khushigh

some thoughts just keep on clinging onto you, no matter where you are, who you’re with, or what time of the day it might be. disclosing the thought right now, um, well that’d be giving it to you right away. but then i end up giving in easily most of the time, so here we go.

“does home really exist?”

i’ve never really felt at home in a very long time now, and it makes me wonder if i ever did. and i don’t want to come to an impulsive conclusion, and say no, because i want to believe that the eight year old me did have a home. she did feel safe, loved, warm, and appreciated, and she did call it home.

keeping all the philosophical theories about how home is not a place, but a person ( or people ), i’d like to say that home can be a place too. some places just feel safer than others, they feel more accepting, more consoling than others. but no place has felt like home in a while.

now let’s come to people, i don’t have people who feel like home, and confessing this, it is full of guilt, because there are people who believe they love me, and i want to believe them, and i do, but what if i do not feel at home with them? what if i try, but i cannot?

but then am i doing it right? am i pursuing a wrong direction? because what if home is not what is outside of me, not what is encompassing me, but it being inside of me instead, it being myself.

and that feels like a relief, as well as a responsibility. relief because there’s no need to hunt anymore, and responsibility because the hunt is over. but then it means there was never a hunt, it was just an excuse, to give away the responsibility. it feels like i’ve failed myself, because how come have i made myself feel homeless? how did i end up feeling homeless in the first place, when i was at home all along?

it’s like being both the criminal, and the victim of your very own case. even the jury, it’s me, and that’s the hardest part.

but now that i’ve found home, should i stop searching? i don’t want to blankly confess that i never looked for it, and even if i did, i’d be lying if i told you that i don’t want to be home, because it’s the only thing i’d ever wanted. to be at home, to feel at home. that’s what i’ve always dreamt of.

and now, with each breath i take, i ask myself, “is it worth it?”, everything, is it worth breathing for, because i do have a home, but i still am homeless, or maybe that’s what the breathing is for, to ignite homeliness within me, to make me feel home again, to be my home, my only home.

you know how some things are good from a distance.

the sea at night, it looks so appealing, it invites me closer, with each minute i look at it, but i stay away, enough to protect my body from being consumed by it. the fire, it screams my name, it calls for me, it ignites for me, and it yearns for me to be a part of it, but all i do, is look at it, burning for me. the edge of a cliff, oh the wind there, it wants me to sway away with it, i can hear it whispering my name, and eventually, it echoes all around, but i stand there,numb, right at the edge, not getting an inch closer to its core.

what i’ve been feeling lately is, love doesn’t hold much difference for me. it wants to incapsulate me, bind me in the depth of it, drench me in the essence of it.

but when did this happen, because the last time i heard about love, it was supposed to be freeing, liberating; when did it become enslaving.

how do i keep my distance, or how do i break through? it’s like trying to solve a maze, which has no entry, and no exit. you know why, cause it’s you trying to escape yourself, and how can that ever work. you are an embodiment of love, now try to take it on from here.

“ i love you”, at one point, single handedly had the power to make me gasp for air, make me high on passion, make my heart grow fonder;

the words remain the same now, but they’re just words now, and that’s what the controversy is.

i hope not to hear them, they haunt me inside out. i want to hold your hands, caress them for you, but they feel like handcuffs now. i want to hug you, and make you feel safe, but your arms feel like they could crush me any moment. your body is a temple, and i feel i’ll be banished if i try becoming a worshipper.

it’s like i’ve become a pleasure providing body, without a charging port, and what the biggest problem is, i don’t have a charging port; and the only way im aware of, to charge, it’s not working. and i’m supposed to keep the battery full at all times, cause you never know when the user might need it, and im supposed to provide, right, that’s what an object it supposed to do, that’s the reason it is called an object, to serve its purpose, to work for the user, even when a breathing body fails to. an object is supposed to take it all; appreciation, apprehension, admiration, abandonment, all of it. like come on, that’s what it is for, duh.

but do you know when does the problem start, when you succumb to your object, you rely on it, to prove to you its worth, every time you desire, or else why did you even regard it, trust it, depend on it to make life easier for you. an object, it’s not supposed to have a life of its own. it’s supposed to devote, to its owner, to its chief, to its ruler.

i’m looking for ways to charge the battery, there are no ports to be found, no ports found to be working, all there is, is some saved up battery from the past, the one used in case of emergencies, guess i do have an emergency, it being me, it me being an object.

and you know what makes me cackle, it is the fact, that i always have the choice to walk on the beach in the dark, look at the fire growl at me, and even let my hair sway standing on the cliff; but i can never flee from love, there’s no distance, because for distance you need space, but love is something inside me, around me, right here; deceiving me, beckoning me; and i’m here, standing, cause i don’t trust google maps.

