Stage 37: The final act.

She plucked the eyeshadow palette off of the cluttered dresser. It was hard to see in the dimly lit room but nevertheless she applied the pigment to her lids like a seasoned professional.

A tube-light flickered in a distant corner of the cramped room. Undeterred, she masterfully coated her lips with deep red paint. Next was the highlighter- the highlighter was most important. Anong had always said that next to a good pair, glitter was the way to a man’s heart. She glanced at the clock as she simultaneously swept a brush across her cheekbones, leaving a trail of arrogant shimmer.

5 o’clock.

Her eyes, now relaxed, fell upon her face. She lifted her hands up to her cheeks, her fingers tugging with a gentle persuasion at her skin. It was a futile attempt to smoothen out the various creases that had formed over the last few years. She had wondered where, when and how the lines had crept up, wondered whether they were demons of accumulated stress or scars of surreptitious smiles, wondered whether she could have done anything to avoid them- whether she could do anything to stop them.

“15 MINUTES LOVE” a voice boomed from the room next door.

Snapped out of her resentful trance she diverted her attention to her hair; an asset age hadn’t managed to claim. She caught a glimpse of Serena entering the room behind her, cuing her to finish up, and prompting feelings of jealous detest. Serena who was unaware of the feelings she harboured, smiled respectfully- she smiled back dutifully.

However now rushed, she added the finishing touches to her hair; a sprinkle of glitter and a generous amount of hairspray. She pushed a bouquet of feather boa’s aside and set down her curling iron. It was time.

5:30 am.

She emerged through the colored plastic beads onto the stage. The epileptic lights beat harshly against her bright makeup, a comatic combination for the exhilarated men in the room. She lived for this moment- The feeling of having control over every soul in the room was orgasmic. But when she danced, it was even better. She knew the people watching weren’t themselves anymore- she knew they were in a lucid state, completely and utterly enthralled in her, their minds vacuous stores, ready to be filled with every move she made. Although she was the one in garments that left nothing to the imagination, the people watching her were the ones exposed.

5:50 am.

She had their souls… They were hers to take and Anong had always said that a person who attainted souls was wealthier than a person who attained capital.

Inebriated with her own grace, she made sure she never made eye contact with anyone; that was the most common mistake. Direct contact was harmful but inevitably, without fail, it happened…  Although their attention was intoxicating, eventually, an excess of anything becomes unendurable, intolerable… poisonous.

In this case their poisonous glances induced disgust. Her command over drooling dogs no longer held its appeal and that, was the result of tasting the forbidden fruit.

Holding her surreptitious gaze she slid down the pole.

6:00 am.

Carrying an un-communicated sombre aura she retreated into the containment of the beads. Todays performance had drained her soul entirely. She could not revitalize herself with the usual dose of a content audience – today their whistles sounded more like the cries of hungry mongrels.

But, as if they had heard her silent flee, the intrusive cheers drooled through the beads as an inescapable voice reverberated from the stage finding its way to her hesitantly welcoming ears- “Another round of applause, you bastards for the Queen herself… Our very own, Queen of Bangkok”.

‘Queen’. She cherished the words as she dressed up for her final act.

“Anurak! You’re home ! How was work today?… My god you look tired-  they need to stop calling you in for those night shifts. Why I should go down there and have a chat with your boss.Honestly, yours must be the first postoffice to get midnight influxes”

“Oh nothing… The usual- as you said- influx of packages, they needed me. No. Don’t worry your pretty little head Anong- I can handle it” he sneered back, planting a kiss on his wife’s cheek.

The final act had begun.

Stage 36: The girl in the clearing

She held her palms shut, revealing veins that ran like powerful rivers, diluting the fragility of her small hands. Her footsteps were heavy betraying the swift pace she maintained effortlessly- this could have been mistaken for her daily route if not for the sweat that ran down her tense body.

She avoided the branches flung at her by the whispering trees. They were passing around her secrets and did not attempt to hide this fact- their whispers were deafening. However she did not care for she was running now. Running somewhere unknown to her, in attempts to escape that awful world behind her.

She ran for what felt like hours, letting the sounds of the trees guide her, until she finally reached her destination. The forest opened its arms to reveal a sweeping carpet of green and gray. The floor was littered with stones of various shapes and sizes and at that moment she knew she was not at this clearing by mistake.

