The Word Series #1

Presenting The Word Series

I have an obsession with words, poetry and paper. Through these few notes I hope to touch hearts, and maybe eventually leave my mark.

I didn't start playing with words, just because I could. I started playing with words because I know no other way of surviving this dark, evil, messed up world.

#1

To being looked down on.
To being That Girl

Dear baby girl ---- A letter to the girl with a broken heart

Eyes dark

Mind clouded

Heart torn into shreds

What do you do with a girl like her?

-------Love her

Dear baby girl,

It’s been a hard 2 years; your plans had to be changed time and again. I know it’s hard, I know you cry yourself to bed. I know you wish you could find a way out or just run. I know you want to run away. I know you want to live a different life; most times you don’t want to do life.

Most times I don’t want to do life either, I don’t like it here, I don’t like my situation, I don’t like the people I’m forced to acknowledge. You’re not alone baby girl.

I know you had it hard, I know you don’t trust a lot. I know he broke your heart, I know he played with your smile, I know. I know that girl called you fat, I know you don’t feel pretty no more. I know that boy there didn’t like you back. It’s been a hard few years baby.

But you’re a fighter baby,

You’ve come so far baby

You fought so hard baby

You’re strong baby

Your life isn’t a waste; your life has become a beautiful story. Someday I want to hear it.

Trust me baby girl, you are beautiful, he doesn’t need to be the one saying that.

He left baby, he walked away.

All good things come to an end, don’t believe that lie baby.

Good things last forever, he wasn’t a good thing.

I know you’re tired of lying, stop.

You will survive, baby girl you’re not even 20 yet, you will survive.

I know,

Because I did. 

Dear Boy - A letter from a beautiful mess

Scarred,

Hurt,

Broken,

Consumed

He ripped her heart out, threw it on the barren ground, stomped all over it letting the blood ooze out, looked her straight in the eye and asked her to apologize for getting his shoes dirty.

‘Sorry’ before the word walked out her dry lips she stopped, she didn’t say it, for the first time in 8 years she didn’t say it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Boy who broke her heart,

I write this letter, simply out of concern. I write this letter simply because I feel. Dear boy, did you notice the way she looked at you? Did you catch the glimpse of joy in her voice as she spoke to you on your birthday? Did you watch the way her lips curved into that specific smile she kept hidden just for you?

Did you notice that she loved you?

Of course you didn’t, or maybe you did.

Her heart wasn’t yours to break, her mind wasn’t yours to consume. Yet those are the very things you took. Most call it unrequited love, simply trying to rationalize the situation. But that wasn't it. 

To her, love was selfless, and never to be returned. School didn't teach her much, life was now her education. She trusted, she let you cut her heart open, reach to the depths just because you asked. But you didn't want the real her, you wanted the vision you had of her. 

You are too young to understand that a girl like her wanted nothing more than to be loved in return. I wish you'd have asked me. She just wanted to be held by strong arms, arms she knew her whole life, but those very arms let her fall. Those very hands she loved to hold ripped her heart out. 

You are too young to see that she gave everything, only to be left with nothing. 

Dear Boy who broke that beautiful girls’ heart, I hope sleep comes to you easily; she keeps up till 3 for you to. But I also hope you grow up, not regretting, not wanting what you already lost.

Because Dear Boy, you stole what simply wasn't yours. 

What are you AFRAID of?

I just watched this beautiful video that not only spoke to me, but also shaped this post. Do watch it, such beauty in those little words.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZIr85Rxln0

19 years, my biggest fear, people. Safe to say people are by far the worst. We talk about how ‘bad’ animals can be, but people are worse. We are worse. We can rip a person’s heart out, stomp all over it, smash it and yet we’d expect an apology for getting our shoes dirty. We can be the worst kind of creation, we can ruin a life, we can ruin a dream, and we can ruin a future just by our words. Language was made to be beautiful, we have made it ugly.

I am 19 and my biggest fear, people.

People come in different colors, sizes, shapes, people come and they scare the shit out of me.

For most of these 19 years the only story I have to tell is one where in I sound like a coward, like a loser, a misfit, an outcast. Or so I thought.

People hurt, they break, they ruin.

But people can be beautiful, amazing, unbelievable.

19 years and I have so many more faces to see. 19 going on 20, and I am finally ready to face the world.

I come from a broken past filled with shame, mistakes and an unbelievable amount of tears. I come from a broken life.

For so long, for so many years I was defined by my choices, by my lifestyle, by the clothes I wear, by my hair colour, by my choice of coffee over beer, by my choice of writing over drugs.

For so long I was defined by my mistakes, by the friends I choose to be seen with, by the love I chose to love, by the mistakes I made whilst learning.

For so long I let people define me.

You will build walls, thinking, hoping they’d protect you. You will build ammunition assuming you’re going to need it. You will try your best, and hardest to protect yourself, but to live, to really live, you must be willing to face the alternative, death.

What are you ‘afraid’ of?

-          People?

-          Mere mundane humans?

What are you ‘afraid’ of?

When there isn’t anything to be afraid of.

