Sisters

Narayani was having a difficult time walking up those stairs. It was the 17th floor that she had to reach. Hated those days when the lift was "Out of order", which was quite often. She had reached the 15th floor and trying to motivate herself by saying, "Oh C'mon, just 32 more to go!"

She reached the flat and looked around to confirm no one was looking and keyed her way in. Manav sir would never like anyone knowing who frequents the place. He wouldn't want to keep a key either. Kanika ma'm notices everything, from what she had heard. Kanika ma'm would have seen the keys and would ask Manav sir of them. He wouldn't want that. Which is why, every Thursday, for the last 5 years, Narayani would come to the flat at 5:00 pm, after office that is, and Manav Sir come by at around 5:10. He wouldn't ring the bell, as he did not want to attract attention. Narayani had to listen to his footsteps and open the door, right in time. Earlier, she used to spray some room freshner, tidy up the room or something, but that meant he might have to wait outside and Manav Sir never liked it. So she would wait until he comes and then clean up the place a bit and then, errrrrmm, well.

Manav Sir had asked her to move in to the house a lot of times, earlier. She would have too, had it not been for her sister, Nirmayee, who lived with her.

The sisters were orphaned about 6 years ago. Narayani had just graduated and her little one was in the 9th standard. Narayani got a job at her uncle's office as an accounts assistant, but she was terrible at it. She had to cling on to the job anyway, as that was the only way to support their livelihood. There was this office across the road which once flashed an A4 size printout at the entrance saying, "Secretary required, female"
Narayani went in and was interviewed by the most impressive man she'd met, Manav Sir. At the interview, she was asked, "what all can you do?" and she thought he was asking about shorthand / typing and the likes. Narayani was selected anyway and she got a better salary to support her sister's college education. As times went by, Narayani felt that Manav Sir would make advances on her and she'd like it. Once, after an office dinner when Manav Sir was dropping her home, he confessed that he liked her a lot. She was ecstatic. She said that she liked him too. The next morning, Kanika ma'm came to office and Narayani understood that she was a little too snooty and dominating for Manav Sir, which is why their marriage can never bring bliss to him. One thing led to another, gradually time went by, and Manav Sir got a "guest-house" for the company's guests. Every Thursday since, Narayani would come to this house and they would have a pleasant time.

Earlier, it used to be highly physical. Sharma Aunty, the neighbor, once saw her come back from office late a thursday night and told her, "It is so much that you do for your sister. Your parents would have been proud of you." Narayani nodded with a tired smile. She was partially sorry about how her parents would have not been proud of her, but the "tiredness" of her smile stemmed from the throes of passion subjected towards her about half an hour ago. The passion reduced, gradually, she became more of his caretaker. She would come, massage his hair, make him tea with saccharin, sometimes, they would just wait by, listen to some of his favorite songs or watch a cricket match. She would see how Manav Sir's otherwise grim face would light up on these days. She loved to make him smile. There wasn't much pleasure to her other than that. Manav Sir, in return, would take care of her financial needs. As Nirmayee was progressing at her college, she'd need a lot more money that Narayani could budget or squeeze in for her from her monthly salary. All she needed to do was ask. Manav Sir never denied any favor.

Manav Sir was late today. Narayani sat on the couch waiting for him. She started thinking of him and the times they have faced. Manav Sir, earlier had this weird habit of hiding his shoes beneath the bed, as though someone would come and steal it while he's caressing her hair. She had to buy a small shoe cabinet for the living room just to do away with those shoes. And then there was this other time, when they'd gone to a coffee shop and his wife's cousin bumped into them. Manav Sir had to make up this story of how a colleague has quit his job and they were there to get him a surprise farewell present. There was once a wedding in his family. Manav Sir's cousin was getting married. He used to be extremely busy; did not meet Narayani for about 4 weeks. To compensate that, he got her a saaree. Narayani almost felt like his wife then. That day, by far, was the most important she had felt in a while. However, things hadn't been the same. Manav Sir had a lot of work these days and was also setting up a new branch in Delhi. He was getting annoyed way too easily of late and was spending lesser time with her. There had been a few weeks that Manav Sir would text her in the morning saying, "Cant make it tday, Sry". Narayani did not like it, but she would not want to be bothering him. She knew that absolutely nothing would change his feelings for her. She knew it was just the work. But, of late, a little fear had gripped her. Nirmayee needed to submit her project and the last date of fee submission was Monday next. She had to speak to Manav Sir. Hence, this Wednesday, she texted him saying, "Tomorrow, please, it's important." Manav Sir did not reply but she'd checked his appointment calendar. Green check at 5:00 on Thursday was a good sign.

