discomfort that will make you want to take off your own skin. The agonizing moments of being around them. Always on the edge, walking around on eggshells. There is a block of acute small talks with no space for actual discussions consisting of nuances, understandings, or (dis)agreements, no matter what I do or how hard I try. When I think about it, the act of dismissing whatever I say is what has broken the thread between us. They keep pestering me to share it with them. But those horrific moments of being dismissed keep playing on loop. The fear is there and it's thriving. Sometimes, growing up, they would get annoyed or upset by me very easily and for reasons that were never revealed to me. I can still feel the silent scream "Leave" towards me from them whenever I say or do something. The close-mouthed condemnatory looks shut me up now. And, the fact that I have zero knowledge of what would tick them off pioneered the sack of anxiety, distancing, and over-sensitivity that only sucks the energy out of you. The only possible and accessible way out is to escape. The irony, I know, but it's comparable to being stranded in a foreign country where no one speaks your native tongue while you learn the local traditions. Every social interaction and discussion turns into a menacing maze to be solved. And every time I act authentic and am a little open, it feels like I'm "doing too much" and alienating people. I recently attended a family function. I secretly hope that whenever I am present at a family event or even at the dinner table with them, I do a good job of concealing the enormous feeling of unwantedness. I am always under the distinct feeling that I am a hermit crab doing my best to pass for a human while speaking to them. I have been trying to avoid such functions nowadays. Sometimes I don't even mind them; I simply can't handle the atmosphere of hanging out and conversing with them. I have never been able to be myself in those circumstances. There are too many hurdles for me to be seamless with them.

I don't know how to end this entry. I don't know if anyone is reading this. This is just the unloading of that sack of overthought emotions and unnecessary feelings that many labels as "teeny angst." Here I sit, on a rare day of having this room entirely to myself for a few hours. I try to split open this labyrinth-like drama of grief and solitude.

- Oizys.

11 July 2022 - Discovering Writers: Or, Mourning My Own?

The eleventh day of July.

When I last wrote here on the sixth, I wrote an elaborate entry about a few things, and then my phone died, resulting in the entry getting deleted. I have been in mourning for those words since and have not been able to write anything since. Yesterday, I finished and submitted an article for a competition. And, today... I feel like writing again.

Rarely, does the advice of "Do the thing" work when someone is demotivated and cannot commit to an action. And that rarity is writing. This is probably one of the few scenarios where the advice "just write" actually works! 

I know I will never be able to revive or resurrect those words we all lost on the sixth of July, and hence, I will not try. But, that doesn't mean I will stop writing about that or writing in general. I have come across two writers and have been reading their works, mostly columns and newsletters. One thing I am always envious of and love is capturing the essence of the mundane. Phases like these where I discover such writers are what make me both happy and sad. I am happy because I love reading them. Sad, because... I miss those days when at least I was able to dream of becoming a writer. I just miss being able to plan for a career in writing. Now, it has been reduced to a hobby that disappears when I am too busy with academics or too tired to pick up the pen. It sometimes sits in the background, waiting to be done, and I keep delaying it. I postpone my thoughts and words. When my back rests on the bed, I am exhausted and a realization hits me. I keep taking writing for granted and keep procrastinating. It makes me so sad that once there was a time when I considered this act to be my entire life, and now it is not even properly yoked to my daily life activities. It makes me so, so sad. The idea of starting a newsletter has been running in my mind. But... what do I write? Will anyone read, let alone pay me for these words? I am now constricted to shifting between my side of the bed and this table. Restricted to half of a room shared with another member. Just wandering through life with no desire to experience anything. Settled comfortably into a Pyrrhic life, delusive contentment. I don't feel competent to even write anymore. Words feel empty. A bundle of lies stitched together. An attempt to choke the hollowness. How long do you fake it? Even when you see death approaching, you can only smile until it holds your hands. At one point, you have to give in to the end.

- Oizys.

