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Love Lies Within…

“It is an immense test of strength and patience, a true test of what you are willing to put at stake, to love someone.
It takes even more courage to allow someone to love you back, especially when you have been broken before. Because life breaks all of us…
It is not about what we can give and offer sometimes. Sometimes it is about how much we are willing to allow ourselves to accept from another. How we love and allow ourselves to be loved is sometimes more about our relationship with our own selves and less to do with the other person.
Self-loathing is often created in our own minds because of subconscious influences like faulty parenting, failed relationships, coping mechanisms due to juvenile unpreparedness, that is no fault of our own. We sometimes hold ourselves to exacting standards that sometimes even we can’t meet. We decide on assumptions of suitability for another person, to let ourselves walk away from promising possibilities, out of fear of happiness and to avoid possible hurt. Vulnerability does come with that risk. But it is also our job to be able to ascertain and recognise that about ourselves. And to be willing to work past those misgivings. Because everyone deserves to love and be loved back in return. A heart that is open, kind and compassionate enough to trust again is the ultimate goal of the human condition. Because there is immense courage in true vulnerability which opens the opportunity for healthy, emotionally open relationships as is everyone’s due. It is something we owe to ourselves.”
#Musings #SelfLove

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Love, Loss and Lessons : A Very Happy New Year!

Dear 2016,

You were the year that shook everything up. For me personally and the world in general.

You were the year when someone like Donald Trump actually made it to public office to lead a global superpower. You were the year when Modi took our country by storm by actually using his powers as the Prime Minister towards the benefit of the nation – although the verdict on that is still divided. Humanity reached the depths of despair in Syria. You were the year we said goodbye to Severus Snape, to remember Alan Rickman always even after all this time. Prince and David Bowie have a musical pow wow with Muhammed Ali as Gene Wilder watches on in that place we would like to call heaven for the want of a better name. A lot of famous people decided to call it quits with George Michael and Carrie Fisher kicking the bucket as the year comes to a close. Sonam Gupta became famous for all the wrong reasons. You have been a weird unsettling mixed bag of a year.

For me too. You have been a year of love, loss and lessons. I lost my one of grandmothers and a dear dear friend before his time and that was just the beginning. You were the year I kicked myself out of my emotional and geographical inertia. This was the year I made a poor decision I thought I was above and lived with it. This was the year I packed my bags and decided to uproot my life as I knew it without a plan. It wasn’t that life wasn’t good. Life was good, I had things going. I was happy, superficially though. You were the year that kicked me in the gut and made me make a choice, to take an action without knowing a consequence. I pulled up my total OCD, control freak microcosmic existence and gave it a thorough shaking. And as is my usual style, the paradox that I am – the girl who follows mad impulses but thrives on to do lists – I do like making my own messes and cleaning them. This was the year I left an entire life behind without a plan. Was it hard? Yes. It took a while for it to sink in. I left behind a life I had built, a family I had chosen of friends and blessings. And just like that, I got up and walked away. I scared myself by the clinical yanking of the proverbial band-aid. I was afraid, but I didn’t know how to identify sadness. Years of repressed emotional baggage under the pretext of strength kept me going. Throw in a dark sense of humour I take quite some pride in and you have an almost robot. But I was coming home. You cannot go wrong with that.

You know what happens to you when you move back to your parental home after being away for all of your late teenage and adult life? Chaos. Inside and out. I am blessed. It was the best decision I had taken. But I had no plan. It was also the worst decision I had taken. And I braced myself through it, into it. My family, ever supportive, also working to accommodate me. It was a major adjustment both ways. Still is. They suddenly had their offspring back with them. An offspring, who was an occasional visitor was suddenly a fellow occupant. A 29 year old, single and unattached and unemployed female with some measly source of income with irregular freelance assignments with no clear plans is not the best of feelings – the prodigal daughter,the black sheep had returned. I had left home a scared teenager, thrown into the big bad world and had learned to find ways to hide or cope with the fear to the point of dealing with it so well outwardly, they called it strength. I believed it too. One of the best things to happen to me was moving back – I got my dream job that I had written off. Not very many people are that blessed. And that is a whole different story, but one of the highest points.