The clock struck 5:30 and she heard footsteps. She peeped out the door-lens only to find out it was the neighboring flat. She was getting worried. Nirmayee was  an outstanding student at her college. She was also a part of the College's Drama Society. She'd gotten a job in a reputed MNC through the placement cell and was sure of getting good grades at graduation. However, non-submission of the project would mean that her results would be withheld and she'd not be able to join the office on the given reporting date. Narayani was getting nervous by the passage of every minute. At 5:45, though, her fear was put to rest. She heard familiar footsteps and it was him this time.

She opened the door, let him in and shut it really quick, lest anyone see them. She then hugged him really tight and was about to cry. He saw it, he held her close and tapped her back. In his usual caring voice, he comforted her and sat her down. She really felt he understood her. He'd gotten some chocolates and cold coffee. Before she could even ask, Manav Sir apologized for not giving her enough time these days. He also told her that he'd transferred some money to her this morning. Narayani tried to hide her relief at hearing those words, but was pretty sure that Manav Sir would have noticed.

They sat and small-talked about things, weather; indulged in a bit of office gossip. A pretty good time, one would say. Just as they rose to leave, Manav Sir remembered something. He said, "I almost forgot, we've hired a new architect. She's from another city, so I offered her to stay in this house for a while, I hope you don't mind. You'll meet her in office next week. She's a a very nice person. I really like her sense of humor and dressing. She reminds me of you, though. I mean, what you were a few years ago. I think you'll like her. She's a lot like you. You  know, you could be sisters."

And he left. For good, one would guess.

And such is love!

I love you.

There, I said it.

I love you a lot. A lot more than I can imagine. Lot more than I can tolerate, I should tolerate rather.

I saw you walk past. I saw you go away. I saw that never even turned back to see.I noticed every bit. I comforted myself saying not all people are the same; I like to see him go, he doesn't want to check if I am still there.

I even saw you fall in love. I saw you turn into a totally different person. Things that were insane and stupid with me, suddenly became cute. Things which you would find lame when I did them, you did all of those and more. I saw in you for her what I always wanted for me. I wasn't even jealous, most times. I was only glad that it happened to you.

I saw when your love fell apart. I saw when you were desperately clinging for hope onto what was a lost cause. Ironically, you chided at me for doing the same. I'm glad you finally understood what love was about. Not so glad, though, as you chose which lost cause to fight and that wasn't me.

Sigh! I still love you a lot. A lot more than I can imagine. Lot more than I can believe.

There I sat, trying to understand what went wrong with us. I tried to make all wrongs go away. Figured it was never meant to be anyways. I tried not talking to you for long. Did not work. Tried to talk to you about it. Did not work. I tried to talk to you about everything but it. Did not work. Nothing ever did. Nothing changed the way I feel about you. Like I once said, nothing ever shall change my love for you. I was only romancing you then. Ah! Little did I know.

There I sat, once I told you to cling to the girl. You listened. Next time you fought, I told you to end it with her. You did not listen. Never was I ever sure of what did I want. Never was I ever sure of what did you want. Never could I surmise why would you ask my opinion. I was difficult. Each time, was it not? For me, it was, to listen to you tell me how you loved her so. How you would by all means leave no stone unturned, which wasn't even worth the effort or a try once, earlier.

There I sat, when you wronged her. You were on the verge of doing the same to her, that you did to me. I saw, told you to not do so. I wasn't sure if you'd listen. But you did. I still am not sure if I should feel good or not.

Alas! I still love you a lot. A lot more than I can imagine. Lot more than I ever thought I could or would.

Do you even realize? You make a hell lot of difference to me. You mean a lot. If only half the feelings were reciprocated, I'd be happier than I have ever been. But it was not to be. Ironically, I guess you feel that way about your girl. I wish, for your sake, that she could see you through my eyes. But hey! That is not to be. I don't think anyone has loved anyone as insanely as this. Ever. I guess no one should.

I know it hurts. I know it is not worth it. I know it's pointless. And I know it is. And it shall always be.

Ironically though, I'd once wished for you to fall in love. Guess I should have been more specific about who with. Guess I should have known better. Guess I should have believed in my own wishes.

And yet, I love you. A lot more than I can imagine. Lot more than anyone would. Lot more than I can.



Read a lot of stuff of late. It's sort of a combination of stuff. Probably makes sense. Probably doesn't. There are quite a few unpublished pieces here. I'll clean them up and start publishing more frequently. I swear.

