You Are My Lost Story!

As I think of the day we spent together, I try to put them into words.

I am not living in the past, I assure you.

But I am still fascinated by the beauty of those moments.

I still remember that day.

When I was in pink, and you were in blue.

With your dimples and the hair not so tamed, I still managed to find you debonair.

With my haircut disaster and a grin too long, you still managed to find me beautiful.

The conversations we had over the breakfast turned out to be our inside secrets.

All the kisses and hugs just remained as scars on my body.

I am not living in the past, I assure you.

But I still remember that afternoon.

When I crashed by your side, while watching TV.

And I still remember that evening.

When you stood by my side, as I was tying my hair up.

I guess I still remember that night when you dropped me home.

And when you sent me a message, “It was an amazing day.”

I remember all of it. Bits and pieces. Tiny shreds.

But I am not living in the past, I assure you.

The beauty of that day is still fresh in my mind.

The charm of those moments is preserved in my heart.

And your smile haunted me for days and weeks.

Maybe your aroma still engulfs me sometimes.

I admit you will be remembered.

But let me also confess this.

Someday, you will just remain as a lost story.

In the torn pages of an old journal.

Thank You For Stopping By: A Short Story

“There are moments when I wish I could roll back the clock and take all the sadness away, but I have the feeling that if I did, the joy would be gone as well.” 

― Nicholas Sparks, A Walk to Remember

It was really my fault. I have read too many fairy-tales to actually live and accept the realistic world anymore.

I could still picture that night in my head. I could feel it. Like it was happening in front of my very eyes, over and over again, tearing me apart.

He smelled of strong beer and his signature cologne--my favourite scent in the whole wide world.

As he stormed into our house, the gust of wind and heavy rain entered the house along with him. I rushed to sort the scattered papers and things in place. The wind was wild.

I looked up at him to notice that he was drenched. He did not move an inch, while I was having a tough time battling the papers against the wind. His bloodshot eyes showed no absolute hint of affection for me. I stood, looking at him, wondering what went wrong. Maybe, he is a little too drunk, I said to myself.

"We cannot do this anymore," he said, "I will move out this weekend." It was strange how he uttered those words without even looking at me, and without any iota of guilt in his voice. 

I did not see it coming. 

My three years of wedding fell apart. Life gave me a merciless surprise - a sucker punch that gave me miserable nights and dreadful mornings the following years.

It was that time in my life when I joined school again and was surviving on the funds I've saved earlier. I could not afford the rent had he left. I had loans to pay, and school fee had to be taken care of. I understood it was a wise option for me to walk out of our house, and go back to my parents'. But at that point of time, all I could think of was him! 

I could still imagine the number of questions that were playing a dirty game in my head. 

I could manage a feeble why. 

It was a mistake, he said. I cannot say anything else but sorry, he said.

"How could you do this to me?" I asked as I wept profusely.

"I love you, but we cannot do this," saying, he walked into the bedroom closing the door behind him. That night, he closed every door. He ended everything.

I never found a reason. I never got my closure. 

The weekend arrived with an endless promise of the seasonal torrential rains, and blocked roads. But I knew I had to leave. I packed my essentials, coffee maker, course books, and a box of photographs that were taken over several vacations, and of course, my wedding photographs where he and I were gushing over each other like mere teenagers.

What I left there weren't just memories, I left a part of myself there as I walked out of the apartment that day. I walked in along with him, but I left alone with perpetual distress.

Yet, I made him his favourite breakfast, had my last cup of coffee in the kitchen I loved, and left him a note that read:

Thank you for stopping by!

Oh, I'm Doing SO Great!

“That's how it is with relationships, it's a part of life, and all the great love songs and poems and films have been written by people who were standing where I was that morning as Simon shut the door. Doesn't make it any easier though. ” 

― Jane Green, Straight Talking

Alright, so a week ago, I was talking to my friend about break-ups and decided I should write a post on this. We were talking about break-ups and its repercussions, the changes we see in ourselves, and the things we do. Some very surprising ones, and some really mundane ones. I know it is a phase of a life and all of us kind of go through it. I know, I get the drift but some people somehow just amaze me with their stupidity. Like, the ways they choose to help you to move on (or) not. Oops!

People, even some friends try to get this sadistic pleasure out of your break-ups. I mean, definitely, what fun! Googly! I mean, you are practically sitting in a corner of your ever so messy room and crying your guts out, turning your cushions damp and all that, your friend comes to you and says "Stop crying. You deserve better. Be glad that is over. She was a piece of shit." Really? That is the most condescending thing ever, guys. STOP DOING THAT. You don't decide who the person really deserves. Whoever it is. It is for the person to decide. You deserve better is the most overrated statement unless the person you are/were dating is a nincompoop. Still, your friend decides if the person is a nincompoop or awesome. So, let them be.