You know one of the hardest bits about moving back home is it brings you back to your roots. It is the best and worst thing to happen to you. Noone really grows up you know, we just learn how to blend in better. Sometimes, we just hide the scared child away because we are afraid it won’t be accepted. When I came back I had convinced myself I understood the world, that I had adulted. But you don’t really adult till you make peace with your inner child. And nothing puts you back in touch with your inner child and reminds you of who you really are and what your core needs are like coming back to your roots. And to add to the mix, there was a boy. A boy I had innocuously met, casually. We clicked as friends and I didn’t see it then. I don’t do overly footloose. I might seem it, but I don’t. The friendship that had dwindled got rekindled when I got back. What had terrified me the first time round, made me question my own self sabotage, this time round. The scared teenager who had left was also one who lived in books and imagination. She imagined something of a relationship – a unquestionable friendship, judgment free acceptance, a shared wicked sense of humor, a teammate in life and crime. The teenager with life and all that grew up into a hardened skeptic, cynical and dark and the quiet imaginative bit hid behind a cool, social butterfly. The thing with growing up is we teach ourselves how to forget to feel things. You say you are happy, but you don’t feel it. You think you are sad, which you either deny or hide behind alcohol or you say you feel it because you think it is expected of you. And then I met this boy. This boy who reminded me of me. A goofball, unapologetic, but also a hidden depth that made me question myself. You tell yourself after a few falls that what you imagine is impossible – although my aspirations were never too unreal or princessy – and suddenly it struck me in all the laughter and amusement, this is exactly how I had hoped to feel with someone. You see I had forgotten to feel, to know what it is like to be seen by someone, a friend. As luck and timing would have it, reciprocity is the end game and timing checkmated me. He was alike. Down to the T. Fears, denial, sabotage, the works. You learn with age and kicked in the gut humility that there are some things you can’t and should never force. Love is one of those things. And when you are a friend and you understand, you just hope to make life easier for them. And you learn to let go. Did it hurt? In the gut wrenching variety. Is it okay? Yes it is. Because you learn that love is about that too. And you let it all go and hope for a miracle. For what is yours will find you.

Dear 2016, you have given me a mixed bag of immense changes. You were the year of major changes. You were also the year where I realised that inside the good there is blessings and happiness but it is in the bad that lies the true gift of lessons in awareness and growth. This year I learnt so many things about myself. I met my own self up close and personal, the one I had hidden away and forgotten about – I am getting to know her again.(Sounds a tad schizo but I will roll with that). This was the year I also had the chance to build and invest in my relationships with my family and that has been a blessing. This was the year that amidst all the madness, I found my dream job and identified what I want to do in life.. This was the year I found a person who made me believe that what I want is a possibility and that my cynicism is just the fear of not finding it. This has been the year of learning to be more honest and attentive to my own self and needs and that is something I am grateful for. This is the year, I commit to myself to be more authentic in life and choices. It is the year, I have learnt that you can have a bad day, a terrible week or an abysmal few months, but only you can break it if you sit down and have an honest, humble conversation with yourself. And this is the year I learnt that growth will be the constant test, acceptance and adaptability to change as the only constant is the true test of strength. This was the year, I realised who my true friends and for that I am blessed. This is the year I met myself and we are getting to know each other. Somewhere in the middle. This is the year, I have learnt what love means to me and how important it is to me. This is the year, I have grown tired of being afraid and making excuses for it and so I will work consciously towards being the person I want to be… This was the year of major shifts. This was the year I met me. This was the year that makes me realise that I know who I want to be and from here on that will be first priority. For that I thank you 2016, for being a pain in the ass, hell of a year. I go from here, fond of food, lame and good jokes, laughter,family, love, friendship,travel and to growth and learning forever.

Be kind and good 2017. Welcome!

Signing off,
The Lady Writer.