Anyways,
See ya around.

About a boy

From the eyes of a silent, invisible spectator, brushing through the pages in the Book of Time:

There he is!

Oh! Look at the bundle of joy. Look at the blessedness he brings to the family. Did the father want a girl-child, I know not. Did the elder child frown at him, I know not. What I look at is the glow in the parental eyes. What I look at is the world of good he does, henceforth. What I wish is that the world be at his feet, if he so desires. What I see is the tiny fingers and toes, the glow that he brings with himself, the way he looks at the world and the way the world looks at him, as the years pass by.

There he is! That’s him!

How adorable has he become. Don’t you just love the way time has left his innocence unscathed? Wretched are the souls that bully him. “You are too fat”, they said. “You’re funny”, they said. Oh! Leave him alone, will you? He’s just a boy. He’s just in school. What difference does it make? His first tryst with the world, and what did it do to him? They bullied him much. They made him pity. He did not want it. He did not deserve it. What am I to do now?
I see him make the face, each time. I see him fight back, each time. I know he can, I know he will. But why? He’s not to change himself for those wretches, is he? Ah! What do you know? He was hurt. He behaved otherwise. He gave away the fat, and a bit of his soul – the part which could interact, forgive. Neat barter, eh?
Before I know it, he was struck. Before he knew it, it left him with a mark.

There he is! I think.

There is a faint change though. He’s an adolescent, mind you. He interprets the world in his own eyes. Just like cattle that strays and grazes throughout, but finds its way home every evening to seek peace, so does he. Something’s wrong, I sense it.He lacks trust, whatever was left of it.Things have left him scarred. I sense betrayal. I sense disguise.I can see that his folks feel he’s astray. He doesn’t. Nor do I.

I can see people judge him. He can see it too.
It did not happen in a day. It’s been over a course of time. I don’t even know what happened. He’s seen death, maybe. He’s seen the ugly faces of people, has he? The murk that the world brings along. He’s seen it all. He’s judged it all. All figured in his head. He knows. He’s gotten sharper by the day. He seems to have seen evil in all that he has come across. He knows. How I wish he did not, but he does. It has been for good, one may reckon. It may be thought of as a part of growing old, eh. But I have seen the innocence. I have seen the unblemished trust, the faith, that I shall see no more. It feels different to see him now. He’s a better, smarter person, most definitely. He’s grown taller. Do I hear a sigh as the
curious eyes scan living objects. But something’s amiss. For the good. I guess, I hope. Yet, there shall be various times in future when I’d wish I could have protected him from this good.

There he is! That should be him.

But what do I see? He was believed astray. He proves them wrong. He attempted to align himself with the norms of the society. He’s attempting. Success played hard-to-get. He drew imaginary walls around him, all around him, in defense. He disguised himself as the guy who can manage, even when he was about to crack out open. “I’m not here,” he said, “this ain’t happening,” he said. I could hear him. I got worried. But I knew, he’ll do good. He worked his way towards it. And good he did. He managed to be the one who scaled equal, if not better, amongst the rest. From the evil that he had seen, he learnt to compete, he learnt logic, he learnt it all the hard way, but he did. When I look at him now, I feel, he’s seen good and evil: in proportions that he could handle, most times.

But look at him! He’s humble, intelligent and shall be successful too. He’s been rebuked so much that he thinks it’s no problem when others laugh at him anymore. He’s been scared and scarred by people much, he needs no one. The mistakes that he made have made him a planner. He knows what can go wrong, prepares for the worst and handles it with such ease. And that’s not even the best part. He’s been hurt so much, that nothing hurts anymore. He’s so controlled that he can tackle emotions and yet, he can communicate his mind. There are times I get a doubt that he knows what he wants. That be a
gift, mind you!

I can’t not feel proud when I see him thus. Was I a fool to worry? All virtues came to him, dabbed in vices. The boyhood was a steep price to pay. Yet, it was worth it. Partially, I don’t know him anymore.
But, well, it’s all good at the end, so they say.

There he is! Wait, is that him?

Is he even the boy I saw once? I can see the occasional twinkle, the rare spark of joy, beneath the solid crust of flesh and bones. Why, life gave him battles. Little did I know, he’d martyred a little bit of himself at each battle. I figure it’s pointless trying to find in the next pages. I wonder if I’d even be able to recognize him.


My heart beguiles, I know not why. And yet! I love him till I die.

The victim

Yes! Here it is..