I’m too young, I’m too broken, I’m too messed up, I’m too lost, I am my past.

- Lies.

The most common reason people, in our churches, in society think we’re not ‘good enough’ to make a difference is merely because they take the seat of God and ‘JUDGE’ us. We are always going to be too young, too messed up, too incapable for them. They don’t look at how far we’ve come, or how much we’ve been through, they look at us like we’re a mess they need to fix.

If I sat on my sofa and listened to everything everyone said to me, where would I be?

I would be lost, crying, weeping, ready to jump down that 7^th floor. I would be dyslexic, I would be a loser, I would be what everyone said I was going to be. I would not be the daughter of the most high God, not because I wasn’t but because I let people tell me I wasn’t.

Had I listened to those teachers back in school, had I listened to my peers, had I listened to those family members, I would have been a failure ready to jump down that 7^th floor or take those pills.

Why are we so scared to live? Why are we so scared to make mistakes? WHY ARE WE SO SCARED OF PEOPLE?

Everyone is going to TALK, you might be the next big thing or the next headline. Let them talk, they may call you ugly, they may call you fake, they may call you a mistake. STOP CARING.

People don’t define you, your choices, you past, your relationships DO NOT DEFINE YOU.

You are beautifully and wonderfully created by someone who loves you,

so what are you afraid of?

What that boy will say if you don’t wear shorts and a t-back?

What that aunty will say if you don’t sit prim and proper in church?

What that friend will say if you choose coffee over beer?

What that girl will say if you don’t wear makeup or stop doing your hair?

What that friend of yours would say if you tried to give up smoking?

What are you afraid of?

You have nothing to be afraid of, not that boy, not that girl, not that friend, not that aunty, YOU HAVE NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF.

You may have had the most disgusting past, you may have had the worst life, you may have come from the pit. But look at yourself in the mirror, if you can’t face yourself, look to God. He is the best mirror you will ever find. You are not defined by what people call you, you are defined by what God calls you.

People will tell you to give up, they will tell you are nothing more than your mistakes. Do not believe them.

You are a story waiting to be written,

You are a testimony waiting to be told

You are ENOUGH.

Who am I to say this?

-          I am a creation of the creator; I am the daughter of the most high God. I am 19, I am broken, and most times I make mistakes. I am not perfect. But God didn’t ask me to be perfect, he asked me to BE.

To whoever reads this, if you’re feeling small, lost, alone, you’re not. I have stood there, I have been there, and we’re not the only ones.

And to everyone who told me I needed to be ‘fixed’, God’s doing his thing, you may not know what it is, I don’t know what it is, but he is doing his thing. If you’ve read this, and you’re judging me, take a deep look inside you, are you sure you want to judge?

I may not be the ‘good girl’ you thought I was. But I am not something that can be defined by mere words,

I am something.

I am the something that will be remembered,

I am the something that will make history

I am something that will do the little things you can't see. 

Be You ---- Part 3 ---- Dear You

Dear you,

Whoever you are, wherever you’re from, here’s a little truth I’d like to share.

Don’t trust too much, the people who say they’d always be there, are most likely going to be the ones to walk away first. I don’t blame them, after seeing a tornado come who wouldn’t run, I would too. So don’t trust too much.

If you’re like me you’d draw lines and build walls, but then that one person comes crossing all the lines, breaking all the walls, and you let them. You let them see the inner most side of you; you let them call you their ‘best friend’. Then a storm comes your way, if you’re like me, it wouldn’t be a big storm, but a storm’s a storm. And you start fighting for them, for your ‘friendship’. Does it really exist?

So you build another wall, but they break it down again, if you’re like me, you let them. And it starts again, this game of charades. You play to win but you always lose.

You can fight as much as you like, for the friendship, for the relationship, but if you’re the only one fighting, what’s the point? You’re the type of person who’d never give up on people, but slowly you’re starting to lose your faith in humanity.  How much more will you fight for a person that doesn’t want to be fought for? How many tears will you shed for a person who doesn’t even know?

Action speaks louder than words, but all you ever did was hear what they had to say but never see what they did. Their words were like a black veil covering your eyes telling you that trusting them was the right thing to do. You ignored their actions because to you, words speak louder.

And you could fight; you could fight till your last breadth, but is it worth it? Will it ever be worth it?

Don’t trust too much, they’d be the people that let you down the most.

If you’d asked me a month back, I would have said ‘fight’. I would have said fight with everything you have, because some people are just that important, you would have done a lot for her, you would have fought.

But I’m not that girl anymore, some people are worth fighting for, some just aren’t. You can’t always be the only one fighting, so know when to stop. Sometimes instead of fighting, you just need to let go, you need to know you expected more than they were ever will to give, you EXPECTED.

So what do you do next? Do you give up? Build another wall? Draw another line?

If you’d have asked me a month ago, I would have said yes.

But I’m not that girl any more.

Lines are drawn to be crossed; walls are built to be broken. Neither of the 2 ever stay, someone will come along and cross all your lines and break all your walls.