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To be and not to be : The boon and bane of commitment phobia

I was watching author and inspirational speaker Simon Sinek talk about Millenials in the Workplace(http://bit.ly/2fl1yUu) and about the challenges they have had to face and strive through to become probably the most misunderstood and attacked generation till date. In the age of constant chatter but not meaningful communication, instant gratification and its perpetual withdrawal symptoms, quick fixes and a multitude of choices, commitment becomes the rarest commodity – be it professionally or personally. Bear with me as I ramble…

Sinek says anyone born post 1984 qualifies to be a Millenial. I personally identify, even within the Millenial generation, two distinct strains – the ones born in between the 1980s and early 90s and the second includes all the rest born post that. Have you heard about the Baby Boomers? My curious little brain had and I did some more research to find that scholars refer to the generation born between 1946 and 1964 as the baby boomers, namely the parents of the first strain mostly. What I also found that is that this generation is most associated with privilege, rejection or redefinition of traditional values, higher incomes, an optimistic outlook and what not.

I am a proud 80s baby myself and while I do not relate to the latter strain of Millenials on a lot of accounts, I do relate to the Millenial experience in general. I think the 80s babies bore the brunt of the transition and like every product of transition, are in a constant state of flux. While Sinek raised some very valid points about the Millenial experience and how it affects the generation in the workplace, I think as a sort of bridge generation, an exception as well as the rule, I think it affected the 80s kids in a very strange manner. While I can launch a tirade about the kids after us, I would rather look inwards at what it is doing to me and my peers. The generation before us did not ask too many questions and the ones who did were shunned or ridiculed. Almost anything that threatened the prevalent norm was taboo or shrouded in polite hypocrisy. The generation after us was born into technology and learned to play with gadgets before it learned to talk or walk. The knowledge center is quite active with the bombardment of too much information too soon but with a lack of an emotional compass. Also language took a blow – SMS language and the lack of usage of the vowels is quite the indicator of that. *cringes*

The kids that were born in the 1980s – the ones in their mid-late twenties like yours truly to their early – mid thirties landed bang in the middle of this flux. We were mostly the last kids of the generation before the Baby Boomers or the firstborns of very young Baby Boomers. Our generation was born into the optimism of our folks and grew into the unaffected indifference of the generation after us. As a collective we grew up straddling both worlds- idolising the family structure and marriages and relationships of our parents with rose coloured glasses of nostalgia and balancing it with the blase, unfeeling cynicism bordering on dysfunction of the younger lot. Where does it leave us? TERRIBLY CONFUSED!

I make the generation sound like a struggling lot. Please don’t let me mislead you! We are the children born into privilege if our folks made smart life choices, comprise the highest potential in the current workforce, are beginning to make the big bucks or already are, have the fancy degrees and are the ones breaking away from the traditional careers to forge our own paths. We are probably one of the most independent and individualistic generations recorded yet. But it also leaves us quite lost emotionally if you ask me or go by the increase in cases of depression, addictions- alcohol/drugs, marriages plummeting into premature divorces or a whole bunch of commitment-phobes or perpetual singletons shunning traditional ways of cohabitation doing the rounds.

I think somewhere in the middle we convinced ourselves that what our parents had was impossible to find or worse still came from broken,dysfunctional homes ourselves and with the weight of the cynicism that comes with it. If I go by my own personal experience and habits and those of my peers, we pride ourselves in self sabotage and brave talk and choosing to shut down the emotional centers explaining the pain and confusion away either by over-rationalising or by hiding behind some kind of extreme behaviour – alcoholicism, workaholicism, solo travelling (which I highly recommend by the way), a series of superficial relationships amongst other things in a denial to deal with the actual problem or deep seated fear. Sometimes out of a lack of awareness and sometimes out of stubborn denial. I am learning slowly that the failure to have deep meaningful relationships stems from an inability to commit to ourselves in our utter confusion of who we want to be. We are caught somewhere between the blind traditionalism of our parents laced with the polite hypocrisy and various glaring issues it brings with it and the hyper intellectual awareness and emotional stunting and the greediness that comes with multiple options and the fear of missing out on the next best thing in the age of technology.