Maya.

She was, as usual, sitting at her desk. Just as quietly as ever. The two invalids near her would always notice. She could hear them talk behind her back. One would say, "Do you see her back?" "Of course! I see the marks", the other would reply.
 "Why do you think she let's him do it?"
"Oh! There are plenty of this kind in the country"
"But look at her, would you? She's pretty, beautiful, intelligent. She can earn her own living without him. She is not dependent on him at all."
"But she is"
"For what? Love? *loud wicked laugh* God! She'll kill herself someday"
"You don't get it, do you? She's the kinds who won't move away from him. It's just like how parasites breed on trees and then you can not differentiate which is the benefactor and which is the beneficiary. Women like her don't need independence. They bear everything due to lack of motive. I read an article the other day about them. They are all called "victims". They ideally should stop it. But they won't"
"Damn! You're so right"
And thus, their lives would continue, unaffected.

They never knew she could hear them. It would hurt. But she was used to it anyway. She only wished that they did not know as much. She would not want anyone to think ill of him.

She never knew what grabbed her when she first saw him, at her mother's house, for the entire wedding deciding procedure. He looked at her steady and simple. She knew he could protect her from all harm (ah! little did she know). And he owned her since then.

He had this proprietory look in his eyes. Like he knew she'd be good for him. Like he knew they could go old together. "He's pretty short-tempered," his mother warned, "be sure marrying him would be a tight-rope walk."

And that was that. They were married. Maya wasn't aware of what awaits her. She was happy about it. She was looking forward to spending her life with him. And well, this is what happened:
He came forth, touched her and she shivered. You can't blame her, can you? She was a stranger to a man's touch, hitherto. And was so fragile, almost like glass. Whereas, he was a full-time rugby player. Never had he touched anything with care or caution. He did not expect that reaction. In a bizarre moment of over-flow of endorphin and adrenalin all over his system, he did what he could do best, try to snatch what he believed was his own. Well, he hit her, not willingly - of course. He did not know what to do. You can't blame him can you?

Since then the only physical relationship they shared was the ordeal of him hitting her. Honestly, he never wanted to do so. But he did not know how to react otherwise. Honestly, no one ever knew what was it. He wanted to be able to care for her, love her, want her. Nobody could deny he did. But they just could not talk. Most times, he would be at home waiting for her, eagerly with all the love he ever had. She would arrive, cook and they'd then sleep. However, sometimes she'd arrive late, sometimes she'd wait on her way to talk to neighbors, sometimes she'd cook little too less food, sometimes too much, the food was never prepared the way he liked it and even if it was, she'd not serve it well, sometimes she'd not prepare the bed good enough. There always was something or the other that she'd do wrong that would make him loose it. And he did not know a way to talk to her other than by his hand. He knew, he always knew that he could do better. But his anger always got the best of him. One could always wonder why did she not talk about it though. One could even believe he'd hit her just to hear her speak. She never even spoke about anything to anyone else.

