Books

I can start this piece by saying that i find it weird when people say that they do not read but i cannot.

I do not want to.

I see both sides hence i understand. Not that i want to sound like a shrink or a saint trying to appease my audience. Or perhaps,i am.

Anyway,

It is strange when people proclaim that they hate reading or perhaps-mildly-that they do not read.

 It is absurd because books were what brought me peace and the finest way of my escapism when life takes its toll.

It sounds cliched but any voracious reader will tell you that the myriad emotions that one experiences while reading are palpable.

A story has the power to mould a person's mood.

This is all i can say of books:)

I'd do things differently..(Graphic content)

I'd do things differently had i known that he was dying.

I would have elongated the period of his suffering. 

I would have made sure that he felt every single cell in his body break.

I would have tortured him rather than just cutting him.

I would not have just sliced out his nipples and placed them in his mouth,i would have pulled them put by pliers.

Watch the horror descend his eyes,which might slightly conform to the endless abyss of horror that was my PTSD.

A disorder thar crippled me. For years. Does now,still.

The nightmares,the insomnia,the absolute cynicism,my childhood,social anxiety and the stress. 

I would have stapled his balls rather than straight out cutting them off and watched the blood trickle than ebb and flow.

I would not have stuck something with a barbed wire around it inside him but also given it a twirl.

Oh,so many things.

Had i known.

I would have not just struck him in a hospital in order to get the stains and smell off my den.

I would have savoured everything that i did to him than the other way round.

Ah,the irony. The joy.

I would have made him relive the absurdity and absolute terror that my life became for him.

Memories

She told me this one day and ultimately convinced me regarding her perspective-we were discussing memories,as we were rummaging through photographs. This is sans my dialogue.

"A sense of smell triggering a memory is something that is not felt in the same degrees by one and all.

It is amazing how a certain sense of smell is associated with every person I know and cherish.

It is a sense of security.

It is an all knowing sense that they are there.

A puke ridden blanket is best thrown away for the smell never really fades and then comes the visual,not pleasant,huh?

Now.that we have moved from two extremes and I have given you hayride of emotions -let's explore the darker side of smell that has been seared into our heads due a bad experience,a dark experience.

I-for one-start getting anxious as soon as i smell a certain kind of tobacco. It is a smell that i associate with a person who violated me. And then again.

Auditory sense,more often than not triggers a memory hence the delectable smell of certain foods makes us nostalgic for the home that was and never would be again or of certain people.

Smell and memory.

It is all encompassing and it is more than just a reek or whiff at times.

For the some of us."

I was left ruminating for a while.

Home.

I have always maintained that i would want to go away from that house,that city.

I maintain that stand,that house is full of bad to worse memories but it is an emotional setback and a scar for my parents,siblings and me.

It is not materialistic.

It is emotional,the fact that it would bring them down a notch,perhaps.

But,perhaps not for the house-new house-is notch better according to papa.

I do believe that a home is not brick and stones but the people.

My home would always be where ma is.

So,that.

But then there is a vast difference in between being dragged into an arena to face death or to walk into it with your face held high.

In a way,we are doing both-we are moving for the better but there is no ultimate solution-hence,we are moving out with our heads held high but we are being forced to do it.

It would have been just the latter if we chose to leave on our accord,today-we are left with no choice.

Being bereft of choice always hurts.

Pain is immense.

100 words-Nearly.

As he came across the shanties on his way to the rehabilitation centre- he averted his eyes.

Danny observed as people came out clean about their lives.

Their stories were not in stark contrast with what his parents said-but they were not parasites of the society.

They had been workers, had paid taxes in their good days-then the recession had hit.

The system had failed them-it lured them and then tore them apart.

They lost their job and everything due to the crunch in the economy that led to a domino effect-everything was lost.

He left his home and trust fund.

The tear stained faces in that discussion moved him to find the largest socialist party,within a year.

The Contradiction in Expectations.

How does one move away from expecting?

Does everyone feel angry and irritated and unable to focus on anything else because things do not pan out the way you wanted them to?

Is it just me?

Anger brings resentment. Undeserved.

Does it all just arise from the fact that I might be what you can call a control freak?

So,is it better just to not expect and always assume the worst or at least the bad of the bad parts-so as to be pleasantly surprised.

But then i read something so painfully beautiful,the other day,do not let anyone suffer from the poverty of expectation.

There lies a contradiction,one that i do not understand as of yet.

I am hoping that there would be a middle ground.

To be or not to be.

Something that will restore balance.