Category Archives: Naked Emotions Series

The Collector of Love

You take a deep breath. It’s time.

You get your heart broken everyday you love him. You give your everything for his most things, and your everybodies for the third place in his life.

This is why I love you

He makes you laugh. He knows how to take care of you. He takes care of you when you’re down. He brings you black coffee before deadlines, hot chocolates when you are upset, and waffles and whipped cream when you’re happy. He brings you soup when you’re sick, and books from his mother.

He’s laughing.

He laughs when he’s nervous- before big interviews and presentations. He laughs at you when you’ve done something stupid. He teases you silly.

You don’t believe me?

He hates how collected you are, how passionate you are. He hates how you always speak your mind. He hates how you are silly but also smart. He hates it because it’s everything you’re not.

You don’t mean it

But you never joke about love. Because love is true. Love is trust. Love is belief.

Besides, do you always tell everyone you love them?

But you never joke about love. You don’t love many, not because they’re not worthy. But because you don’t do love.

I don’t love you

Your heart shatters, even though it shouldn’t. Who you love is under no obligation to love you back. Love is not a zero sum game, even though everyone thinks it is.

I love you

This is a different boy, the one who he hates. This one is joking. This one is amazing, and lovely, but it’s still not him. You don’t love him, because you can’t get yourself to.

I love you

This boy is not fond of him. But he’s a unique soul. He asks whether this boy loves you. Now you wish to show him that he does. You don’t love this boy, but really, really enjoy and cherish him.

I love you
It’s his best friend. His best friend loves you. But he doesn’t. You love his best friend too, but don’t tell him that because you don’t want to tell him.

I love you.

A classmate you helped with some stats.

I love you.

Your best friend, everyday, when you wonder whether you’re worthy of love.

I love you.

Your friend whom you wrote a poem for.

I love you.

Your friend, because you sent her a book of your favourite poetry.

I don’t love you.

Him, because you are a bro. Nothing more. You mean a lot, but not enough to love.

I really can’t love you.

Like it’s a skill, loving you. But it’s okay. You collect other people’s love because you’re worthy of love. It’s somehow not enough, even if it’s infinite. It’s not his.


On belief and karma

Dear Universe,

Hi. What’s up? It feels like I haven’t talked to you in a while. Everything okay? Seems like you’re taking offence in my calloused way of living life. Like the listlessness oozing out of my pores is running in my blood. But you know what? It’s about as real as Trump’s intelligence. 

When you gave me blow number one, I was fine with it. It wasn’t terrible. I had a great run for the past year, so one isn’t going to bring me down. Then you gave me blow number two, and that was rough. It was huge, it was hard, it was not mellow. But I got through it, because, hey, I still have things left to worry about. So I displaced the anxiety and turned it inwards, and helped myself grow. The blow was just fading out, when you gave me blow number three. Oh well, I should have seen it coming. All the signs were there, if I had looked a bit clearly; if I had thought it were possible, if I hadn’t thought myself immune. It stared right into my face and yet, it was a blow. And then there was the breaking down. I cried so much. I wish it would all stop and I get to go forward in my life where uncertainty didn’t rule. I wished for something happier- a white dove, instead of the messenger pigeon. Come on, about time that something good happened right? So I kept a low profile.

Then came blow four. And oh man! I wanted to jump off the six floors of that building, as I texted everyone how much everything sucks. And it did. It did so much. I wish there were enough alcohol in the world to numb that pain, but of course I’m too broke for that. 

I wish this were all a dream, a nightmare. But I know it isn’t. But I’ve also not woken up from this dream. It still doesn’t feel real. It feels like it’s going to go away, and the sun will shine down and it will be a beautiful day. It feels like there is a light at the end of the tunnel and I just have to scrape till I reach that point. But shit. How to scrape? 

And what if there’s no light? What if there’s more chaos, and deep shit? What if this is only the beginning and a lot more crap is to come before the actual light? What if it takes months, nay, years, before the light presents itself? What if friends don’t want to stay friends? What if I’m not smart enough to rely on my brain? What if I’m not empathetic enough to rely on my emotion? What if I go dark into the abyss and that’s it? 

Dear Universe, I believe in you. I believe in good things and good people and I believe that everything will be okay. I believe in happy endings and making my own happy ending. Please don’t take this belief away from me. It’s been a terribly crappy month and I have never felt this much anxiety for such a long time. Just stop?


Waiting.

‚ÄčTime slows. Tic-one-two-three-four-five-toc. Tic-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-toc. She sits at the coffee shop, waiting. Waiting for everything in her life to change. Today’s outcome would make or break everything she’s worked for in her life. 

She’s waiting for her to put everything into the next five hours. Her life is at line. Every late night, every early morning, every push of the line, every second of every minute of every hour of every day of the last three months. The hundred times in the passport office, the hundreds of essays, seminars, presentations, statistical analysis, killing, and rejuvenating each comfort zone. It’s all adding up to this. 

A test in reasoning. But more importantly, in keeping calm. When every cell in your body wants you to run, it kills you to stay. To calm down. What’s a cup coffee, when all you want to do- to really do is cocoon up in your bed with your sweet smelling blanket? To jump start your car, and just drive away?

Breathe in. Breathe out. Make a to do list for when everything goes well. Because it will. It will, won’t it? Everyone says it will. But will it? What if it doesn’t? What if everything she’s worked for is farcical? What if it’s not what people like her are supposed to dream? People like her don’t go to Yale. People like her live in her parents’ house till they’re married. 

They say that when you want something, the entire universe conspires for you to get it. But how would you explain your dad’s retirement, and your mum’s sickness, and your sister’s self esteem issues, and your panic attacks? How do you explain why everything that had to go wrong, did in fact go wrong? How do you explain the sobering consequences of hard work that went wrong? 

They say that if there’s a brick wall in front of you, you know how hard you want what’s on the other side. But she knew how hard she wanted it, without the brick wall. She knew it because she could taste it in the air, and she could see it through the glass window of her house. She could see a foreigner’s god, without losing her faith. She could see the place where she could cry, and those tears would still be worth it. She could see the place where she’d laugh, and miss something, but missing that little something would be a small price to pay for the amazing thing happening to her. She could see, almost touch the place she wanted to be. And it all depends on the thing that she’s waiting for today. 

The clock slows. Tic-one-two-three-four-five-toc. Tic-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-toc. And she waits. Because this wait is worth it, too. Somehow. She doesn’t know it yet, but it is. It has to be.

Back from sabbatical. Yay.