There are people who constantly text "How are you", "Feeling any good, lately?" and it makes me go WHAAAAAAAAT? I mean how do you want the person to respond? "Oh, I am doing SO great. So great that I have been watching Dexter all over again and the finale made me go so emotional that I cried I would miss the Morgans?" Or should the person respond "Wow! I am going through a break-up. Clearly. The enchanting patterns you see there on the white cushion are actually my mascara marks moistened with my tears and all that and still you are asking me if I am feeling better? Wow."

I have come across people who say that it is high time you move on. Of course, your sulking period has reached the saturation point and the people who aren't even going through what you are going through are the ones who decide how you should plan your sulking period. And when you should end it. Like it is some fasting period. Super! No offense, guys. But it is really annoying. You are doing more harm that help. 

A year ago, my friend was going through a horrible break up, and in order to help her to move on, her cousin told her explicit things about what happens to people when they break up, and the kind of places they end up. Thanks to him, she slipped into depression for many months. Her cousin was obviously mad. Instead of letting her be, he chose stupidity over silence and messed her head up. Sweet!

Okay. Take a deep breath. You, my friend, are not helping your friend to move on. You are plainly screwing their head and feeding them nonsensical matter. You are being judgmental, hypocritical, and perhaps, brutal? Break-ups are shitty. We are all wired in a different way, and rationally, we all react to different things in a different way. Hey, I don't react to things just the way you do. Also, during this phase, we try to find comfort in several things. We try to. Some good, some bad. There is nothing shallow about it and we don't have to be ashamed about it. First rule, there is nothing shallow about finding comfort in something. It might be bad for you. Not for us. At the end of the day, people want to be happy. Let them be happy. And once they are out of the oh-let-me-sit-and-sulk period, they would not do anything lethal.

Sometimes, ice-cream and Grey's Anatomy aren't enough. You need people. To listen to your trauma. People who don't judge you. People who support you. And we learn from our own mistakes. We don't have to be guided. No, thanks. 

Your Favourite Thing Is No Longer A Favourite!

“But the absolute worst was when people asked if I was okay. Because then I had to admit that it was real, it happened, and we weren't together anymore.” 

― Susane Colasanti

A week ago, I received a message from a girl who was grieving over her break-up. She asked me to write a post about her relationship. This post is definitely not about her relationship. This post is about the things which were once our favourite transform into not SO favourite things during/after a break-up. For instance, let us talk about sitcoms. Consider yourself lucky, if your ex doesn't watch sitcoms. (Yippee!) If he does, well, do not share your favourite sitcoms with him. Let me warn you, each time you watch that favourite episode of yours, you do not see Joey in it, no, you don't. In fact, you see your ex. So rule no. 1, never watch your favourite sitcoms with anyone. (Your ex as Joey is such a blasphemy, I tell you. I mean, it is Joey for Christ's sake.)

But let me tell you what's the worst thing-your favourite restaurants. I mean, how many of us have literally stopped going to our favourite restaurants after break-ups because they trigger all the old memories and makes us go...you know...damn, you know it. If you are a foodie and you love your favourite restaurant, don't share it with anyone because you wouldn't want to sit and sulk at the place which was once your favourite corner. Oh dear!

Sometimes, ice-creams helps you a lot to come out of terrible situations. Yes, a second serving helps you a lot more and an entire tub of it just solves all your problems. I know people are always telling us things that we don't want to hear, and we sort of stay in denial during these times. Who are we kidding, anyway? My girl friend (and she happens to be my 3 A.M. friend) tells me ice-cream therapy doesn't work. She tells me that her favourite flavour of ice-cream gives her panic attacks. I wish I could roll my eyes. I wish. But I couldn't for the fact that she would read this post. So she tells me how Oreo Peanut Butter ice cream was her favourite, and how she and her ex shared it almost everyday. (Well! Why don't I get to eat that shit everyday) And she tells me between sobs and hiccups that she is not able to forget him or eat her favourite flavour of ice-cream that she used to eat everyday. 

The woes just don't end here. My friend tells me that he regrets sharing his playlist with ex because it reminds him of her. I mean, seriously, every time, you fish out that iPod of yours, and listen to your favourite track by Coldplay, what happens? It simply drifts you into not so pleasant memories or like in my case, very pleasant memories because I never dared to share my playlist with anyone else. Isn't a playlist like a personal diary, duh? It is. Every bit. Never share it, okay?

Your favourite restaurants, songs, movies, sitcoms, food, and you get the drift, right? All these things are no longer your favourite. They remind you of things that are no longer yours. I know right. So, when you eventually lose a person anyway, why do you want to gamble with your favourite sitcoms, ice-cream or restaurants? Sometimes, it is nice to be selfish and keep your favourites to yourself instead of sharing them with your partners, because your favourite things should help you to come out of the trauma. Not increase your trauma.