And I think it is lying in the middle that makes us such a confused lot. I think commitment as overwhelming it may seem comes from a fear of committing to our own selves and the indecision of who we want to be as people as we rush through the mundane trying to shut out the noise. Because when you know who you want to be and be seen as, it gets easier to makes choices in life. As I work through these realizations, I also feel and think that we need to find our own spot , our own middle path, without the hypocrisy of the past and the indifference of the generation after us, for while we may have borne the brunt of it, it is also our core gift to be able to access the best of both generations and set a new order of how things should be. We need to rise to the occasion as only we have the opportunity to ,authentically in balance.

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The Trouble With Being Serious…

It is exactly seven months to the date since I packed my bags and said bye bye to my life in the big city as the quintessential single girl – independent, liberated, working woman with a more than healthy social life. Fast forward seven months later, I am home with the folks (yay!) but also extremely accessible to the relatives (not so yay!). Life has been generous and I have finally found a job I genuinely enjoy and something that fulfills me. But now I stand on the precipice of the much dreaded affair of the arranged marriage – the nuisance I had managed to dodge successfully till date I now see purely due to geographical reasons.

Is it harder to dodge now? Hell yes! Do I make it any easier being here? Hell no!
But I am not writing this to rave and rant about this inevitable nightmare. (Watch this space!) That is not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about the… for want of a better word… a deep loathing I feel about ‘acceptable’ and ‘expected’ behavior from a girl.

I was raised in a household where I was never stopped from doing anything on the grounds of my gender. This is not a feminist rant. Or maybe it is. I don’t care. I think every person has the right to an opinion – if Trump can talk and get away with it, I don’t see why anybody can’t. So going back to the case in point, I will tell you what bothers me. I decided to take a break from the city, after being away practically for the entirety of my adult life, to return and be with the folks and figure out my next career move. That’s it. However,what it has been viewed as an opportunity for people to offer their helpful advice to how I should run my life, offers of help to find me the suitable groom etc. It comes with a condition. I need to be a little less of something. That something is a different thing always but pig headed that I am, I only hear it as I need to be little less me. Of all the things I have heard, I think the one that has irked me the most is ” be a little more serious!”

This is where my inner feminist kicks in. Why is it that the onus of being serious lies with the women and men get away with boys will be boys? Why are women expected to be raised to be good wives and men are not raised to be good husbands and householders? Why can men kick back and expect royal treatment after asinine behavior and meek wives comply or why do men feel hen pecked when they feel okay to comply to woman’s wishes as long as it is not unreasonable? Why don’t either of the affected parties stand up and voice their needs?

Here is my problem. And the trigger was some lame hen pecked husband joke. My problem is that in a society that insists on marriage as the natural step of progression, why is there a discourse that makes indulgent jokes at the expense of the women in marriages and fills men with foreboding? Why aren’t women speaking up or rather cracking up about the troubles of dealing with an emotionally unevolved man with an inferiority complex as huge as the Pacific with a equally huge sense of entitlement? I am not saying all men are like that. I know some wonderful men, evolved and attractively secure in themselves. I have known them, been friends with them, loved them and most of all I have had the privilege of being raised by one of them. What I am however saying is that it is the average Joe that is like that – raised to expect the treatment fit for a king. The answer lies in how children are raised. While educated families will stand up and say, we have educated our girls in some university of acclaim, good for you, but that is not what I am talking about. Children should be raised with life skills – cooking, cleaning, driving, fixing electrical issues, being handy around the house etc., irrespective of gender. I have the equal amount of disrespect for a woman who proudly claims that she can’t cook as do I for a guy who can’t fix a broken washer on a tap and vice versa. And why is it that when men crack jokes about their wives in front of friends viewed as easy camaraderie and if a woman does the same she is demonised or viewed as whiny?

This is symptomatic of deeper issues of how there is still much work to be done. Men need to have their freedom to do their own thing without being ridiculed and be raised to know how to look after themselves. They shouldn’t be raised only to be looked after by the mother and then slaved after by the wife. Affection comes in many forms, some of it is in the kitchen and some of it not. And guess what women get hungry too!