So stop drawing lines and building walls, it makes you look like a coward. You can’t keep shutting out because of one person.

Live, because this is your life.

Live, because you have every right to.

Be more cautious about people, not life. Take a good enough risk, so that 10 years from now you don’t regret it.

Forgive because you were made out of forgiveness.

Make the changes you need to make, let go of the toxic ones, but don’t build walls.

Let the rain touch your barren skin.

Let the sun kiss your cheek.

Don’t fight more than you should.

Because one day you will find a person who is willing to fight for you.

And to end it,

Be You,

Because you’re Good enough.

Because you are Enough

Be You ---- Part 2 ----

“They are angry with me because they know what I am.” Said the little eagle. “How do you know that they are angry with you?” “Because they despise me for wanting to soar, they only want me to peck at the dirt, looking for ants, with them. But I can’t do that. I don’t have chicken feet, I have eagle wings.” “And what is so wrong with having eagle wings and no chicken feet?” asked the owl. “I’m not sure that’s what I’m trying to find out.” “They hate you because they know what you are, an eagle and they want you think you are a chicken so that you will peck at the ground looking for ants and worms, so that you will never know that you are an eagle and always think yourself a chicken.  Let them hate you, they will always be chickens, and you will always be an eagle. You must fly. You must soar.” Said the old owl. -  C.JoyBell C.

You’re a kid, trying to figure your way out of this labyrinth, caught up in a messy childhood with memories you don’t want to keep. But what choice do you have? You don’t even know who you are. Years pass by, eventually you start to paint the future you want, you start to dream big dreams, and you start to look for your happy ever after. You know what you want to become, so one day you start talking about it. You tell people the big dreams you have and the different sky’s you want to touch and the galaxies you want to see. But they look at you, sad faces and everything, they put their hands on your shoulder and say ‘Son, you’re not a bird. Don’t fly, you won’t make it’.

But what if you want to fly? What if you were born to fly?

Most times we forget to look at the bigger picture; most times we are stuck in our own little boxes not willing to step out. Why? Because that one person told us we can’t do it. I think that’s the reason most young people give up before even dreaming.

We let people define who we are, we let people make the choices for us, and we let ourselves get lost in this assumption that ‘talking to other people’ about our problems will magically solve them. So what we tend to do is, we let people tell us who we are, we let people sort out the problems we don’t want to face. But there is always a line, and most times we regret letting those people cross it.

Everyone at some point will try to bring you down, they would tell you how wrong you are, remember that most times these are the people who want to understand everything but eventually don’t.

We rely on a mere mundane for advice, we look to man for right and wrong, eventually losing our respect for humanity just because we were dumb enough to expect.

Worst of all, we tend to forget to look at God, we sort of forget he’s around and waiting to give us our solution.

I expected so much from so many people, both family and friends. Most time I’m always amazed with the way they disappoint. Most often the ones you expect to be there end up being the ones who aren’t. Most times they are the first to stand against what you want. Most times they don’t see how happy a specific thing makes you. They assume their way of living is the correct way, they try to force it down, and they try to brain wash you into believing you’re a chicken.

Remember, you are an eagle, you have wings, and you will soar.

Most people will try and pull you down,

But there are always a few who stand there to pick you up, find them and hold on to them with everything you have.

I haven’t found them yet,

But I think I will.

You will too.

For what it’s worth,

Always BE YOU.  

Be You ----- Part 1-----

“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to."

"I don't much care where –"

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go.”

― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Alice, we all love Alice, we’ve grown up wanting to be Alice. Why? If you ask me, she could run away to wonderland. We all want to run away to our own versions of wonderland, and that’s fine, I think the problem is, we want to ‘run away’. I doubt Alice wanted to ‘run away’.

I, for one wanted to run away, and I had devised the perfect plan. But most plans fail.

I think we have started basing our futures on what the ‘big’ people say, we wait for their approval and eventually get stuck in those same dead end jobs. I’m going to be 20 this year, for most that’s huge, but for all those ‘big’ people, I’m still as immature as I was when I was 3.

Someone once asked me what profession I wanted to get into, my obvious answer was writing, and that led to an hour long conversation on how I would never succeed. That conversation got me thinking, how childish of her to disregard my future just because she thinks I won’t make any money.

That night it hit me, for me, money was secondary to the joy I get when I write, I don’t want money I want joy. So I took a deep look inside and I found so much, I found that a good book and some coffee on a rainy day makes me happy. I found so much joy in making a plate of jeera rice, typing invoices out at work, trying my hand at gum paste, making frills, airbrushing. I found joy in taking a long walk home, watching the sun shine on me, smiling at a stranger, eating some more cake. I found joy in old pictures, and late night memories of pool games. I found joy in all those little boxes I forgot I had.

I didn’t want to run away anymore, I wanted new memories, I wanted new dreams, and I wanted new stories.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Most of us spend our teenage years trying to fit in, and now just a few months away from 20, I realised what a waste that was. So here is something I, an almost 20 year old has to say to those with their teenage years still left.

