"I should shut up more often"
Words that have been etched
Into the back of my hand
The scars will stay there forever
For the number of times
They've been cut through my skin
Leaves them a memory forever
But what's the point?
Scars don't help you put things in effect
They only remind you
Once you've messed up another time
And look down at them
That you have done it again
I've never had a second opinion
About the fact that I do better alone
In the comfort of privacy
Than with someone to watch
Or to be there with me.
I've always known it to be
A fault; a weakness.
Something I've been working on
Ever since I can remember
But maybe that should stop
If working on being social
Every step I take in that direction
Every inch I move closer
To the seemingly fictional finish line
Always supposedly beyond the horizon
Is hurting those exact ones
That I am trying to care more for.

New.

As we tossed all our belongings into cardboard boxes and left behind ones which would take too much space, I felt nothing but overwhelmed. There was so much work to do! So much to clean, to sort out, to instruct and to decide. When it was all emptied out, it surprised me that my voice echoed throughout the house whenever I spoke! It hadn't been that way in eight and a half years. I took a few pictures of the empty halls and the place I used to call my spot.
Before we left, others' tears surprised me; who knew so many neighbours were attached to us? I didn't understand all the apprehension. My mom almost cried too. I didn't understand what the big deal was. A house is just walls; walls can be built anywhere. I've moved so often that I've never had much attachment with walls. I had no childhood memories or such to make me nostalgic when I was away.
We got into the cab with the last bits of our luggage, and reached the new house. It's splendid; there's everything I could ask for. My grandfather loves the new place; there's so much that's accessible to explore. The staircase is a pain. I wish I could apparate. I had to go up and down the stairs countless times, to get all the boxes in the right place, and now I'm pooped.
After all the chaos, when I finally got to sit down, I stared at the walls of this house and realized how much walls do matter. I realized how different this was going to be. New people, a new schedule, a new ceiling to wake up to, a new way of life entirely. No familiar smiling faces and no red cornice. I realized that I really, really wanted to go home. I looked through the pictures I'd taken before leaving, maybe to see if it'd make me feel better. But no; my home's been uprooted from that empty house, and now I have no place to call home.

Each person is so different. No two like are ever alike; maybe everyone is eccentric at some level. Maybe there's no "centric" at all. Everyone deals with things so differently. It's too hard to be too close to someone, close enough to know everything about them and still think that nothing about them could be altered to make a better person. Even when you love a person with flaws, it's only because the flaws bring back memories - like the feeling of the smell of an old book; a book that you know through and through, even if it isn't particularly fragrant. It's just like you're being pointed to a familiar direction - that's how you love a person's flaws.
It's so wrong to want everyone to be like you, and to speak your own language. As cold and stone hearted as it sounds, the right thing to do is find their buttons, push them to bring what you want from them (even if what you want is just for them to be happy). It works for mutual benefit - everyone is happier this way, being used by you and being allowed to use you. And more important than anything, once you're done playing with them, before you go home, don't forget to detach.

Why do we complain so much
And run our finger over war wounds
With a heavy feeling
When in reality we take pride in them,
Flaunt them off to the world
Like an achievement, like
Opportunities dropped on our doorsteps
To overcome and rise above?
Of all the opposite forces in our lives
That keep us in balance
Of all the influences
That keep us from swaying
Where do we find the notion
That we deserve all the credit
Which we reward ourselves with
For every small achievement?

Why do people take pride in being able to live with suffering?
Why do unhappy couples take pride in their fiftieth anniversary? Why do mothers take pride in doing unnecessary favours for their children at the cost of their precious health?
India is supposed to be a land rich in culture and heritage, where everything is made of pure love and sacrifice is the epitome of nobility. Have we pushed it to the point where we now perform sacrifice just for the sake of nobility, where it's hardly even directed at anyone? Have we begun to desecrate sacrifice, by removing it's actual sacrificial nature from it? Nothing is noble about giving up someone's happiness at the cost of others' happiness; that leaves nothing to be proud of at all.
Tradition and culture really aren't meant to be followed unless in entirety. It's all or nothing; dedication to humanity makes you a better person than those who dedicate themselves to only a fraction of the holy books.

Yesterday made me doubt my ideas of righteousness; why should anyone refrain from exploring? Does every girl really have to hold herself back just to be a better prospective marriage choice than the others on shaadi.com? 

Maybe what's better than being a textbook angel is really knowing yourself; letting yourself go and seeing what happens. To know how far out of your supposed comfort zone you have to go to be comfortable, in a world with no boundaries to confine you. To see who you'd be with no judgemental sneers being offered to you at every corner. 

When I got a mental picture of everything that can possibly happen out there, I felt like I belonged in my tiny world, where everything is innocent, traditional, and familiar; just the way it's always been. But once I got back to my own world, I realised that I don't belong here. This world, too, is just a phase, just like the rest of them. I don't know myself. I belong in a place with no boundaries to confine me, because if I had no boundaries, this isn't where I'd end up choosing to be. I belong in a place where there's more than just right or wrong; I belong in the grey area. And I've never realised before that this is something to be proud of. :)

It's funny how often you find someone that shows you a little piece of yourself through a tiny mirror in themselves. It's weird how these people, who are so much like you in a particular way, are yet so different from you in every other way. It's the most remarkable is when you find these glazed reflecting pieces of yourself in people that you've always considered pure evil.
It makes you wonder, is it really possible to have pure evil, or goodwill? I doubt it. Even the most saintly face can hide a mind full of the darkest thoughts, and even the exterior that resembles a devil may house a heart full of compassion. It just depends on who's looking, and from where. You'd probably be surprised to see how many people consider you an evil character in your life, especially if you're one of those people who consider themselves a bundle full of joy, spilling bits of happiness to everyone that comes across your path.
Path. That reminds me, I've got SO much to study.
Sometimes I'm really proud of myself for choosing to do the hardest things, and never giving up on my dreams. And sometimes, I wonder why I hate myself enough to do that. Maybe the only pure evil in my life is myself. :/
Exam time is odd. Everyone around you is busy, and busy people always come with an increased tolerance to other people's opinions and feelings; something which I haven't yet been able to be busy enough to be tolerant to.
Having said the most twisted thing that's been on my mind, now I have to sign off and find the strength in me to go read something that's twisted much beyond even my scope.