Similarly I think, our society needs to raise girls to know how to be alone. They should be taught how to be on their own, know how to manage their finances, fix things around the house, and other handy household hacks. Husbands are meant to be partners to share the load but not because you don’t know how to do something. We need to raise our boys with the emotional freedom to be themselves and not with the pressure of playing knights in shining armors as much as we need to raise our girls without a damsel in distress complex.

Marriage I think is a partnership of equals and not a favor handed out by either side. What I do think as an outsider to the marriage game is that we take the wrong things seriously and the ones that need to be taken seriously, not seriously enough. In simpler words, I could only be with a partner secure enough and makes me feel secure enough to crack a joke at my expense and be able to take it back just as well.

In short, I will continue to laugh and I would like to be with someone I can laugh with and at without questioning the seriousness of our equation. And so the eternal misfit lives on! 😉

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The Comforting Discomfort of The Truth

I don’t quite know how it happened.  I wouldn’t even be able to pinpoint the moment at which it happened.  My penchant  for complete honesty.  I have struggled with it and do so ever so often. Less often now. Actually I have very few memories of honesty being a challenge ever. I don’t know but of many of my vices, dishonesty has never been of them. 

I have lost friends and almost relationships over it. People who couldn’t handle the truth. Either mine or their own. In retrospect, I don’t know what ever gave me the right to tell them the truth but I did.  In the eyes of many it might have been cruel. In my eyes it was pulling the band aid off in one go and that to me is kinder than letting misery fester in some delusion. One would imagine it would make me friendless like I have always been warned. I have been accused of being naive and not knowing how the world works. But guess what? Life has been kind and I have earned some gems on the way. My miracles. My magic beans. Makes me believe in the innate goodness of humanity. Everyone struggles with the truth.  So do I. And I have watched loved ones struggle with their own truths but they have braved themselves through those struggles.  Navigating through life, relationships, questioning priorities,  identities and making irrevocable sacrifices sometimes. For the truth. Sometimes no mostly some dark uncomfortable truth. I admire it this unwillingness to give up on the truth. The relentless pursuit, sometimes intentionally and at others instinctively. It is admirable. 

But of late I have been struggling with something. There is a certain roughness, a cruelty even. A lack of compassion. There is a certain brutality to the truth don’t you think? 

A very recent conversation with an old,  exceptionally dear friend,  whose relationships  became a casualty to honesty.  Well one of the reasons I suppose because breakups are never that binary.  Made both of us think about the virtue of honesty and the rules of exercising complete honesty within a relationship. I often struggle with the question of whether you would save a relationship with a lie or just suffer it’s loss with the truth?  Opinions differ on this.  If I wasn’t able to be honest with a partner or was at the receiving end of dishonesty, it makes me question the very foundation of the relationship.  It shows a disrespect for the individual at very fundamental level. I have never understood the statement – ‘I lied to you to protect you.’  There is nothing selfless about lying.  There is the inherent presumption that the partner is too weak to handle the truth or is unimportant to deserve it. Both very valid reasons not to be in a relationship to begin with. And no a**holes who think being honest about their escapades gives them a free pass. If someone is getting hurt for the wrong reasons you are still a jerk…

Yes, there is a possibility that the partner may not be ready for the truth.  The relationship may not being prepared for the onus of the truth.  Sometimes the truth is something unhealed.  And that in itself should never be something to bring to a relationship.  But when you truly care about someone, they should feel trusted and trust that you will share your truth with them eventually but surely. 

Maybe discretion or withholding the truth might save the relationship. For some time.  For the sake of appearance only.  But it would inevitably make it weaker implicitly. The inability to confide is when the turning away begins and true communication erodes. So does the relationship. 

What I have also come to realise is that while yes honesty is a cornerstone of every relationship,  it is the equal responsibility of both partners.  But with honesty, each partner,  the truth sharer and receiver always need to approach the conversation with empathy.  And this applies to a platonic equation as well. A relationship at its core should be a safe place where honesty can be shared freely without judgement and with empathy and respect and received with empathy and understanding and appreciation of the show of trust the sharing implies. We give it to our dearest friends.  Why is it so hard to give it to the one you love? Honesty is the truest act of courage you can show for your relationships. 