‘One day you’re 10, wanting to be a banker, doctor and teacher all at once. Suddenly you wake up and you’re 13, and I’m sure you’re hitting puberty soon, you feel a little different now and somewhat scared, you’re friends are doing things your mum and dad warned you about, but you do it anyway, you’re too cool. 

Out of the blue you wake up and you’re 15, you’ve tried it all, the alcohol was bitter and the cigarette was foul, but you did it anyway to look smart and act tall. Somewhere down the line you forgot what the true meaning of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ was, so you walked into this promiscuous world called speed dating. 

And now you’re 18 at the brink of adulthood, lost in the memories of your childhood. Confused, trying to define who you are from who you want to be. You want to be young, but you’ll never be young enough, so you go to those late night parties, have a couple of shots, remember you can’t afford this either. So you stick to the cheap pool parties, grinding on a wet floor covered in way too much beer, taking in the foul smell of cigarettes with a difference. You hate it, but you just needed to fit in. 

And then you wake up and it’s your 20^th birthday, hungover you try to figure out what you want to do next, but you had too much beer last night so you’re stuck there.

Your friends will tell you who to be, what to drink, which box of cigarettes are the best, the different ways of rolling, and the many ways of speed dating. You can learn a lot from them, they would know what works best with the girls, or how to dress for the boys, and they would be the best judge for your crop top or your brand new Vans. And if they don’t like it, well you’re disregarded. When you’re a teenager, your friends are going to be your everything, most times you’d forget about God, or your family, you would think you can do it. But most times, you will be alone, most times you will want to run away and be someone you’re not.

Your friends don’t define you, you define yourself.

And you are enough.

Be 13, be 15, be 18, be young, be free.

Don’t let what they do define you.

Be who you are, love who you are, become who you want to be.

But most of all, live for yourself, you can never erase the mistakes of your past, you can just learn from them. 

Take risks, be different, make mistakes, try new things,

BE YOUNG

Don’t let adulthood get to you. Don’t become a child again.

You only get 7 years to be a teen. Might as well be one.

BE YOU.’

--------To Be Continued-------- 

That Green Balloon

It was green, her favourite kind of green
It shined one day, the next it glowed, but most times it dimmed to an olive fade.
But it was her green, her favourite green.

She worked for it,
She cried for it,
But she never really had it

It was her favourite green, 
Now slowly fading

Her favourite green balloon was turning darker
Her favourite green balloon was falling deeper
Her favourite green balloon was pulling harder

She felt the weight, she felt the burden.
So she looked to the sky
She closed her eyes
She heard a voice say,
'If you love something, truly love it, then you must let go.'

And she opened her eyes and watched as her favourite green balloon flew into the mist of the unknown.
Her body felt lighter, her hands felt free

Finally her favourite green balloon wasn't her favourite anymore.

Moments

Moments, they change us, the reveal us, they make us. Most times, it takes one moment to completely change our perspective on life, but sometimes, it takes a few bad days, heartbreak, and more than just one moment to change us.

I got my moment in 4 days; I got my change in 4 days.

4 intense days of beautiful pain.

I went on a trip to Aurangabad for a rather interesting camp. I went on the trip to run away from the city, even though it was for just 7 days. I left my home with a heavy heart and an ocean full of tears that I just couldn’t let out. I have always known that tears were not a sign of weakness but rather strength, and yet in this case I could not let them out. As I sat in the train, in the midst of people yet so very alone, I pondered over the events that made me want to go away, I was talking about it non-stop, I kept thinking about the what if’s, I kept wondering what could have been, 8 hours of over thinking and still not being able to cry. No one in that train knew my story, no one knew the pain, and I was in no place to talk about it. As I got off the train at Aurangabad I made a promise to myself and God, that I would not think about what I had left behind even if for just a week, I just got my second chance, and I was going to run and get it, I deserved this and I would get it.

But I still thought about it, I still had a heavy heart, and I still had tears, an unimaginable amount of them shut inside of me not willing to come out. 1 day in and the past week was still haunting me, I wanted my ‘what if’ to come about, but God had different plans.

2 days into the camp, and I had my first moment.

We had to be a part of ministry time, generally I had always had people pray over me and I didn’t know how ‘praying over someone’ worked, I had never done it before, and here I was in the middle of 500+ boys wondering what to do, How to pray, And who to pray for. They had prepared us for what would happen, but I still wasn’t ready, because deep down I didn’t really know what to do.

Then just before ministry time and said 2 little words to God, ‘Help me’.

The music played, and I walked down the aisle to the row I was in charge of praying for, I let my hands lose, and out of the blue I could feel myself fade, I could feel power go out of me, I could feel less. I walked, and walked some more till I found the first boy I was asked to pray for, I placed my hand over his shoulder and that’s when it happened, I smiled, he cried. I smiled because that was exactly what I needed, I realised that I wasn’t losing myself, I was losing my burden, I was losing my pain, and I was helping some random child lose it to. And for the first time in my 8 years of being a Christian, I felt the Holy Spirit flow out of me, for the first time I felt like I was more than a lost cause, and finally I knew why I was here.

