Stronger

Keep throwing rocks at me… you’re only making me stronger. And to those still concerned, this post… is just a post. Nothing’s happened to me.

Those rocks you throw at me aren’t going to shake me. I’ve had bigger rocks thrown at me, I’ve had my bones broken, I’ve had tears flowing down my cheeks, so those little imposters you put up aren’t going to break me. You can never break me so don’t bother trying. It’ll only hurt you. The last thing I’d want to see is to see you hurt so I think it’s time you stopped. Stop playing your pranks, stop throwing things at me, stop making my dunk everytime I see you. If it’s my life you want, I’ll give it but you can never take my spirits away because you’re not strong enough to do that. You can laugh about me being feeble but you don’t understand that I’m much stronger than you in the inside. I’m strong enough to hold on whereas you can only try to bring me down. My definition of strength is not being able to bring someone else down, but being able to hold on when all you’ve got are bruises and scars from the past you’ve been put through. I’m following my definition of strength, and all I can say is that you’re weak. Why do you want to pick on someone else when you can stop and look at how beautiful things can be. I don’t understand, yet I do. If you’re that desperate, then take it. Take what you want. But there’s a difference. I’m giving it away, so I win anyway. I’ll never let you steal who I am because who I am is something you’re yet to find out. Those rocks you throw at me aren’t going to shake me… because you’ve thrown bigger rocks at me and I’ve survived. You’ve thrown craters, you’ve thrown the entire world on me and I’ve survived. I lived through it with bruises and scars that remind me of you, but the only thing you did to me is provide me with strength that I could have by no other means acquired. You keep doing what you’re doing, and you’re only making me stronger. And right now, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been before.

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Dear YOU

Dearest Stalker or Stumbler,
Be you here through Twitter or Tumblr,
Would you mind stopping for a while and reading this?
I swear it’s not about someone else I miss.

Thank you for stopping by, that’s what I want to say,
But if you wish to leave, you sure may…
Whether you know me or not, let it be unsaid
For you’re yet to read what you haven’t read:

For every smile you’ve given me when I’ve been knocked down,
For reading my ramblings about every sad day and every frown,
For the comments, for the ratings and for the ‘likes’,
For sticking with me through my ups, my downs and the viewer hikes…
I only want to write to you my sincere Thank You,
Whether you be someone I don’t know or be you someone I know who.

Thank You

I must be sounding really pathetic but Thanks anyway

Thank you for making me smile for an instant – for a moment I was able to escape the humdrum of the busy schedule we’ve all been forced into. Thank you for allowing me to write something that actually made sense in my diary… that is, besides the little grumblings that come and go every morning in school. Thank you for stopping by my class when you could have just walked away ignoring a lonely girl looking out of the window. Thank you for showing appreciation at my compliment. I don’t know if you meant it… you must have heard it a lot – after all, you deserve to be complimented more than anyone else for what you did that night. Thank you for lending me your book to write a web address – my pencil was needing some warming up anyway. Thank you for saying “Thank you” when I had to be the one thanking you. Thank you for ignoring my insanity and looking at me like any other normal person. Thank you for distracting me from the troubles I had to face for the rest of the day. Thank you for reading this and still not changing your opinion about me. Thank you.

“Togetherness”

A few days back, our Physics teacher said, “I don’t see that friendship and togetherness in you” … I felt insulted, but at the same time I knew his words made perfect sense. I think we should stop being who we are and look at all the beautiful things we could be… I think it’s time we find that “Togetherness” together.

Maybe it’s true. Maybe he was right. We haven’t opened our eyes to reality yet. Would all that he said would happen  really happen? Maybe it really is time we open our eyes and take a look at what we are. How many beautiful things we can be, why do we even choose this? We are the perfect combination, like pieces of a puzzle… but with one missing piece, we are all incomplete. It’s the togetherness that we lack. The moment we find it, it would all make sense… but time is running short – would we have enough time to find the togetherness we are looking for? Or would we have to leave all our dreams and calls unanswered? Would we look back one day and realise that we missed out on a lot of things. Things would make a lot more sense if we hurry up and find it. It’s all around us, I hear…  but it’s only together that we can find togetherness. Let’s find it. Together.

Who Are You?

I don’t even know what this means. I’m just missing someone quite terribly. And just in case anyone’s wondering, no, nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all is wrong. Missing a person is not a bad thing!