She located a rock that was suspiciously larger than the rest and rendered helpless she let her tired body carry her towards the inviting dull of the boulder.

She had run.

And now she was alone.

She perched herself precariously onto a ledge that protruded from the rock and finally let out a deep breath- with it she released all her worries, sorrows and regrets. For she had run and now she was alone.

And that’s when she realised; she had been led into the arms of what she was trying to escape.

Now that she was alone, there was nothing to shield her from that harsh darkness that resided within her. There could be no more excuses- it was her and her only.

She heard the deafening whispers again but this time they sounded different. This time they didn’t sound like whispers at all. No. She knew now.

Her emotions laughed at her mockingly, their sound cascading over the clearing in a thunderous clamour. They laughed for she had run. And now she was alone.

They laughed because she was theirs now.

Stage 35: #TheIdiotAwarenessCampaign

I see a very interesting attitude plaguing the majority of millennials; The ‘life is monotonous and I need an escape from its dull, overbearing tedium’ syndrome. A mouthful of words and an unnerving concept for me to grasp because I myself am going through a ‘holy moley how am I so ignorant’ phase.

And no this post is not about the adrenaline junkies who crave for a break from their daily drills or the people who don’t see the enjoyment in leading our lives as machines     (although i would much prefer you did something about the drab rather than complain routinely).

No, this months dedicated rant is for those lazy lumps who think they’re above the world- the ones who are so engrossed in their pity party that they forget we have the luxury of learning with the click of a button, with the push of a finger, with the touch of a tab. The ones so cocooned in their preconceived notions of humans that they forget we live in a world inhabited by highly functioning psychopaths and reclusive introverts, in a world where there are left and right ideals, in a world where some perform in the arts and others succeed in the sciences. The people so sheltered by their ignorance that they forget there is literally a universe to explore.

I fail to see how one can be so bored with what life has to offer when there is so much you have yet to experience. You’ve failed to discover it, yet you’re bored of it. That’s like Columbus turning his ship around after spotting the new world on the horizon, deciding it wasn’t worth his time.

So if you ever come across a person like this please feel free to direct them towards the following video.



The TellTale Traits of someone with tedium syndrome.

  1. They say things like ‘life is monotonous and I need an escape from its dull, overbearing tedium’… well not exactly.. probably a less syntax heavy expression.
  2. They’re 76% of the people that say ‘nm bored u?’.
  3. Almost always the first person to watch your Snapchat story or like your Instagram picture.
  4. ALWAYS free to complain
  5. Most likely to think left and right winged are ‘aeroplane terms’ (Fun fact: This is a question I have actually been asked. Funner fact: The person is enrolled in an aviation academy.

 #TheIdiotAwarenessCampaign – Perhaps a series to come. 



 

 

Stage 34: The problem.

A middle aged wealthy Man sits in his 4BHk apartment in Mumbai watching the presidential elections on Fox news. ‘Ah’ he thinks to himself, ‘What a time it is to be alive… a woman contending to run the most powerful nation on the planet. Equality has truly been achieved’ he says as his son watches item songs in the next room.

The Man glancing at the grandfather clock, shouts for his evening tea. His wife realising the maid is attending her 10 year old daughter’s wedding in a nearby village, scurries to make the tea herself.

He switches channels mechanically as a girl in a neighboring building is being dragged into a room, her underwear ripped off and her genitals being “circumcised” to rid of her unnatural sexual urges.

The man impatiently inquires as to what is taking the tea so long, incessantly stating how late it is, as a woman down the street waits for her impending bus which carries a predator and his natural sexual urges.

Somewhere in another shanty town a boy dumps his books and ditches school to play cricket with his friends while his older sister prepares meals for her family, having giving up attempting to read the unfamiliar markings on her brother’s textbooks a long time ago. The man back in Mumbai finally receives his Chai; ‘Ah’ he exclaims, ‘you forgot the sugar’.



There is a problem in India. A serious one.

There are problems in India. Serious ones.

And the only reason they aren’t being recognised is the misconception that equality has been achieved. Comments like ‘ Hey, even the West hasn’t had a female president dude, but we have’ help people like me identify the problem; the problem lies within the fact that we compare our battle with the most popular one but in reality we are multitudes of phases behind them. In the West problems like the wage gap are addressed by feminists but in India we cannot simply skip over and address that same problem when most women aren’t even educated enough to do those jobs.