It is utopic,  this view,  I do realise that. Especially in a generation of cynics,  naysayers,  scoffed and sarcastic pricks(yours truly included).  But isn’t this what we all ultimately want? Isn’t it the whole point? Isn’t this what we wanted and believed in? Before the teenage boy broke your heart or the girl you couldnt keep or the time when you were too scared to be honest yourself in a past equation? Before things broke us?  Before unhealthy relationship patterns screwed us over? That person lives in us, within us,  the one who believes in this utopia and has the audacity to hope,  hidden under layers of denial, cynicism and sarcastic humor.  That person who desperately wants to be saved and to be in a healthy relationship, the one who is frustrated and yet wants to believe. 

What I can only say is that if you are going to  be selfish for after all who isn’t,  be selfish for the right reasons and do that suppressed forgotten part of yourself a favor and let it live again.  Take a chance at being intentionally authentic. Godspeed!

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The cynic or the poet? Who wins?

In a culture of casual and laid-back and no strings attached, I remain an anomaly. In all my so called wisdom, the sense of wonder and the depth of sensitivity every soul stirs in me is beyond belief. My naiveté never ceases to shock me when someone walks in and excites me to no end such that years of carefully practiced restraint gives way to a schoolgirl like sense of wonder.  The cynic in me rationalises everything. The social creature plays to what is the norm, with quite some difficulty. Playing it cool, letting it go , being chill. Words so common, words I loathe.

Life becomes so mediocre, all of us stuck in the rat race, the daily grind, paying utility bills, running after promotions that changes nothing. Chill and playing it cool is something I can’t settle for in a relationship. Lack of passion and conviction is something I just cannot. Call me naive for I expect the unthinkable like commitment, loyalty, inconvenient overwhelming passion as the basics. People call me silly. But if you don’t fight for something, if you don’t work to keep the magic everyday, if it was so easy, so convenient, so ordinary, where is the poetry? Why wait or worse settle for someone who is overwhelmed by honesty, passion and pure white affection? Why settle for someone who wants me to play it cool?

People move me, amaze me, interest me, intrigue me, confound me and sometimes make me detest them. While I work to learn to balance the sentiments, I find them beautiful. They are the most beautiful where they are broken, where they are insecure, where they are vulnerable and yet unafraid and unapologetic to recognize it. I have unfaltering admiration for vulnerability, openness and the unassuming courage it exhibits, to know hurt and yet have an open heart. It is the sign of true courage. To open up to another person and giving them the power to destroy you. The cynic in me has a strong hold on me. My voice of reason. But the poet refuses to accept defeat and fights with the spirit of a vehement stubborn child, a sense of wonder, refusing to give up. Refusing to give up on me.

Every now and then, a very rare moment, a soul crosses paths that makes the cynic want to retire and let the inner child play. Exhausted of being on a constant lookout, the cynic wants to give in when a soul almost evokes an elation only a kindred can evoke. And then the paths cross momentarily and then away. In a journey, meant to be spent for a moment, a moment of pure joy, beauty,of romance and poetry. Sometimes intense desire,sometimes brewing a storm within and  being the only port of calm in that very storm at the same time. Someone who makes your soul smile…

Sometimes, someone makes you want to stop, think, wonder and then go the distance. Maybe someday, someone will want to stop for a moment, to make music and give the cynic some rest, maybe retirement and let the poet have a field day. For once. Just the once. Forever.

So, No I cannot be chill. Because far too many things in life are convenient and mediocre. Love deserves to be more.Much more.

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Bartender! Pour me a shot of drama…

Every now and then, someone’s casual remark sets off a thought in your head. Well that happened to me recently. A colleague often casually accuses me of “loving drama” although I haven’t liked to be associated with the word for the longest time because of my myopic understanding of the word. But one evening, it triggered off a bout of introspection.