If you think me loser, or winner I still wouldn’t change my opinion about you. Not if my life depended on it, because I’ve seen you and I know you. Nothing you say is gonna change the way I think about you – you will still be the girl two years older than me, stealing my rubber slipper because they had cooler pictures than yours. You will always be the one who loved playing hide-and-seek because you were so much better at it than I ever would be, and because you were less afraid of the secret passages in your house than I was. You might look at me now and pretend to see right through me, but to me, that doesn’t add up to who you are… what you told you were when you were ten is what I remember. What’s the difference between eighteen and ten? You’re still two years older than me, still taller than me, still dressed up in your favorite colours. Somewhere there, somewhere deep inside… I know I see the person I’m speaking to right now – the one who likes the pink ribbons and elegant dresses, the one who loved her brother selfishly. Why do these tears hurt me so much? Why do you look at me like I don’t even exist anymore? Why are my “hello’s” unnoticed and why on Earth am I invisible to you? Why does it hurt every single time I think about you? Why do I cry every time I think about how we rolled down the bed and laughed our heads off? Do you even see me, or are you pretending? Either way, it’s clear that the only thing you want to see is to see me hurt. Why? What did I ever do for you to treat me this way? I haven’t been accepting a goodbye for all this time but maybe it’s time I really face reality and understand that you really don’t care about me. Maybe when you turn away, you don’t want me to watch you leave. Maybe the person I’m speaking to is not living anymore – she must have left you, she must be dead and that’s probably why you don’t realize anything I’m thinking of. When I reach out, would you return? Would you turn away again? Who’s living there? Is it you, or is it the girl I used to know? I’m confused and to provide me with an answer, I require your assistance.

We were seven years old when we spoke last.

I met my best friend from nine years ago today. He was the first friend I ever had who I could confess my secrets to and share my joys and pains. We stood there staring at each other, lost for words.

We stood facing each other, after nine long years. I don’t know what was running through your mind but I sure can guess.
Our last day competing for the same class prize: Little me, little you… seven years old, playing ‘farmers’. I was the farmer and you were a chicken (I honestly don’t remember how we came up with that!). You were making chicken sounds and I was shooing you away. We were always the quiet ones but that day we annoyed our teacher. We slowly moved out of the class into the ground outside where no one would hear us. We played a lot that day – a whole lot. Games like that don’t live anymore.
The same year, it has to be, when we had just returned from a visit to an orphanage close by and the scary thoughts made it difficult for us to think straight. We must have been mad to think we could pluck mangos from the school tree. We tried, but before we succeeded we saw one of our teachers approaching and we pretended like we were looking close at the trees. Back then we thought he believed us but now it strikes me that he was just allowing a few seven year olds have some fun.
You must have also been thinking about our games of ‘I didn’t hit you’… my friend and I made that up and at first it was a girls only thing, but in the end I managed to persuade my friend enough to get you into the game. I would hit you and say “I didn’t hit you” and run, you’d chase after me, hit me and say “I didn’t hit you”… this was what we did every morning. Now, every morning I wake up and wonder if by any chance I would run into one of my friends from nine years ago.
What about our little adventures? Remember the ‘haunted house’? When trouble came it wasn’t very haunted, was it? Planning every bit of the event, we were so certain that the house next to our school seated on the hill, was inhabited by ghosts that we didn’t even think of what would happen if any person there found out we were throwing rocks at their windows. Remember our friend who bought buns to feed the hungry adventure-minded kids and took an extra half himself because “[he] bought it”? What we did find out that day was that the house had real people – and we learnt never to mess with that house again if we weren’t to run straight into the staff room in fright. If we were asked to do that one more time, I wonder if we would even consider it.
What about the birthday cakes year after year? Your birthday was less than a month away from mine and we always brought cake. That doesn’t happen anymore. The whole class would chant “Happy Birthday” and we would blow the candles and feed cake to all our classmates.  Then the two of us would stand shoulder-to-shoulder and see if any one of us had grown during the year. We thought we never grew, but what we overlooked was the fact that we were both growing tall equally.
We had a friend who was a genius of an artist. Our new art teacher refused to believe that it was him who drew a tiger that looked so much like a photograph. Our classmates pressurized the two of us that anyone would believe anything if the two of us said something. So we gave it a go, and she did believe us. Do people still believe anything you say, I wonder.
Every morning we used to run up the small hill above our school but somehow we dreaded the “P.E” periods because we would be asked to run around our school thrice. Once during a game of dribbling a basket ball, I remember jumping over the “other team’s” ball and you cheered me for that massive lead for our team. Then on another day we were chasing each other and I fell. There was a huge gash on my elbow and it’s still visible. Everytime I look at it I remember what I used to be like with my friends around, and I often wonder if you guys are still the same too. It was the very same day, right after my fall that we had a period of “Computing studies” and our teacher was absent. To escort us to the computer lab was a sir who we knew to be teaching a subject that seemed Greek to us. It turns out his subject was not Greek, but French. And right now, he’s in the same school as mine, and I’ve learnt French from him for four years.
There was once when we were learning about clothes, we had to draw pictures of clothes and write what they are next to them. You forgot to do that, along with the rest of the class. When the teacher appreciated my work, unlike most of the others you said I was a good student. I might not have thanked you back then as a six year old, so here goes: Thank you!
After nine years, we were now facing each other again and my mind was forcing all these thoughts into me. Back then we promised through untold words never to depart, never to let those games end, and never to let each other lose any battle. A lot of things put us apart but through all those flashbacks what I do know now is that… those stories will never end, those battles will never be lost, and we would never see either one of us depart, because distances may put us apart but our old selves live in our hearts. One thing I need an explanation for, though, is how you grew so tall. I thought we would both be the same height forever. And that forever meant the longest forever – now you stand towering me, but somewhere deep within… we are still the same seven year olds playing ‘farmers’.