I hate fake people. You know what I’m talking about. Mannequins. ~ Jarod Kintz
Vasu Raina – Chalo
RIP.
Rest in Peace.
Really!?
I’ve seen enough of these three words thrown away just like that without weighing on them at all.
What a disgrace.
In all sincerity, if we’re taking about real grief; If only, we are talking about sense of real loss, real sympathy, real emotions, or feelings, or even real last words for the deceased — what .. what a terrible waste of words these seem for real.
With due honesty, I say what an awful expression to mourn the departed!
Never do that!
It’s like wishing stale ‘Happy Birthday‘ or rotten ‘Happy anything’ to your fake friends, colleague, relatives, whatever — and sure enough, pretty entirely out of pure formality you see.
Because, One — you fucking sure are not ‘Happy’ by any metric … any — when you typed them and sent them away. And Two — you have fucking no clue what does wishing anyone ‘Happy Birthday’ truly mean if all you do is fucking text.
Please don’t give ‘Rest in Peace’ ever. You can always do better than that.
For, we sure don’t know what Resting in Peace is — after death.
What is the world’s most expensive bed? The hospital bed.
You, if you have money, you can hire someone to drive your car, but you cannot hire someone to take your illness that is killing you.
Material things lost can be found. But one thing you can never find when you lose: life.
Whatever stage of life where we are right now, at the end we will have to face the day when the curtain falls.
Please treasure your family love, love for your spouse, love for your friends…
Steve Jobs
Bharat Chauhan – Ghar
Last Thursday, I felt all the weight of the world on my shoulder. Again, I watched flames eat up flesh minutes by minutes.
Last Thursday, I couldn’t write.
Last Thursday, on September 24, 2020, 2:35PM; My grandmother passed away right in front of my eyes as I tried fixing her bed positioning.
I was with her as she was recovering gracefully; Once again, playful, smiling, upbeat and eating; Once again, trying her best to be herself.
But then —
We saw her heartbeat go up to 240-253 from 90-100, as the monitor beeped red and worried.
We saw her tearful, swollen, painful eyeballs; saw every parts of the body swollen with water.
I’d feed her every meal (breakfast, lunch, brunch, dinner, … water), every day, until the day she couldn’t eat or drink anymore.
Laughed with her, cried helpless tears without anybody noticing, slept-a-little but in chilling, unfamiliar fear; googled every shit possible, in hopes that I can bring her back to her normal self.
Honest to god (if there’s one), It’s inexplicably painful to be remembering her finest and the final days with me, with us.
Because, I’ve seen her failing heartbeats over a monitor from 135 to 115 to 65 to 51 to 0.
Because, I held her cold, swollen, white hands and watched her oxygen saturation(SpO2) drop from 96 to 81 to 75 to 0.
Because, I saw her blood pressure get radically low despite continuous Dobutamine IV administration.
Because, I saw her lungs RPM go nil from 24 and 18 and 8.
I know how fortunately vulnerable we human are — than we’d ever know.
I vividly remember, one fine day, we walked her to the hospital on an ambulance. I will never forget her swollen, tired, trying feet.
A week after, I was trying to open her mouth by pressing her tongue downward just so that she can breathe.
Reebhusha sobbing her heart out would rub her hands as we were losing her quickly.
In tears, we had tried everything we could’ve. She did too.
We failed!
Failed!
However, there’s a second part to this story.
P.S. Ours was not merely a grandparent-grandson relationship.
I dare no one disagrees less — we most certainly are living in one of the best, the most blessed times, from a vantage point of any human who’ve lived before us.
Just from my own personal experience, must I fold just plenty of years backward, I had never in my life imagined a loadshedding-free country.
Plus, this life I’m fortunate to be living at the moment was also far-freaking-cry.
That today, we bill ‘the internet’ like we pay for our most essential utilities such as electricity and water.
That, transport, food, groceries, even love — are just inches away from our eyes and at our fingertips.
Questions!?
W.h.e.r.e the fuck did we fuck up?
How come we’ve allowed our creativity slash genius muscles atrophy slash malnourished and stupidity and narcissism proliferate at their cost?
How are we more restless, more stoned, more asking, more expectant, more inadequate, more whining, more addictive, more out-of-control, more alone, more depressed, more lost … more suicidal?
How come we’re mostly missing our bed to sleep, mostly spilling our goddamn’ time on far-from-real games and facebook and instagram and youtube and tiktoks.
For fuck sake, how come we’re always tired most-of-the-days on this once-in-a-lifetime Life?
“You must be very very careful who you share your best and the bitter news with.” ~ Jordan Peterson
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yN_5jNxM0CU
old songs but it’s lofi remix
Please raise a glass for our brand new contributor to the blog. This is her story.
Today is a rant day. So bare with me.
Chapter One: Heartbreak...
For the past couple of weeks, my dearest ‘anxiety‘ had sustained longer than it had ever lasted before.
Catalyst?
Well, this story throws back to three weeks from today. I and my boyfriend were engaged in a thought-provoking conversation over an issue that was eating me up for several days and nights. Later, followed by many other bits and pieces of chats here and there, wherein I was again left figuratively alone — even more anxious, even more torn and confused and hurt.
Aftermath: I would wonder if my curiosity over the matter-in-questions were legit? I’d ask myself if he’d feel any more burdened in any ways with my heart-heaving and brain-freezing dilemmas? I’d also wonder what has changed in our chemistry (why does he not listen for fuck sake)? Honestly, I would even doubt if he’d ever care to understand the depth and the breadth of my private, silent battle or that If i feel confidently comfortable to share my plights with him anymore?
In toto, I saw my grip over our awe-cherished relationship slipping,.. suffocating with every dusk!