The intensity of each hour kept increasing; the session for the girls was even more powerful, even more intense, even better. As we left the auditorium I felt light, I felt different, I felt new.

I had a wall built, I had this idea that I’d go to this place and be alone, I didn’t want to make friends, I just didn’t want anything. But again, God had a different plan. 3 days later, and I knew every person at that place, I befriended everyone, and for an introvert that is a big deal. I didn’t need someone else to break this new wall I had built just a few days back; I ended up doing it myself.

5 days into camp, a little bit of the past came back, and I felt myself being pulled down again, that day also happened to be the second ministry day. I pushed back the tears and asked God to take over, and as usual, he did. Intense would be an understatement, it was way beyond that, as I touched each boy and girl I felt the love of God fill them, I felt the unending love of God within me go out, and again that moment touched me.

I realised that I would never truly forget the past, the hurt I felt and the moment that broke me, but I learnt that it’s called the past for a reason, I could never go back and relive it or change it, all I could do was let it go, and let go of the person that cause the pain. The minute I did that, I felt new emotions, new joys and ultimately I felt complete.

And the final moment that changed me, the final moment that completely touched me was with a girl.

At the session for the girls, I went up to this girl who was crying (as most were doing), for some reason this girl stood out, I talked to her, asked her what her pain was, she told me. I don’t remember what I said to her, I’m fairly certain I wasn’t the one talking, the Holy Spirit was. The next day, during the counselling time she asked if she could come see me. She walked in with the amazing smile, and the 4 words she said after sitting down fixed all my broken pieces, she said ‘I believe in Jesus.’ That was enough to make me see what God has been trying to tell me forever. I finally accepted that God had a much better plan for me, and that what he had promised last November was coming to pass, I could see it right in front of my eyes, and I never wanted to turn back, and I knew I wouldn’t, all I had to do was ask Him for the strength the push through, all I needed to do beyond this was to wait on Him.

I think moments change us, and sometimes I think it’s for the best. Actually most times it’s for the best. I think when we feel that things are too broken to be fixed, like a broken heart, we need to let God intervene, and we need to let him take over. Unbelievably the heart is not as broken as it may seem, and broken glass always makes the best mosaic.

Sometimes the most beautiful works of art come in the form of broken things that were pieced together.

People will break you, people will hurt you, people will leave you, people will use you, but you need to know that none of these things will ever destroy you, 

Especially when you have an amazing God. 

Who am I?

A really close friend asked me a life changing question a while back, ‘Who is Flarantxa?’ It took me a while to realise the depth this question had. Never before had I thought about it, and suddenly I wanted to know, so I did it, I penned this down.

Who am I? The easy answer would be Flarantxa Pereira, the harder one, I don’t know. I don’t know who I am, I don’t know where I belong, I don’t know who I’m going to be. I think that’s because I haven’t found my place yet, I guess I haven’t searched enough.

I love my books, I love how they smell. I have an obsession with collecting books, if I’m ever let loose into a bargain book sale I know I’d go crazy, actually I have. I have this bad habit of buying books I don’t need, and keeping them even though I absolutely hate them. I think I like the idea of books, when I look at them I feel happy, like I have a book OCD. I don’t think their books, they’re more like friends.

I love food, I love the idea of going to a café, or restaurant sitting alone with my chosen food, eating and wondering or reading or sometimes writing. I think I love the idea of being there all alone with the two things that make me the happiest. When I was 12 I used binge eat, mostly chocolate, I think it comforted me, back then I didn’t really know the effect of books, I’d given up the stuff that generally helped me, like writing and painting. So chocolate was my go to, for 5 years it had been my best friend, I’d like to still think it is, only now I savour it.

A more recent love, writing. Back when I was in school, a bunch of people made fun of my writing, so I stopped. 3 years back, I found it again. I started with poems, to this day they will always be my first love. 2 years back I wrote my first story, as much as I hate what I wrote, that was the one thing that set the tone for me, firsts I believe are always the best. I wrote my first ‘letter’ too, and I guess, that was why writing became so Important, I realised I could do anything, say anything, be anything. I realised, I could fly if I wanted to, and maybe just maybe, make history. I don’t think I’m a good writer, I don’t think much about it, I guess I’m okay. But I don’t care about what type of a writer I am, I just want to write, I think it’s because nothing else I’ve ever done seemed as right as writing has.

I love looking different, I love the idea of wearing something most people won’t like or won’t approve of, I love being a little outrageous.

It used to be hard being different, I used to cry because I wasn’t like everyone else, because I liked home more than parties, because I like coffee more than beer, because I liked books more than people. But then as I grew up, I realised, I wasn’t like everyone else, God made me a “weeee” bit different, I realised it was okay not to like parties or beer or people. It was okay to not dress up like I wanted boys to fall all over me, it was okay to be fat, it was okay to have a few friends, it was okay to not be pretty or hot, it was okay to be random. It took me most part of my teenage years, I think that’s what happens to most people, they spend their teenage years wanting to be another person, and only when they reach the end of those years, they realise they were enough just the way they were. I took me 19 years to realise that, I don’t know what made me see this, but I guess it was finally looking at myself in the mirror and realising I was beautifully flawed.