6th July 2022

The cake tastes good. Fairly well. I never made the icing. Maybe next time.

Cooking is a basic life skill when you are in a one-human family. It is a necessity. However, when there is a plus one or plus n in the family, there is an acceptance, a level of expectation that must be met while cooking. It becomes a burden. That's why I refrain from cooking for other people. As weak as I am, both emotionally and mentally, I don't think I could go through disappointment, let alone criticism.

5 July 2022 - Let Them Eat Cake

Making a cake.
Hope it turns out to be good!
I am also thinking of making honey icing for it. But, it's still up for debate.

Something in German: det Kuchen ist lecker und schön!
[English Translation: The cake is delicious and beautiful!]

- Oizys.

4 July 2022

The fourth day of July.
It rained cats and dogs. The entire outside seemed to be painted with the color white. I woke up a bit late in the morning, so I could not sleep. My family had a good sleep during the rain. One of the few things I like about rain is that I can get all cozy up in my blanket and sleep.
After the rain subsided, I went to a nearby mall. had coffee and cakes. I did a lot of window shopping and very little actual shopping.
I brought some momos, which I shared with the family.
I ended the day by improving and vetting my work.

- Oizys.

3 July 2022 - A Little Bit Deutsch

 Welcome to July.

I have started learning German. And, I have been doing some shopping. Went on a huge shopping spree with mother and sister the day before yesterday. Brought some stuff for around the house. And, I was supposed to go and buy some dresses yesterday with my sister but we had a spite hence, dropped the plan.

Anyway, let me share my introduction in German which I learned:

"Hallo, schön dich kennen zu lernen.

Mein Name ist O.
Ich komme aus einer Stadt.
Ich lerne Deutsch.
Ich bin student.
Eines meiner Hobbys ist Lesen.
Ich schreibe gerne Gedichte und liebe es, Tagebuch zu führen.

Prost! Auf Wiedersehen!"

The translation in English:

"Hello, nice to meet you.

My name is O.
I am from a town.
I'm learning German.
I am a student.
One of my hobbies is reading.
I enjoy writing poems and love journalling.

Cheers! Goodbye!"

If any of you know German, please let me know how I am doing. And, if I have made any gross mistakes, I profusely and sincerely apologize to all. Feel free to make any corrections. Criticism and feedback are welcome and appreciated! Thanks!

- Oizys.

30 June 2022 - Rain Bowing On Our Parade

To them,

I have discovered a thing⁠—no, not a thing⁠—a living part of myself. It has been thriving ever since that time. But I was blinded from feeling by the social script of humans. This part of me is me. For⁠—through this part I love. I desire. I cry. I laugh. I live. They say love is life. But, my love is a crime. My love is unnatural. My love is abnormal. My love is impure.

Only if they got a chance is look at that part of me⁠—that very specific part of me. They will know. They will understand. How naturally my love springs out when I look at her. How pure my admiration is when I brush her hair. It's not anything I choose to be, but it is something that I am and if I ever had a chance to choose, I would choose this every time.

I will live—for how long I do not know—but until I am alive, I will never let anyone chop off that part of me that loves and desires by putting a label of "phase". Because love is not a crime. Crime is malice and disgrace and when there is a disgrace, there is no love. Love is only pure. The purest, like her unforgettable, mink brown eyes.

They cannot condemn me and my love because their script of platitude lacks the intention of acceptance and is rather full of manufacturing beings into their thraldom. And, those who claim that is script is designed by the Creator. To those—I say—I am, too, a creation of that Creator. The part that loves is also the creation of that Creator. And, I am honored to be created with this part within me that can love and hope oh-so-purely and effortlessly.

Believe I am, my dear fellow humans, yours most sincerely, a human who just wants to love.

- Oizys.

29 June 2022

It's been a while. Long time, no see.