The problem lies within all of India; each religion, socioeconomic group, age, gender and occupation. However if the most educated, most privileged of those people fail to recognise it then how can we expect anyone else to.

featured image from http://www.dnaindia.com

Stage 33: Sleep venite ad me

Crap.

It’s those sleepless nights.

The hours that tick tick slowly by to greet the rays of the sun.

When youve had too much of a calm phase in life, hours like these are necessary to remind you. Remind you that there were moments like these too.

Where nothing is necessarily wrong in your life. Oh no, it is actually something wrong with the past that comes back to haunt you. To hover over you and remind you that there were moments like these too; moments where everything had been going to hell… where you thought you wouldnt live to see the calm.

A sudden halt on your dead-end rollercoaster.

Crap.

Where all emotions are snatched from you and replaced with burning, new, implacable ones.

Where there’s no room for the glorious miscommunication that usually goes on between your soul and your body.

Grasp at these moments because it doesn’t come with the risk of permanent emotional damage… just a slightly stinging sorrow.

It’s life’s gift to you. To help you rid of the monotony that comes with happiness. To encourage you to cherish contentment. To remind you that there used to be moments like these too; moments where the night just tick ticks by.

Stage 32: The thoughts of a person who can’t write.

It’s the sadness that pushes us. The gnawing, tugging, inescapable emotions that drag us into our creative zones. Writing is a catharsis and there’s no need for it unless you’re looking for an escape; for the reason a reader reads and a writer writes is the same.

And when you’re content, there is no need for an escape- *introducing the all new and improved ‘writers block’. Now in 4 different shades of frustration.*

It’s every artists internal conflict. For them to create they have to have inspiration, for inspiration they need an extreme emotion, for an extreme emotion they need exhilaration or depression, the latter being much easier to achieve when you have no inspiration and thus the vicious cycle begins.

What to do, what to do, what to do.

Take a break I guess. Go out, switch off, forget. I say I guess because evidently I still can’t write. Atleast nothing along the lines of profound or mildly entertaining.

Sorry for wasting your time if you made it this far.

But a word of advice because I never publish a post without something quotable ( ✔️ ) and something kinda sorta not really helpful- Don’t force yourself to create something that has to be appreciated… just. create.


Well, i woke up to that faint blue light that I now so easily recognise (c.e. https://itswaypastcurfew.wordpress.com/2016/06/01/stage-7-34-progress/ , where i flipped out, seeing it for the first time)

WordPress informed me that it was our 2 year anniversary. Possibly the longest any of my relationships have ever lasted (platonic and romantic).  *cringing at this sad truth*

Also I haven’t been able to write at all lately and this is more or less a forced post and I have to end up asking myself the question ‘ why can we write so much better when our life is going to the dogs?’

Diary of an Over-thinker: 2

Let me set the scene for you.

It’s a pleasant, cool day. You stand around nonchalantly with a group of people. Banter is being passed around like a ball and a contest of wit seems to be taking place. Generally a satisfying spell has seized control of the day. That is until

 

Irrelevant person 1: “and then i said to her if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitate!!”

*unanimous laughter at punny chemistry joke*

You: “hey that reminds me irrelevant person 3, did you watch that documentary?”

Irrelevant person 3: …

*pause before you attempt to ask the deaf irrelevance your question again*

You: ” Did you see that docum-”

Irrelevant person 3: “Oh btw guys (proceeds to talk about irrelevant topic)”

You: *cue feelings of wanting to move to Lithuania to sell cats for a living*

 

Not being heard and having to repeat yourself is the worst. The only thing worse than that is having to repeat yourself and not being heard again. ( and the only thing worse than THAT is it happening with your crush but that’s a whole other post).

I mean I know it’s kind of dramatic to feel so worthless, but that is EXACTLY how you feel. I don’t know why, but the insecurities just thrive off of moments like those. It’s the most terrifying thing that can happen to you and somehow it leaves you feeling like the least important human on the planet. It leaves you feeling irrelevant.

Overthinking coupled with abandonment issues and crippling social anxiety- Life’s peachy keen.

Whats the WiFi Password ?