I believe in God, Jesus to be more specific. I believe that there is a higher power, but not one that’s bad, more like one that loves. Not everyone knows why or how I met the Lord, but here’s a glimpse, I was lonely, sad, depressed and 2 days away from jumping down the 7^th floor or our terrace flat. Why? Easy, I was alone. Until, one evening I fell to the floor crying, I was as scared as the next person of death, and I was crying, I had my Hindi paper the next day, but I feared dying more. I cried, desperate for help, holding on to my ‘Teens Bible’. This time I wasn’t alone, not in a long shot, I was being hugged. To this day, that feeling never leaves me; I still feel that warm hug every time I lift my bible or every time I feel alone. Ever since that day, I have no doubt, God is real. And I’ve never questioned that.

I like going for long walks, feeling the breeze flow through my short hair. I think that calms me to, and maybe opens my mind a bit.

I like being there for people I care about, I like standing up for them, fighting for them even though I know deep down they wouldn’t do the same thing.

I build walls, I shut people out if they get to close, I make up lies, I push them away. I’m too scared that they’d see the real me, that they’d know exactly what cracks me up, that they would see my wounds and look at me like the disable I’ve always felt I was. I’m scared of getting hurt, of falling in love, of moving on, of changing, of pain. I’m scared I’ll lose everything, I think I’m scared I’d lose the people I worked so hard to keep.

Or maybe I was. I don’t know if a day can change you, I guess not, but a few days back I knew what I wanted.

I want to be a writer, a social worker, a part time baker, a wedding planner, traveller, and who knows what else. Most people say doing all this is rather impossible, but I guess if you wanted something bad enough you might just get it.

I want to be loved, I want to be needed, accepted, and loved without question. For so long I wanted a ‘boyfriend’ not realising what I really wanted was love. It took me 19 years and a few really bad days to realise I already had that, maybe not from ‘that boy’ but I had it, from all those unexpected people. I guess people somehow surprise you, if you let them.

I still don’t know where I belong,

but I have a good feeling I’m going to find that out soon. 

We are young, but we are brave.

We don’t see it coming, we don’t see the bolt of electricity come, and if we do, we think it’s a bright shining light.

Bottom line is, even if you see ‘em coming, you’re not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does, so what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. the big moments are going to come. You can’t help that. It’s what you do afterwards that counts. That’s when you find out who you are.

 – Joss Whedon

I was told a while back that I was nothing but a cat trying to fit into a dog’s world. I was told I didn’t belong, I was told that I didn’t look like I should.

I think we see the bolt coming, but I think when we see if from afar we don’t really anticipate how much it would hurt so what we do is we ignore it, we chose to look away and ignore the obvious. I think we’re afraid of pain and hurt, I think we want the same life we’ve always had, and so we start living in this virtual world formed in our minds. We start living in a fictional setting where everything is okay, or so it seems. We walk around with that ecstatic smile on our faces; we become plastic, covered in makeup, metaphorical makeup. We lie our way through life saying we’re okay, but the truth is we are far cry from that. We build walls and add glass to cut anyone trying to climb these walls and save us from ourselves.  We cause pain and we cause wounds and we cause cuts, what for? How does this work out for us? It doesn’t, it never has. When the bolt hits us, we don’t even know it, we cut all our emotions out so we don’t even feel it, our lives become about ‘us’ and no one else.

Or does it?

We try to fit in, we try to be like them, we try to understand the way they look at things, and we try to achieve what they expect us to achieve, Perfection. In the process of trying to be perfect we make a mistake, and then we aren’t perfect anymore. The moment we realise we aren’t perfect, is the moment we realise change has finally hit us.

But even when the change hits us, we don’t necessarily let it on. So we build up walls, and cry ourselves to sleep, we talk less and drink more, we search for ways and means to make this pain, this change go away, some of us are lucky, but some not so. We lie to everyone, we laugh at all the jokes, but deep down change is eating at us trying to walk out and make a scene. But we know the consequences of that, we know that if we let the change show, people will know.

People should never know.

And then we wake up one day, and everything has suddenly changed, our lives have become different, and we are left bare for the world to see. In this moment, in this moment of utter nakedness we find that we aren’t really left bare at all. We are covered and protected but the one who loves us. So we build ourselves up and even with the hurt we embrace the change, and we strive for a better life, we work for a better tomorrow, because we finally see ourselves for what we truly are, we finally see that we were never naked, we just felt it. But we were free, free to be ourselves, defined by only the lines we draw for ourselves, defined by only the truths we believed in, we are defined by the one we believe in. We may be young, act wild, live freely, but I promise you, inside our love for God has no bounds. And to most looking at our outsides we would be just plain clad teenagers trying to find our place, what they don’t see is that we have found our place.

I think people need to start looking a little deeper, setting aside their stereotypes; they need to look us Christian Youth, as people and not as machines. I can assure you, our lives are not defined by the world, our lives are defined by Jesus.

