'hindsight is 20/20' - thank you, 2013

I was at work a couple of nights ago, when my boss comes up to us jaded folk on the city news desk. And he said, "Write a year-ender piece!" to nobody in particular. I tried avoiding his eyes, and looked to the other people on the desk. I wondered if they thought the same thing I was thinking – that this year hasn’t really been a ‘professional’ year for me. I won’t say it’s been unproductive or pointless or any of that. It’s been great in many ways. And while it’s been pretty public in some ways, it’s also been excessively private (as I am wont to be).

This year has been extreme. The first six months were the total opposite of the last six months. And while I do not regret the first six months, I hope I don’t have to go through that combination of things again. A couple of them, sure. All factors put together? Well, I’m fairly certain I’ll never allow it to happen again, and I hope the powers-that-be agree with me.

To say it’s been an enlightening year would be a terrible understatement. I have learnt so much about myself, life, people and so on. In some ways, I have shocked myself and broken some rules. But I'd expected that since, like I’d mentioned, it’s been a year of extremes.

Before I began writing this, I read my ‘year-ender’ from 2011. Then too I was in a good place, but just beginning a journey that year that ended for me this year. The juxtaposition of the younger, more hopeful me back then, with who I am now has helped. I’ve realised that on occasion I've also begun saying things that make me sound like an old woman. Especially to a younger friend of mine who sometimes reminds me of myself when I was younger. All in all, I feel wiser at the end of this year. Far wiser. And happier than I think I’ve been in a while. It’s a bittersweet happiness sometimes; one that comes from a couple of scars and all that drama. But it’s no worse than I’ve already been through in my life.

I found myself telling a close friend that this has been a wonderful year. That every day, I am grateful for the thing that happened mid-June which drove me to another place in my life. I was not exaggerating. It sounds dramatic, and I may have used up my quota of clichés this year. But they’re all true. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, every cloud has a silver lining, oh and my favourite -- everything happens for a reason, and it will all make sense later. Some of these are terribly corny, especially when I say them out loud. But, well. *shrug*

2013 also made me realise one of the biggest cliches in the world rings true for me – that even if we have a plan and it goes awry, it’s usually for a bloody good reason. Even if it makes no sense why some people get away with wreaking havoc thoughtlessly in others’ lives, it’s again for a damn good reason. And that there’s no point caring about other people’s lives if they don't care for yours. People have joked about revenge with me. One asked me if something I did someway through the year was to spite someone who had hurt me. [Of course, this was from a male friend and they can be pretty dense, no matter how much they love me :)] I don't want revenge. I want world peace! Alright, that might be a bit hard. But I'd like to not hate people and also like not to be hated.

There are a lot of ‘I’s in this year-ender. I'm used to noting how many 'I's are there in my writing, scaling down on the subjectivity and all that. But I've spent too much time not thinking about myself earlier. And maybe, the things I’ve been shown and the epiphanies that have happened will all be shared with a friend along the way.

I'm not making any resolutions for 2014. I probably won't stick to them. And I'm seriously lacking in faith in humanity anyway. But I'll try this -- I'll try not to judge people. Or hate them for things they might to. Even if it hurts me. What's another little scar. I'll be bloody fine. =) Some tears, some laughter, it's all just part of a life of one human -- a little speck in the universe.

And if something really bothers me.. well there is always the pool of caramel that I wake up to each morning, which solves most problems anyway. My Labrador's eyes.

-move-

Baby, the world’s still turning,
The grey is still fading, but look at that,
For the first time, there’s no mist,
She’s ruling with a sturdy goddamn fist.
Angry, seething, but more about time lost,
We’ll never find it again.

Two letters, two poems and four postcards,
Words put down in paper that we can’t erase
Memories trying to be forgotten,
Nail marks, kisses, caresses, vulnerability,
Tears, texts, a pair of earrings, pieces of skin.

But look at that,
The strange lights in the sky,
She’s alone, but not crying,
Take back what you can,
The earlier girl is gone too,
Look what she’s regained,
What left the earlier one so pained.

Wings sprout in her chest,
They try to take flight.
Remembering to live life for oneself,
Not for the stubbled excuse of a knight.

The life we had is gone now,
The love that wasn’t supposed to be,
The love that was never free,
The love that cut to the bone,
Loving a boy with a heart of stone.

We lived every cliché in the book,
Tried to forget every word we mistook.
It goes day by day now,
Buried deeper under the snow.
We don’t need anyone to bear the burden,
It’s best borne alone,
Sometimes with others too.
Don’t worry, baby,
The earlier girl is gone.
She smirks at the death of old love,
Caresses the promise of new fire.
Fire which will burn it all up
Before she moves to another shape,
Liquid steel, moulding every action,
The ice that steams as it meets the flames.

Nail marks, kisses, caresses,
Shards of glass, smooth surfaces,
Wheels that keep on turning,
A sun that keeps on rising, setting.

leaving

*apologies for not updating -- it's been a crazy year and I toyed with the idea of doing away with blogging. obviously I decided against it. will definitely be more regular, or more sharing, with the writing now!*




She was seated by the window, looking out onto the horizon of the city she’d made home. One last time. A book lay in her lap
along with the green cardigan she’d taken off. It was warm by Scottish standards. Her eyes hadn’t left the window after she sat down.

