A welcome arrow through the heart

Navigating my way through this sporadic malady would naturally take its toll on me. Your limbs are rendered futile upon every stride, and grace as it is, is impossible to feign. The constant lethargy somehow just exacerbates one's earthly woes and palette of qualms. But then like every other human being if there is a glimmer of hope, you cling onto it,in unadultered desperation. I have my days, although its cringeworthy to admit my palette of qualms are aided by interim remedies presenting itself in the form of retail therapy.  (Net-A-Porter i love you) Ironically my wardrobe failed me, collapsing and leaving me in a sea of garments and fabric i have may or may not worn in years. There i was in a room littered with clothes, partially frustrated i am unable to compartmentalize garments in accordances to my likings to have my mother order another one for me and also to get rid of shit i dont need. I need them all, bcs im a hoarder. Duh clothes have sentimental values. Minus this petty petty fiasco, to compensate for manic episodes, i do ocassionally engage and treat myself to a mental health day(s), in the likes of vitamin sea,vitamin d(the sun duh) and luncheons with my string of gemstones where the tête-à-tête progresses from current affairs, prospective suitors to the obligatory canard. Funny how i miss how therapeutic writing has always been and this old thing is collecting dust rotting somewhere in the corner i had to revive it. On a less brighter note, college is commencing in less than a week and i am shamelessly enthralled to find myself clad in this season's selection of garments for my third year in law school. Incorporating a hint of Amal Alamuddin this time and of course coupled with my signature baddie ensemble, would be fun. Allah bless me.

Your eyes are sunken,

the sockets almost hollow,

your speech came into a halt as you swallow,

breaking into a half simper,

your limbs almost failing on you,

these days they barely function.

This is the middle ground,

they meet and crash and burn,

sparks ceased as fast as they began,

so much to live for so much to learn,

what was once lost is now found,

you me and i you,

but what does does that do?

living in a labyrinth.

Hello cold world.

To : All the women out there.

The pressure to sculpt yourself into a certain modern archetype particularly so you'll be able to finally reconcile your inner demons and to fit into what is deemed to be the ideal quintessential modern 20 something youngin. Society's consensus is generally harsh, and so is your own. Its something that has always been a constant battle for me personally, especially on the cusp of adulthood and post pubescent eras where you've envisioned that once the shell breaks you'd gracefully greet the world as something akin to a nymph, with glossy long tresses and slender limbs that goes on and on , maybe if you're fortunate, throw in a laugh that chimes like heavenly church bells (dramatic, i know). All to no avail, i mean the genetic lottery has its limits too and we dont simply come into view after years of being cooped up in that little corner exhibiting likeness to Velma Dinkly, only to take the world by storm eons later with jawlines that could cut tension in a room with the absence of any effort. Sounds frivolous, quite frankly there had to be some form of aid to assist one in order to waltz into the room as a bombshell headturner. Albeit for me its nothing as excessive as that or even remotely close to becoming a head turner but what came to my aid was self manufactured allure, a decent amount of self esteem and an abundance of self-love. Self love manifests itself slowly after you learn to embrace the shortcomings you possess, the little quirks there is to yourself which  you've grown to become fond of or even take pride in. As hard as it might sound, and maybe the this harsh society you're so fixated on physically making a mark on will become a blur sight in your vista and it'll wane into the background as you come into focus upon your own eyes. Because as cliched as it is you're perfectly imperfect the way you are and if you cant even love yourself. Who can?

“I am a rapist and a sadistic pig,' if you get that tattoo removed I will carve it into your forehead, do you understand?” 

Expectation is the root of all heartache

I walked into it with ease, oblivious to the fact that hopefulness is akin to disappointment. Haven't you heard? Expectations is the root of all heartache. Constantly reminding myself that self manufactured charms and wit isn't gonna make the cut, there's more to it than that. Why? Because one's worthiness is validated upon one's scholastic glory. This parochial mentality still exists and is being cultivated with every generation,despite the anomalies there is in it. Reprising my role as a victim, is deadly. Not once but twice. Sustaining this myopic mindset is just gonna pick on everyone's wounds to be honest, you know it and i know it. At the end of the day, im tempted to languidly nestle under the duvet ,soak in the warmth of it with a battered copy of  Sheldon's web entangled thriller, willingly letting myself roam freely drunken the delirium of a fictional anecdote. I refuse to be dubbed as the pariah within this field and only acknowledged upon physicalities. Feels cheap, tacky almost, like latex. Capitulating into hysterical sobs seems carthatic as of now but i can barely bring myself to even feign vexation even towards trivial matters that used to rile me up into volcanic proportions. Not anymore. There is a certain numbness one experience upon living in a constant cycle of self disappointment. Disappointment that other thrives upon, they breathe upon your downfalls and revived at the sight of your losses. Its funny, because it builds up a certain climax, coupled by mounting anticipation, with a hint of optimism and only then you're catapulted into reality and the actuality of it hits you hard with every pang. All your endeavours are deemed paltry

But i have the upperhand, to choose whether or not i am fit for this life where i'd soak in my earthly woes and count my palette of qualms or strive for a better day. The latter would be ideal isn't it? Easier said than done but its worth an attempt.

Baby, its cold outside.

Whats it like to be placed under a microscopic view where your shortcomings are 10 times more apparent than before and have the world scrutinize your every move with the burning anticipation of your glorious fall from grace? Isn't that what you thrive on,doesn't it quench your thirst for it? But aren't you human too? Aren't you ripped at the seams too? You're no different than me, them, or anyone else.

24/1

"Initially she was so drawn to the anatomical advantages there is, because perfection was out of reach but almost palpable to the touch. There is an urgency, a longing thats quite uncalled for. Dazed and half inebriated with the delirium of an infatuation, she traipsed the avenues. Absentmindedly closing the distance there is, albeit each stride taken would lead her astray much to her cognizance. 'Alice in Wonderland,eat your heart out', she thought. What a half witted thought for a creature who holds such grace and rationality. --, There was nothing remotely ideal about the notion of it. It has been described in such an idealized and unrealistic manner for eons, there are anomalies in what have been said, and cited and chronicled but it dawned on her, how the idealistic aspects of it were almost ethereal in a way its unparalleled to everything else. Everything else just grows faint and wanes as her panoramic view focuses on perfection."