Home front.

It's the searching of your eyes in confusion. It's also the scrunch between your brows of assurance. It's the unspoken light nod of reliance.

I'm here. It'll be okay.

And, once again... I'm home, dear reader.

On the nights of contemplation

Writers and readers lead difficult lives. They cannot reside in ignorance and thus find themselves in the hallways of contemplation all too many times.

They cannot fathom being separated from the individual they are and, in turn, make it harder to succumb to the tomfoolery of modern society. They do not do it to please the crowd, nothing to owner the contemporary spirit. Contemplation is a boon and a bane. Boon because it always tries to 'Rodin' anywhere, relying on detachment. And a bane, because in the world of masks, untrue feelings and fake ideals, they find themselves misplaced.

Is this why the society finds it hard to sit still? Because they run away from their thoughts, they find it hard to contemplate and it bites back in forms of pretentiousness.

Intellect, humility, and conversations over tea they thrive on. The contemplations are bittersweet. Regardless, it is a monument of living without the chains of modern life.

In your embrace, there lies respite

Lying on the grass beds, you roll over to ask, "Do you love me?", his eyes shut, he whispers in affirmation. A wave of how much lingers in her afterthoughts. So much of forever is discussed in the universe. It pains to know the souls destroyed in its pursuit; Martyrs.

The shattering hearts are a deterring noise all around, one such yours, the mighty heart will shudder at its sight.

Rolling over the grass, he places his warm palm over your head, answering the echoes in your heart. "A lot. A lot more than you can imagine" And you slip into slumber in his embrace.

On society's nincompoops

Unreasonable? Illogical? Unfathomable?

Living through days of criterion which places itself on the shoulders of everything apart from the actual requirement has forever been the time's buffoonery. It persists and will continue to do so.

Fight your own battles. But, trying to reason with clowns shouldn't be part of your everyday.

Giving up is the best option here. Give up. Don't have expectations. Live your life to the fullest. Stay glad and happy, my dear readers.

Sometimes it feels like life is a cycle.

U meet someone. They seem nice. They wanna get to know u. U dont trust them. U think they'll leave as soon as they get to know u. U fight hard not to let them in. But they stay. The more u fight, the longer they stay, making u believe that they might not leave. Finally u give in, having trust them enough not to break u, now that the barriers u have created are gone. But the moment they get to know u, they start backing away. Slowly but effectively. Til they're gone from ur life, as easily and quickly as they came in. Their departure breaks u but u start building ur barriers again. And once you've established ur barriers, ur protection, it all starts again.

Guard your heart, dear reader.

Dear Reader,

I wonder why you keep entangling yourself in this mesh of hope and dreams of love that doesn't seem to exist on this earth. The times have altered themselves, and humans find themselves dipping their toes into people's lives, never seeking their true depth.

The fear the intensity of truth, of love, of loyalty and of being held accountable at the thought of it.

We are humans too, and we hope, that the next person walking in will have intentions of gold, but alas. Reader dearest, guard your heart. No one else will. They will promise a million things, slowly uncover the hurt, and leave you out in the open.

Raw, wound exposed and all the bloody work of sewing yourself back will be your weak heart once again.

The image of it recoils me. As it should yours.

Guard thy heart, reader. Do not break yourself for another vermin.

Photos from The Last Book by Reinier Gerritsen, who spent 13 weeks over 3 years scouring the subway system of New York City for riders reading books.

Ambition, humility and the will to grow are innately attractive.

Living in a world of falsehood and pretence, it is easy to stumble upon souls that meaninglessly exaggerate their triumphs. But the true men are those who work tirelessly without letting success climb the poles of narcissism. Or blow a trumpet of success with stories of falsehood. Who do they impress? If only. Instead, they make fools of their own. Their aspirations thus stand meaningless. So does their existence. The true passionate and ambitious are layers deep within themselves. The more you engage, the more the soul ravishes the beauty of simplicity they adorn. The gaudy do not attract them. No. Their shimmer comes from their mind, a quiet, humble organ that displays its excellence and hard work rather than scream it to pretentious ears.

The last of the 20s have been left behind. And, we move forward into a brighter phase with limitless blooms of the soul. My dearest 20s saw me through labours of hard work, friendships, rest, demise, despair, hope, happiness, love and kindness. You have been harsh and turbulent, both gentle and coarse. And, I wouldn't change a thing. It taught me to be grateful, unapologetic, fearless, and resilient to life's unforeseen.