We make mistakes, we fall, we cry, we laugh, we jump, we dance, we party, we walk around, we travel, we write, we make bad choices but eventually we learn, through it all we learn because we have a loving God who teaches us. So give us some space, correct us with love, point out our mistakes with grace, that’s how God does it.

Most of all, accept us for who we are. God created us the way we are for a reason, and somewhere down the line we fall, but then again, there is always someone waiting to catch us. Don’t judge us based on how we look, the clothes we wear, the people we meet, the places we go, if you do want to judge, then stop right there and remember God never judged you.

We maybe young, but Jesus always loved the broken, the misfits, the misunderstood, and young, and the outcasts.

We are young, but we are still learning, and that’s the beauty of it, the older we become the more we have to learn, let us learn.

We all have different stories; give us the freedom to write our own. 

Maybe it’s all fiction

I believe a person can read a story and have various interpretations, I think a person can read this and assume endless assumptions. Maybe this is true, or maybe it’s a work of fiction. I don’t really know what one can call this, but I think I’d like to call it a short story/poem.

We walked so many roads, but different ways.

We talked, but I think I was the only one listening.

We ran a race, but I think I was the only one running.

We timed ourselves, but I think I was the only one looking at the watch.

We fought, but I think I was the only one really fighting.

I think when people walk into lives; they walk in to change them.

 You called yourself one chapter, but I called you a whole book.

We are so different, and yet we are so alike.

Our lives, to me is a book,

But to you it’s a short story.

Maybe our life is a bunch of short stories stitched together to form a fictional novel.

We don’t remember what happened, what we remember is what happened. – John Green

We have different interpretations of our story,

I have 8 years, and you have 5.

We are fighting for a past we don’t even remember.

We are killing for a future we don’t even have,

Or maybe I’m killing for a future I wish we had.

Maybe the way I look at us is all a smoke screen,

Maybe the way I see us is all a lie,

Maybe my memories are a matter of fiction,

Of hideous hope or maybe even want.

Maybe the stories I formed in my mind were writer’s fiction,

I am a story teller so maybe I made it all up.

There was never an ‘us’

There was just a ‘me’

And there was just a ‘you’.

Maybe I was unconsciously looking for something like love

And you were the only one standing in front of me.

Maybe I picked you because you were easy,

And I didn’t know the pain of hurt.

Or maybe I picked you as my muse

Because I wanted something different;

Maybe just maybe I wanted to write a story,

Maybe you were always just research.

I don’t know how or where or when you walked in,

My head says 8 years

Or maybe it’s all fiction. 

That one coffee shop: The Poem

Poems have always been my favorite, you read them and in those few lines you hear a story, most of the time one that consumes you. Poetry has always been my best friend, when I don’t write prose, I write poetry.

This, I wrote in exactly 15 minutes, as controversial as it may seem, don’t dig deep into the ‘who is she talking about’ try and read between the lines, try and understand.

That one coffee shop.

The smell of coffee, the warmth of its heat, the dark, dark brown reminded me of him.

His dark brown eyes, his crooked smile, his childish voice contradicting mine.

His memories ran through the boxes of my mind.

The smell of consumed me once more,

The heat on my lips, the warmth in my eyes,

The joy of its bitterness took me by surprise.

And finally, oh finally! He got lost in the boxes of my mind. 

They felt something

Every day you wake up with a new found hope a smile, a laugh even. You wake up and think ‘Oh! Maybe today could be a better day.’ You tell yourself the sun is shining brighter, you close your eyes and feel its heat, the day seems to hold a lot of promise or so you think. You walk out of the house, shining bright, all dolled up with those heart shaped shades, and as you see your reflection you tell yourself you’re beautiful, you promise yourself you’re beautiful knowing deep down you’re nothing close to that. All your life you were told that beauty was defined by the clothes you wear; that the only way to take some ones breathe away was to be a size zero, because a 12 would never do. You knew deep down that you would never be ‘their’ beautiful, you would never look pretty, you would never look like a dream, mostly because you weren’t what they wanted you to be, you were different.

You read a book; ‘Eleanor & Park’ the friends you recommended it to didn’t get why you cried or why you thought the book was amazing. This is why you loved it so much.

- 

        She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

You’re life wasn’t even close to Eleanor, but you felt her, you sort of understood her. They didn’t, no one ever does. As you sit on your laptop writing you realize why it made you cry, you realised that even though your life was nothing like Eleanor’s, you felt what she felt, you felt like art.

As you woke up this morning, you told yourself you are beautiful, not because you felt like it, but because you are, and even though they think you’re not, even though they say you’re not, you are.

You were born beautiful, you were born with a promise, you were born to an amazing world. And most days end badly, but that promise pushes you, only because you were born to be more than beautiful, you were born to make them feel something.

And

They felt something.  

Change: Such a hard thing

I played around with the idea of writing something more ‘normal’ something more apt for the general public to read, but unfortunately I’m not used to normal. I know this isn’t the most traditional way to go and most people reading this would be quick to judge, but I have learnt the hard way that people will judge no matter how good a person you are.