In consequence, I’d try to console myself with a fucked up cliché announcing “Let go and let god!“
As a consequence, I’d pretend everything’s all right and that the chips will ultimately fall in their place someday!
In a nutshell, I had forced myself to living a beautiful, sophisticated lie; which without my knowledge was piling up mountains and mountains of more doubts, and more worry and fear and withdrawals, and fundamentally anxiety at it supreme best.
Chapter Two: The silver lining...
Today, out of pure coincidence, we both sat face-to-face over a video call. And talked as we walked through all those bugging, crying, numbing, hurting, killing and confusing shit loads of shits.
Today, we did not text.
Today we sat and poured-out, poured-in.
Today, we figured together that the elephant in the room for all my angst and his’s too, for all my agitations and his’s too, for all my fears and his’s too WAS largely because of our choice of choosing to text whenever we’d chew over complicated matters.
Today, we learned; Talk to Text!
p.s. He’s right, Relationships, be it with yourself, your parents, siblings, boyfriend, girl friend, best of the best friends … are not easy shits!
Lucky, I have a brother who’s also my soul friend.
He is the reason why I never really cared about wasting energy in forced companionship.
For I was born with one forever friend and that’s him, a worthy heritage to forever flaunt, to forever flare.
Touch wood.
He is the reason why I’d never really care if somebody or anybody disses me, be yesterday, today or tomorrow.
He gave me an utter freedom to happily enjoy my lonesomeness. He is why I can be alone at will and still thrive because his cocoon was ever present whenever I needed one.
He never asked for my attention because he knew in his heart that he has my whole heart.
He was always there through most of my terrible thick and thins — gladly he lived my plights, my stories.
Glad, he still does.
Our humble relationship as twin brothers, or be it as the funniest two bones — will certainly end one day, not today.
I hope not ever.
p.s.We shared the same warmish womb together, didn’t we? And that’s the cutest thing I’ll forever cherish having done that with you.
a hard learned humility of knowing that there’s no way I’ll ever be perfect,
that i’ll ever know everything in life,… about life.
However, the persistent curious itch to inquire and pursue most important questions like ‘What fuels my today for better tomorrow? Or, How might I live a more simple, deliberate, meaningful, joyful and fulfilled life?’
… and in the process cleanse my biases and ignorance, slowly, all the more gently in bits and bites.
In truth, so much has happened in these last few years,
As I write this seated on my chair, underneath a warm-lamp on the table which puku generously gifted; Adele’s ‘Make you feel my love’ loops over and over, gracing the entire room in every piano strokes and with every words sung.
I like it here!
Now, this thing I’m going to deduce for you is gravely unpopular. Perhaps disturbing too, especially if your sweet brain is serotonin stoned — by virtue of all these meaningless, well-orchestrated Valentine’s day holy gawd rituals.
So, I don’t recommend reading any further if you absolutely dislike my idea of ridiculing how our love has been commercially manipulated and sold to us.
HappyValentine’s day my gigantic lovebirds!
. . .
Mum explains,”Valentine’s Day are for amateurs. Because, the real ones,… a true, deep and meaningful love requires all 365 days of everyday trust, support, understanding, care, and appreciation, and gratification and above all else the awe-wonderment despite few un-intended frictions; despite few wrong turns, despite every worst things that can happen; despite death.” On hindsight it looks more like a practically impossible vowto make as well as to keep at par but behold, it’s true. Isn’t it?
Which is why, I wouldn’t trade one particular day for the rest of the other days in my mortal calendar to make the love of my life feel really, really, really special. No!
F#%$, No!
Despite. Regardless, I’d like to practice open-mindedness.
Compulsively! Deliberately. Lovingly.
And, so, I really don’t despise this so-called love slash romanceday-of-the-year for all good intents and purposes.
It’s time, we cut all the bs thrown around ‘love’ narrative.
Which unknowingly, I’ve been a source myself of many such pompous jargons, in many, different occasions around my journey with pen and papers.
. . .
It’s time, we love from the profundity of gentleness, and stop buying into these expensive forms of love-business abstractions;
It’s time we save our ‘love’ from being sold
over superfluous gifts and ephemeral pleasure gigs,
over hard-to-keep promises and esoteric vocabs,
over inorganic tales, talks and triumph stories
like Valentine’s itself.
Because,
at last, love is merely a language, a calling, an expression and the literature of souls.
And, to love truly and fiercely is to have a courage to sink in, pour out, befall and fall free,
without any brush of influence, expectations and artificial pressure
butmerely, merely a WILL to give and share
every fabric of your being,
your whole Life Projectin every smallest detail possible.
Tonight, give time. Save roses!
Share experiences. Be present here and now.
Celebrate togetherness. Rejoice mortality.
Don’t inflate love. Let love exist.
Suspire.
. . .
On an ending note: The great Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard although never married, anguished for years over the existential personal puzzle of love and marriage. To which, he transformed the question into a revolutionary book, Either-Or, published anonymously as Enten-Eller in 1943.
In the book he writes, “Marry, and you will regret it; don’t marry, you will also regret it; marry or don’t marry, you will regret it either way. Laugh at the world’s foolishness, you will regret it; weep over it, you will regret that too; laugh at the world’s foolishness or weep over it, you will regret both. Believe a woman, you will regret it; believe her not, you will also regret it… Hang yourself, you will regret it; do not hang yourself, and you will regret that too; hang yourself or don’t hang yourself, you’ll regret it either way; whether you hang yourself or do not hang yourself, you will regret both. This, gentlemen, is the essence of all philosophy.”
, published anonymously as Enten-Eller in 1943.