When the air hostess came around, the girl smiled politely and declined the snack. She asked for water in clear English. Her nose was bright red, brown eyes watery. A tissue lay on the book she’d tried to read for a few minutes.

The head of black hair turned back to the window. The luggage had been deposited in the aircraft by little vehicles she didn’t know the name of, which had begun to back away from the plane. There were the familiar blue and white signs of Scotland’s bank. Her bank for two years.

The sky was a perfect clear blue with some puffs of perfect cotton. Sometimes Edinburgh’s weather made up for the days of endless grey skies, rolling clouds and gusts of rainy wind. Her eyes grew watery again.

As the aircraft began moving, she held on tightly to her arm-rest, her mind reeling from the things she’d forgotten to tell people and places she didn’t have time to see. And as the wheels left Scottish ground, she stopped breathing.

Soon Edinburgh was miles below her. She tried to look for familiar hills and spots. Then she just stared as long as she could. Before clouds came between her and the view of the city.

‘It’s over,’ she told herself. ‘Let it go. You’ll come back.’ And she promised herself she’d come back. And if she ever had a child, which was unlikely, she would bring him or her too. Somehow, her visions of her future self never included a man. Even if there was a child. Her friends were still in her life, more important than ever. But she didn’t know if she could ever keep a man that long. So it was just her. And her friends. Maybe a child too. Who knows.

When they landed in Heathrow and she had to make her way to another terminal, there were fewer ‘foreign’ faces. And when she walked into the terminal after getting her boarding pass, she stopped breathing again. She was just another face in a sea of cocoa-coloured faces.

Babies were crying, children running around and dropping things, families were talking loudly. Duty free shops were crowded – people bought liquor, cigarettes, picked up chocolate for their lovers. Only the book shop remained deserted. The little W H Smith she spent thirty minutes in.

She looked back at the sea of faces. She didn’t even dress like them anymore. Her English was always without a local accent, now it was even less Indian. She wasn’t ready to go home.

Her phone buzzed somewhere in the recesses of her purple carry-on. Her best friend, the girl who saved her from loneliness in cold, windy Scotland. When Scotland still seemed cold to her.

She felt bad about her discomfort but knew she could tell her Dutch friend. If they were together she’d have been explaining the similarities in Terminal Four to an Indian airport, accompanied by many loud cackles.

The knot in her chest returned. A long text message told her that she’d left her boots, why, and that a roll of old toilet paper had been sneezed and sniffed into after her departure, that the big bumbling American room-mate had actually made himself useful and cleaned the windows so they could move out and not have to worry about not getting the deposit back. She read that she was missed, and that her boots would be worn to death.

Somehow the prospect of an old boyfriend didn’t make her happy anymore. Nor the tropical sunshine she’d missed for a year, and the home-made food. She knew she’d miss the cheese and milk, sausages, ale, and the tall, charming boys from different parts of the world. Why hadn’t she let her hair down, allowed one of the slurring Scots to take her home? Why was she holding out for someone she barely knew? Where would she walk, the way she did in Edinburgh, up and down the sloping roads that made her legs hurt when she first moved? What would she do wh-

Was someone announcing her flight?

She looked at her watch. Her heart beat a little harder. She’d been waiting months, imagining the day she finally went home. She hadn’t imagined this. She was still excited – to see her family, the people who’d missed her the most, to see that stupid ex-boyfriend, her dog, to be able to walk about with just one layer of clothing and no scarf.

She silently made her way to the gate. It was already crowded. She found a seat beside an old man, in front of a couple with two kids. A young man standing by the windows stared at her while she rummaged through her bag for her iPod. She set it on shuffle and watched the kids, even smiling when they made eye contact. She didn’t like children.

An old song came on. She heaved a massive sigh and looked at the setting London sun, humming softly. She wondered if getting up and moving to the window was a good idea, she didn’t like tearing up in public. Images of her two friends singing the song sitting in the car went through her head. Blonde hair and auburn hair being whipped back by the wind from open windows, riding the highway to a small city in Ireland, while she sat in the backseat laughing at their awful pitch.

By the time she got on to the flight, the sun had set. She wouldn’t get to see the landscape of the country she’d lived in for two years. Maybe it was a good thing she didn’t get a window seat this time, the flight was fully booked. She sat in the isle seat, waited for take-off, put her headphones on and looked for a movie to watch.

She tried to stop looking out of the window. She did eventually.

next

Life’s like poetry

Sweeping in an instant,
Grey clouds flashing past seconds,
An image bringing familiarity
Like your mother’s hands,
And hatred like the girl who
Made you cry at school.
A lone slice of apple when the
Others have been eaten,
An empty beach when you
Miss your love.
An overlooked semicolon
Left hanging by itself,
Smudged mascara tears
Becoming ink on paper.

Life’s like fiction

A beginning that has hope
A middle that is lost, too much action
An end that the characters decide
You have no control
Except over punctuation.
Rules are made,
Logic is defied,
Words are written, erased,
Re-written, betrayed,
It will never be a perfect draft.

Life’s like sleep

Wide awake when you
Want to sleep
Lights outside when you’re
Alone, wishing for warmth
Keeping you awake
Flickering like a new life
Waking you up when you
Finally find a warm dream to
Hold on to tight.