In my limited world view, I had put drama as a negative connotation. The dictionary defines it as an interesting or intense conflict of forces leading to interesting situations. Blame it on some childhood trauma and an unhealthy, emotional roller coaster ride of a teenage relationship, my aversion to drama and conflict had become overpowering. I had evolved into this person who had started to slowly slot “feeling” into drama, constantly over-rationalizing everything into logical conclusion. Read emotionally stunted.

I spent years watching couples fight, throw things at each other, stay up at night fighting, heard of a woman who burnt her cheating boyfriend’s crotch (he had it coming), abusive relationships – all the time rolling my eyes at the drama. I had become short sighted to not include the drama that brought a smile to someone’s face at the most random moment, the drama that kept two souls up at night sharing memories, dreams and laughter. I had missed the drama in the ecstatic joy felt in both giving and receiving a surprise from a loved one, I had missed the drama in the tears shed when you get separated from a loved one. I had missed the drama in feeling butterflies in my stomach. I had successfully locked myself away into a completely left brained existence. I had stopped feeling. And I had been stupid enough to take pride in that. How can you “over-think” “feeling”? Don’t ask me how but I did it and I applauded it not realizing how handicapped I was making myself.

A writer’s soul was the universe’s gift to me, the pure torture of detached attachment to everything and nothing. People have intrigued me always, what makes them, what breaks them, what makes them tick and what makes them want to rise again. I have fancied myself free-spirited, adventurous and fun-loving. But I would carefully drop the “dramatic” tag, even when I was. Avoidant much?

I had gone from hopeless romantic to the gloomy cynic under a façade of sardonic humor. But one can never defy one’s true nature. The universe makes sure of that. In retrospect, even at my most cynical moments, I have always attracted drama, in the friends I have made, the people I have wanted, the people who have wanted me. The bunch I truly call friends in my life are a passionate, spontaneous, adventurous, authentic and dramatic bunch – each in his or her own way. And I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world, quite a handful as they may be, they are magnificent. While I have hidden behind rational practicality for the longest time, when I look back I have been the happiest when I have done something spontaneous, made a “dramatic” gesture or such like because it made me feel something. I have been the truest to my real nature in those moments far and few as they may have been.

But of late, everyone has become a stickler about playing it cool and being chill in friendships and relationships or you are doing it wrong. In a day and age where the one who cares less is winning, who is doing the loving? Where is the real overwhelming passion that moves mountains? What follows is a soul less generation of degenerate debauchery, swiping on a screen, wanting to be held and touched by a stranger who they feel no connection to because hey who wants the drama of having someone who actually gives a f***out of fear of being hurt. And loneliness they can’t seem to shake off. But they will be too cool to admit it as well. I tried to play that game which grew old quickly. I got B-O-R-E-D.

And then it dawned on me. In a time, where we are all grasping at straws to maintain a semblance of sanity by withdrawing into fearful loneliness, projecting facades, pretending to fit in, it is revolutionary to be honest with the world and yourself, to be authentic enough to embrace one’s own demons is dramatic, genuine caring and effort without expectation from another is dramatic. Being real is dramatic. Being real is acceptance, an ability to balance the emotional with the rational, to feel. Finding genuine connection and investing in that no holds barred is dramatic.

I am done trying to fit in. I am done denying my true nature. I want the happiness I feel with spontaneity, adventure, the passion and the ecstasy and I don’t want mellow and boring. If it comes with a little hurt, hell one shouldn’t sell oneself short, survived so far didn’t I? As long as no one is getting literally get burnt or being emotionally manipulated, am with the drama. I am all for the drama, unapologetically. Because if one doesn’t allow oneself to get hurt, one won’t allow oneself to truly love and be truly loved in return as a friend, as a sister, a daughter and a lover.

It’s worth taking a chance for and all that drama. I never did fit in anyway. Also nothing feeds the writer’s soul like a dose of drama. That’s what the dramatic ones tell me anyway! 😉

Embrace the chaos. Embrace the authenticity. Embrace the madness. Embrace the Drama.

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