When do you get the time to blog so much? he asked. I usually write as I drink my green tea and get ready for bed. It’s when I feel the most relaxed and comfortable to come face-to-face with my thoughts and myself. People are judging you by your blogs. He said. People judge me regardless I replied. Everyday. They judge me on my looks, the clothes I choose to wear and what I say. I’m not concerned. I don’t care. I am comfortable with who I am. You need to reinvent yourself he said. I am not Madonna I replied. This is a stage, I am an actor but I’m playing myself. I’m a multifaceted creatures living in a dualism. Trying to make sense of my physical and non physical elements that make up my being. A being that feels alienated and lonely and trapped in her body by her body and facticity. Coming to terms that I am finite and am heading towards an inevitable death and ageing is a process that I cannot stop, I cannot pause, I can only cover up with makeup and creams and slow it down with fruits enriched with antioxidents (like blueberries!). I observe. I think too much, I feel to much, I want so much! I analyze everything and I am overwhelmed by my freedom so much so that I crawl into queitism. I let time to take me places that I don’t want to be. I am in and out of my body every minute. A subject and object, my biggest cheerleader and my worst critic. I transcend and fall back to immanence. I fly and only have myself to fall back on. I am responsible for myself and you. I’ve had my heart broken. I have been used. I have felt personal success. I’ve felt incredible highs and the harshest of lows. I know failure. I feel disappointment. I feel big. I feel small. I know happiness. I am aware that it is fleeting. I feel like I am wandering. I’m a walking contradiction. There are many elements to me (like there is to every one of us) but when I’m faced with my computer screen and my mind reflects on my body’s engagement to the world today, my fingers begin to type my thoughts and it becomes my blog post that you read. The themes are reoccurring. I miss India, I am heartbroken and I feel that I am beyond repair. Unrequited love seems to be my favorite. I am broken incapable of being fixed. I fantasize Karan Johar reading my blogs and turning them into a movie. I want to be adored. I need attention. I want attention. I also want to be left alone! But this is not all of me. This is the me that I am exploring on a stage that is wordpress. The me that I want to work on through writing. These are boring re-occurring themes that I apologize for continuing to explore when I could dive into other aspects of my life but perhaps I don’t want to share them with you. Does that mean that when you write about me it is boring? Absolutely not I replied. You make me want to write I thought, you’re inspiring but I didn’t tell him. (He is, he does what he wants). People don’t see what you see when you look in the mirror he said. OK, no more, you’re making me feel bad I replied. It was 6 am in the morning. We are more than what we appear to be. When I look at myself in the mirror I see a stranger. I sometimes think shes pretty and most of the time don’t want to look at her because I hate her. I want to look like HER. When I step out of my room the world seems to want to look at me and smile. To them I meet the physical criteria of beauty. They look, they wonder, they ask, they imagine, they touch, they lick, they’re aroused, they leave. For me Aesthetics is only a subject in which I got a B+ But I like the way you express he went on to say. You don’t have to like my blog, I replied.
He is a dear friend.