Her days would begin in the same fashion. She'd wake up, moving muscle by muscle in order to not wake him up. She'd wrap cotton around her wrists because he never liked the noise her bangles made, he'd definitely totally detest waking up to the noise.She'd cook for him, cover the food as she never knew when would he eat. She'd then quietly slide into bathroom while he's probably just pretending to sleep, and most times she'd dab the water with a towel on her body to avoid the splashing echo of water on the tiles. Before getting out, she'd look at herself carefully, wrapping the saree around her shoulder in the perfect manner to hide all bruises, applying a second layer of concealer on the scars on her face. Then, she'd hurry out, the comb in her hands to tie her hair on the way to the bus. Boy! She was really scared of spoiling his day.
In the bus, she'd worry for him, hoping he's had the food in time, hoping the water was warm enough for him to bathe, hoping everything in his day was just about right so that he is not burning with rage when she has to see him in the evening.
Her office was a crowded one. All she had to do the entire day was to file insurance papers in order. There were a lot of people, but it was never mandatory to talk. She never made friends, shared meals, took interest in office gossip or attended gatherings. There were men who'd be waiting for occasions where they needed some paper filed by her, just so that they could see her look at them with her pretty eyes. Many would bribe the peons to move their desks every diwali a little closer to her. She never spoke a word, unless absolutely necessary. Some random neighbor who once worked with her would spread her personal life around. She knew they spoke about her. She heard them talk behind her back and mysteriously stop the minute she turned her face. She'd not mind at all. Frankly speaking, it made her feel special. It was her only reason to find time to chuckle to herself. And when the clock would tick 6:00, she'd quietly walk out to the bus stop. This was the most amusing part of her day. She was not to worry about things that have already happened in the day, she was to prepare herself for what lay ahead of her. She had defined her charms, an empty seat in the bus would mean that he would not beat her up today, a smile on the way back home would mean that he would not hit her face, sight of a dead dog generally meant that he probably would not be home or would have slept by the time she reaches.. someone wearing white on the way means he'll definitely like the food today.. It was that easy. One of these signs and she would be amused by herself.
These charms were her work of extreme calculations worked upon trial and error and had about a 70% chance at accuracy. They, honestly, were her best achievement.
Everyday that she reached the bus stop, she'd consider boarding a different bus to an unknown place. She'd wonder how bad the life could be to survive without. Sometimes, she'd take the bus with the longer route to avoid reaching home. But just like how birds who have the liberty to soar wide and far, yet they get back to the same nest at sunset,so would she.
She'd come home and cook again. Most times waiting to be hit so get over the fear. She'd wait for him to come to her and drag her to the bedroom so then he could hit her all he wanted. He would always do that, you know. He'd always drag her to the bedroom, sometimes with a firm grip on her hair, as though it was some work of divine passionate love-making. Sometimes, he'd hit her till she would fall asleep on the floor, she'd wake up the next day, like nothing happened.
Today, it was a tad too different. She had managed to burn the meal last night and he hated the oily smoke. She had been hit with a tablespoon and had straight marks all over her back. She was so tired that she could barely walk. She somehow had managed to work her way to the end of the day, but she could not stand her timid fright anymore. She had decided she'd talk to him and end her misery and if necessary, walk out (even she knew that was not to happen). She had decided that she'd tell him not to hit her. Tell him that she understands that he gets angry and doesn't know what to say, yet hitting wasn't necessary. She wasn't sure of how would he react. She almost enacted that in her head multiple times, each time with stronger words and she imagined it ending with his arms around her waist and she could cry her heart out to him. She did not want what had happened till now and she did not feel it needs to continue. Neither did he. She had seen it in him. She did realize though that in all the time that they have been married, they had hardly spoken. She had heard his voice when he spoke to others, but there hasn't been a conversation between the couple. Strange, one might think.

However, when taking the flight of stairs, fear gripped her again. Fear of the uncertain, the silence, the what-not. She knew that this wasn't normal. She had been afraid every day. But today was a tad too different. Almost unwillingly, she keyed the door, but it was unlocked. She opened the door and she saw a pool of blood with him in the middle of it, on the floor. It was then when she realized that she was too wounded to scream for help. She ran, with whatever strength she had to him and tried to pull him to life. Even with the floor too slippery with the blood, she couldn't move him an inch. She started crying out loudly. But what do you know, the neighbors must have thought that he is hitting her again.

She was there, helpless. He was there, too. He wasn't dead. There had been, most definitely, an accident. She knew not what happened. She knew not what to do. She knew not how to panic. She was, one may say, subjected to pain everyday; and as it is said, one does not get allergic to something to which one is exposed to on a regular basis.

Most loves are like that. It's like an over-crowded lifeboat. You need to throw stuff one-a-time to keep it afloat. So you throw your pride, self-respect and your independence, in that order. It is sinking still. After a while you start with people: friends, family, people you once knew and cared for. Yet, it's never enough. Nothing ever is. The lifeboat is still sinking. And then finally, you drown with it.

The end.

It was long pending. I needed to make a few corrections, I know. But this is the way it is.

Take care.

See ya around.

Reason

Ever had a reason?

A reason that makes you tick. A reason that makes you think, attract all attention, does not let you think of anything else. It may and it will overwhelm you to the extent that it does not let you do anything else. It is what you breathe. Even when you're busy with the trivia in life, you are thinking of the reason.
It could be anything. Work, art, leisure, a game, a thing to acquire, anything at all.
People who don't have a reason, have other things - like a spouse, a child, a home to go back to and most importantly, a life. They do what they must and they look at their lives with a different perspective.
It's funny. It is sometimes about the priorities, they say.
Do I really think so?
If you really had a reason, powerful enough, would your priorities not be your reason?
Why do people dismiss a passion?