This is a very small post, but it’s something close to my heart, change is a hard thing I guess this sums it up. Of course this is only the first part, just keep an open mind while reading this. 

She cried again, blaming herself for most of what went wrong. She blamed herself because suddenly she was losing her grip on everything she worked so hard for. Her carefully knit life was falling apart, and the thread she used was disintegrating, it was withering away. With every new stitch she felt the pain of the needle now completely rusted. She kept stitching even though it hurt. The problem was, she didn’t know any other way. She didn’t know how to stitch herself back a different way, she couldn’t see the brand new needle kept there nor could she see the stronger thread. All she could see was the old; her eyes were accustomed to the old. She thought, maybe if she tried something new she would lose everything she worked so hard to get. She was scared of the loss; she was scared of the change. If only she noticed the new needle there maybe then the stitches wouldn’t hurt as much. But she can’t see it; rather she doesn’t want to see it. She’s scared of change, and a new needle means change. 

Just Believe .

So I’ve been playing around with the idea of starting a blog for quite a while now, mostly because most of what I write isn’t ‘good’. I like writing about experiences, my own experiences, and people don’t get that a 19 year old can feel so much, so they do this thing, they ‘Judge’.  So starting a blog is a hard thing to do, mostly because I know that there are those few people who are going to ‘Judge’ but I think I need to get over that, the fear of being ridiculed, and I guess this is my shot at it.

I think if people have to ‘Judge’ they would judge anyway, if people have to talk they’d talk anyway, so here’s something to talk about.

And here is my first official post. J

BELIEVE

Have you ever seen a child with dyslexia? Have you noticed the way he or she acts in public? Most children are diagnosed with more than one learning disability, excluding the ones with actual disabilities. Having a learning disability makes you less of a person, it makes you lame, uncool, a loser, a dumbass, an outcast and not to forget ugly (even if you're pretty and have L.D, you're ugly) unless of course you're a part of the cool kids, but not many L.D kids are a part of the cool kids. Not many dyslexic girls have boyfriends or play sports. So bottom line they're good for nothing, most of them are better off as servants or rag pickers. Most of them might just end up there. So they're no good they don’t have a thought process or feeling, so it’s okay to make fun of such people. They don’t think like normal people, most of all they are beyond useless. Well that's what normal, mean, obnoxious people say anyway.

I like such people.  I like the unwanted, I like the outcasts, I like the -not by society's standards pretty- ones. I like them, more over I am one of them.

When I was in the 4th standard my mum took me to ‘Sion hospital’ to check if I'm dyslexic.  I was about nine, and yes I turned out to be dyslexic, and some more terms I don't really remember. I made more than a billion trips to that really depressing place. I remember going home after I finally got the reports, I was embarrassed and angry and so screwed up. I hated God for what he'd made me. I hated the fact that I turned out to be 'dumb' I hated the fact that I was not normal. I hated every bit of it.

I used to paint and write stupid lame poems, and I used to draw too. I’ll never forget the day I gave all that up, I will never forget the day I accepted my disability as a curse. I tore all the pages, every little dream I had, I tore it. And there I sat accepting my fate. I never told anyone in school I kept this dirty little secret in. Till it all blew up in my face.

I was 14 when the harsh truth was out. On top of already being a loser, I was also an outcast with dyslexia.  You know I tormented myself over it, of course I had perks. Every L.D student gets amazing perks, but I was still embarrassed.  And then the inevitable started the rumours, the looks, and the unforgettable laughs. You know it hit me so hard I lost hope in humanity. If my peers weren't enough the teachers too made fun of me. You see a person with L.D isn't supposed to be able to write more than a paragraph in pure English, without a typo. They were right. I sank downwards into this lovely corner called self-pity. And there I remained for the rest of school.

But you see it’s not actually a curse. It’s more of a blessing. I think dyslexic people are kinda crazy, off track and so stupid, we feel a lot, we smile at random stuff, we talk too much, we think too much and we love too often. And that's the cool part, once we accept this thing, once we accept who we are, we sort of become this crazy creative minds that the world full of ‘normal people’ could never fathom.

I remember the day I wrote my first story, I remember a friend of mine telling me I should be a writer, I remember hearing those words and getting oh so excited. I remember my English teacher from school tell me I was darn good at English, I remember when she told me to never give up. I remember my French professor from college tell me I’m more than my failures, I remember her tell me I can be who I want to be, I remember the way she believed in me. I remember those teachers who made fun of me, I remember how they laughed at my failure, I remember how they told me to give up. And I did give up; I gave up so many times. And then I remembered the people, who believed in me. I have L.D, I’m a loser and I’m a dork, that makes me, me. I’m happy with the way things turned out.

Based on my reports, I'm not smart and I have L.D.

Well screw the reports I have something bigger. I have a dream, and the most important part I have God, and I’m pretty sure he has a beautiful plan in mind for me.

I think I'll be a writer. I think I’ll make history. 

Ps. Being a dork is badass.