I have been thinking a lot and guilty-chilling a lot these days. But, in the last week, I applied for a job and researched a postgraduate program that I can force myself to be interested in. I am nervous, anxious, scared, and excited as my college graduation approaches. I have no safety net or concrete plan whatsoever. No lucid dreams about my future. Even if I get a job, how am I going to work? Or, if I apply to a postgraduate program, what will I do there besides hog seats and money and deprive a true scholar of a real opportunity? Everyone keeps asking, "What do you want? What is your dream? What is your goal? What are your aspirations?" The thing is... I do not know. People will say all sorts of things if you confess that, it's okay, you are young, and you have time to figure things out. But, the same people, five years later, will look down on you and tell you that you haven't made it yet.

As for the questions, what the heck do I want? I am just so devoid of sentience toward reality. So empty of the practicality of living a life. Who, if exposed, will be reduced to a dumb person with no real knowledge. How do you do things? How do you empathize and relate with people to build connections? How do you figure out what house you want to rent? How do you know what vegetables you want to buy and what food to make out of them? How do you decide what mobile phone to buy? How do you know what you want to study? How do you know if this university or this course is appropriate for you? Or, is this the job in which you want to build your career? Or, is this the profession that will be tagged as a formal identity? How do you break down and allocate your finances? How do you know whom to live with? How do you know who is good or who doesn't want to murder the gut out of you? Are people born with this? Do they receive information regarding all this from someone? Do they sit down and discuss it? If they do, what do they say? What do they talk about? How do they talk? I can never understand what to say. I hear words and listen to conversations, but I have the impression that all of this is ingress into a part of my brain that is a mix of apathy and ignorance.

Sometimes, I am tired of it. I am exhausted from worrying so much about all of this. Some days, I am so scared that I want to run away into non-existence, take off my skin, and get rid of this actuality. I do not want this. I have figured out what I do not want. This… is what I do not want. It is mentally taxing, and for what? For this world? For families, who talk over you and disregard you because you are not earning enough yet? For siblings, who sweet-talk and extract vulnerable feelings and emotions and then use them as ammunition when they fight? For friends, who fight the urge to not delete your number or exit the group because you are the only person they remember when they need something and you are the only person they can shamelessly ask for anything, even if you have just beat a deadly disease and they haven't bothered to ask how you are doing? For love,... well, it has never happened to me, so I cannot comment on that.

Then you look around. People are doing it. Someone has a reliable bunch. Someone is blessed with a family that built a home with bricks of love and safety. Someone is tying a thread of common law with a partner to spend a life together for the rest of their lives until something goes wrong. You think, how? Do you think, does every freaking feels this way or you are just completely freaking alone out here? You sit there, staring at your laptop screen. Bunch of tabs open. Juggling through applications, trying to squeeze out a statement of purpose, fake-build a research proposal, sugarcoating why you want a job just so, you get a tag of professional life and earn a bit of coin to pay the fine for non-con-sensually coming to this world, pay the tax for unwillingly existing in this society. Amidst all this, a tab of this webpage is open for a fortnight. Followers unsubscribe each day after waiting for long nights for an update from your side, messages lying unread from beautiful people. And, is a stark reminder that you cannot even remain consistent with an e-diary, and cannot even commit to two to five unknown yet indulgent and understanding accounts here.

Are you worthy of this food you eat? That your mother cooks with sweat? That your father buys with hard work? How are you even opening your mouth to swallow this fruit that so many people strive for but die because they cannot get it? But, you cannot even leave? Since you will be bombarded with questions to which you do not have any answers and why is that? Of course, because you do not know. They criticize you by pointing out how ungrateful you are, maugre having everything served on a platter accompanied with a glass of clean water. Because let’s accept it. It is so difficult to explain or open up about being sad for no reason. A mixture of guilt and heaviness. The floor crumbles under your feet, the world falls over your shoulders, and the baggage is milling your spine but your brain is unable to comprehend why? It takes a quick scan around and sees people with real struggles and bloody knuckles from a chain of unfeigned battles and it asks you why the heck are you sad?

- Oizys.