But then, on afterthought, I believe it is a break even that all got to strike somewhere - I once had a friend. He had his reason. So preoccupied in the thought, he did not care for anything at all. He loved, loathed, hated and would get angry - just like anyone else. And yet, there was a difference. No love was pure enough, no loathing was worth it, no hatred filled him and fury, left him unharmed.
Once, I would envy him. I wanted to be like him. But now I see him. And I'm glad I'm not him. I don't think I'd ever be able to love a cause as much. I can't be so occupied with something that I build a ten feet wall around me involving the cause. I was miserable. And so was he.
But the difference in the misery is the break even i chose to strike.

i haven't the reason. Nor do i have anything else. Yet, it's calm. Calmer, at least, than it would be if I had anything.
Probably it is the calm of death, or the calm before the storm, or both. But for right now, it's calm.

Do I like it? Don't know
Want to know? Don't think so
Why? No reason

Anyway, see ya around. As usual.

Charms!

I have been working (read thinking of working) on "The victim" forever. It's a story, half-self-inspired, half-cooked-up for gloom. I intend to write it someday.

It is a depressing story of a woman.

However, I don't think I'll be able to complete it whole-heartedly. Let me tell you why:

I was once telling Ateet about "The victim". He was most astonished / moved by the part where Maya, my protagonist, would believe in what are her charms. By charms I mean the good / bad luck charms. for ex.:

> An empty seat in the bus would mean that he would not beat her up today
> A smile on the way back home would mean that he would not hit her face
> The sight of a dead dog, AH! she'll have to cover her scars the next day
> Appreciation at office would mean he'll hit her in the stomach
> Someone wearing white on the way means he'll definitely like the food today

Weird, how none of the above needed to be true in the near future for her to believe them. She would continue clinging to the ray of hope for certainty. For till she reached what she could call home, she knew what was to happen to her that day. That would give her a sense of peace. Like I said, it wasn't true. But that was the best she could have.

Ateet was worried when he heard about this. He opined that it is most disturbing when someone relies on such trivia for source of hope. And even more, when the belief is unstirred after proven wrong. He was true.
Now, look at Maya, shall we? What would she have done without these charms? What would have she for comfort on the long way back home other than fear?

I was bummed that Ateet found it depressing. I wasn't being innovative in the truest form of the term. Yet, I wished otherwise. Partly also because, it was one of the parts of Maya that I chose to develop from self experience.

Anyway, see ya around.

The plan, the escape, the jailbreak..

I had this plan, long ago, that I will leave whatever I have one day and go missing, to the knowledge of nobody. And then the part of my masterplan was to live a totally new life with a new identity. But that, my friend, was long ago. I was a child. I hadn't an idea of a passport or other such living proofs. Sipping martini in Bahamas without a past is not an easy task.

So I had parked it aside, the idea. And then, life happened. Several times.
I realized I could not live this anymore. So I wanted to execute this worldly plan. And I knew I couldn't. "I wonder why the birds come back home when they can soar far and high. And then, I wonder why do I."

I had a home. I knew I'd come home no matter what. A home that I could count on. But, well, not anymore.The question is - what happened?

I hoped. It made me happy, lethally. I could feel alive. However, the inevitable had to happen. I could have given up long long ago, but I did not. I had a feeling, it will stay. I clung to it, to the best of my ability. And I saw it fall. I saw it slip away from my hands like dry sand. The walls of my home refuse to recognize me. I failed them, as I see it. Or vice versa.

There lies the wonderful answer: Hope is a dangerous thing. Once my hopes hit the gutter, I realize I can not stand it anymore. I can't stay amongst the same faces, breathing the same air, living like a volcano waiting to explode for the purpose of mass destruction.

Now I plan an escapado. It being a trial run of the giant masterplan. I shall go. I, for sure, can not change my identity yet. But I am certain, I'd change the way people perceive me. And more than that, I'll change the way I perceive myself. This is not what I want to see of myself as. This girl I see in the mirror, she ain't me. She is searching for happiness more than peace. Little does she know, happiness doesn't stay.

So precisely the point, I am escaping from happiness. Because, I am tired of almost finding happiness and then realizing I screwed it up.

Why am I blogging about it? Because I want to remember this. Probably would read this more frequently than ever, so that I can stay loyal to my voyage for peace.
Why am I running away? Because I suddenly realized that I was running for the wrong motive.
Is it worth it? Maybe not. But what can be worse than losing the track, the motive and to an extent, my soul.
Am I giving up? Well, it's better than fighting a lost battle.
Should I try some remodelling / minor changes? It's a drowning ship, and I have been jettisoned by my source already. (Probably being the most painful object, I was jettisoned even without the necessity of it)
Will I ever be happy? *Withering smile*

Anyway, see you around, till it lasts.