Here's looking forward to a decade of self-reliance, growth and success, but with a sprinkle of grace. Be Poised!

Battles within, battles around, A man quietly smiles at his raging seas. Patience has been his armour; his arms the strength he needs, A man shuffles his cards with destiny.

The crashes around, he does not worry about, more of his peace that he cannot appease. A hug and a word that can mend a soul, he mutters lines that embalm the tired traveller.

But he, who sits a while feeling the cool breeze, under the glorious night sky, closing; his eyes, his mind to the chatter of the day, clutching a heart beating to find the reasons to stay, afloat and ready; yet, for another day.

Everyday

I am a different person.

As I was before.

I had grown fond of the starlit morning sky a little too much in the modern age. And, of course, I was quickly reminded of the delusions of the times. One does not reason with a pest, my dear readers. No, you may grow fond of one, but you'll soon realise that a pest remains one despite the growth chances.

It never was your duty to alter or set your standards for a pest at all. Let the pest rot in the sewage, and you my dear may pick yourself up from the dirt and continue growing.

On Warmth

A little exploration into the world of instant gratification, and you will find something rather striking.

The living in 'extremes'.

The world today thinks in binaries (unfortunately). It's either absolute ignorance or undiluted visionaries of the last stage. It's either too hot or too cold, am I right?

We live in between these polarities. Care to explore the route in between? Stop and watch the sunset, Sniff the fresh summer's morning, stand a while to pet the cat on the sidewalk, lift the hunched shoulders and watch those two strangers dramatically talk to each other.

Oh, to be able to smile at your neighbours and nod a hello, to share lunchboxes at recess with your pals, to bite into a ripe apple and hear the luxurious crunch.

No, I prefer to notice the carefully picked scent on your clothes and the appreciation in your voice in conversations.

I prefer to note the warmth of your palms in mine. The tiny knocks on my desk that remind me to drink water, all the gestures of warmth. And, no, it's not sparks flying, it's not hot, there's no 'heat'.

But the warmth, we so easily dismiss is read between the polarities and speaks in gigantic waves.

Find warmth, my dears. It is quite misplaced and ignored. No amount of ignorance and sparks can replace it. Rest assured, warmth cannot be spoken. It can only be felt.

On Romance

I got asked yesterday, "Do you even know romance?"

And, then the person proceeded to prove me wrong by blatantly stating that, I had not.

Spurring a thought from it, I wondered, What is romance?

We all seem to know it, and yet, it is something that informs itself collectively. My idea of romance may vary from yours. We are after all different people.

Love for me lies in the mundane activities. It's less about the grand gestures and more in the things your partner does for you. Learns your love languages to show you love and identifies things you do that scream, "I love and appreciate you and your presence."

Physical intimacy (not just limited to sex) is also one such. The tiny finger holds, the caressing of the palms, the long hug after a tiring day, just melting in their arms... these things matter.

They show you romance by listening to your worries, by sharing your happiness, by helping you find a solution, or sometimes by merely existing next to you, letting you know.. You are not alone.

This is romance to me. Probably an adult version of the same.

Now, its not ideal to look for someone who does ALL of these. Ideal is someone who is willing to learn them. Taking time to explore the relationship with someone, explore the person.

That's romance.

10th Dec, 2023

Dear Reader,

It's over.

I confronted the lies he braided to tell me.. while he whispered sweet nothings to many of my kind. His words that continue to ring in my soul are crashing onto my ribcage, trying to shake me from within... make me beg for him back, welcome his lying, conniving self back into the fortress of peace I've built myself.

There it is. The waters are now calm around me, but the castle walls peel in horror. Another person etched in the book. And this time, a name that never really cared about the castle, just the company and the place to scream empty words.

Nothing else.

No one else.

It's over.

At times, you need to re-coil within yourself. To gain a perspective that is not coloured by those of others. You can live on in ignorance. But how helpful is it?

The noise outside me makes me want to escape myself. I need peace. I need a breeze that helps me breathe a little better. I shall remove myself from it all. Remove and live a little.

The tears I drop do not find a place... Who should protect it if not me? No. I need to leave this space. Breathe.

~ Meredith Grey