but have we ever read, or written, or heard, or talked about the considerations one might have while doing so? out of the thousand thoughts that might stop an artist from letting their passion flow, one of them is this argument in them, - will any person, who ever happens to stumbles upon my piece of work ever perceive it the way i do?

whenever a person gives birth to any form of art, their face has a certain expression, their soul has a certain emotion, their heart beats a certain way, their mind beams with different ideas, their art becomes a concoction of every little piece of what they are at that moment. and will it ever occur, that someone, someday, out there, feel the same, and become a coalesce of it.

this for a matter of fact, is a futile desire, cause every person in existence will have a different blend of emotions whenever they witness something, and even though some of them might aling with the creator, it might result in a complete different embodiment of its own.

you see how the same coffee bean can be used to define different types of this beverage you’ll happen to taste, just depending upon its concentration, and the amount of milk and water, and sugar being used. can you relate with me here?

today morning, an old friend texted me one of their poems, and asked me if it made me feel anything, to which i agreed. i also happened to tell them what i grasped from it, to which they told me, it was different from the actual idea they had, and we talked about how beautiful it is, every person who consumes art, has their own unique way, which makes it so beautiful, and precious, and pure.

another thought which made my heart feel heavy, and saturated - isn’t it the same with love?

it’s a single word, it’s a single emotion, yet has endless number of ways, and boundless depths to it. and this makes me both ecstatic, as well as melancholic.

ecstatic because i had my own way of loving you, my ways of showing how blood rushed through my veins whenever i thought of you, my ways of confessing my passion for you, my ways of affirming my devotion, my ways of surrendering, my ways of helplessness, my ways of being fond, my ways of holding on, my ways of loving you, my ways of still clasping onto it, so tight that i’ll succumb if i ever slacken the grip.

melancholic because i wonder if you ever felt the same way? was your existence swayed the same way as mine? was your faith amended the same way as mine?

of course you had your own ways, but did you ever sheerly absorb mine?

i’m scared here because maybe i never did yours, it’s not like i didn’t want to, but i had my own ways of devouring, just like you had yours.

and even though i stick to my latte most days, i still adore your recipe of cappuccino the same, and would savour it anytime, any day, irrespective of the caffeine kick it’d end up giving me. and no matter what hour it is, i’d make you a very warm, and soothing latte, just as divine as you are.

when i actually try to make sense of it, it’s more of a question than a thought, but then questions occupy the stream of thoughts too, right?

so here’s the “thoughtful” question, am i letting things consume me? or am i consuming a lot of things?

well, the answer to this might never see light of the day for me. it’s like the longest journey to nowhere.

i breathe, i let in the air, just to end up feeling suffocated.

there’s this hollowness, can’t conclude where is it really. is it what i’m looking at, or is it what i can’t see?

i feel numb, but so brimmed with emotions at the same time.

a part of me feels like i’ve become quiet, so quiet; while the other part is shouting, and screaming, and crying.

i say, i want to be left alone, but please don’t leave me alone.

i feel under control, while im on the brink of losing it at any given second now.

i’m exhausted, i want to lay in bed all day, but i want to escape all this, i want to run away, as fast as these days passing by.

a part of me wants you, all of you, so badly; while the other part is in constant denial.

a part of me wants you to touch me, every inch of my skin, pull me close and whisper the sins you want to commit with me; while the other part can’t even look into your eyes for more than a mere second.

a part of me still wants to fly away to new york with you, and go to that ferris wheel ride we talked about, and i want to shout out to the world how much i love you, and kiss you when we reach the peak of it; while the other part has already made a list of all the things i want to do on my solo visit.

i’ve been listening to the song which used to make me think of you all day, not because i wanted to be with you back then, but because it used to be on repeat all day, and i liked how it made me feel. now when i listen to it, i realise that i just love the song, and i do think of you even now, but it’s like a ghost at the corner of a dark room.

i want to see you, everyday, just look at you; but i also don’t ever want you to look at me again.

and no, i don’t get thoughts of you, but oh god, you always are on my mind, in some way or the other, it’s like you have a permanent residence without even paying the rent.

i want to disappoint myself all over again, but i’m not in the dark anymore.

for once, i want to believe it was right, but oh, wouldn’t it be the biggest lie i’ll ever tell myself (?)

and i want to dance with you once again, but let’s just accept the fact that we never really knew how to dance with each other.

and i really want you to forget me, every bit of me, every bit of us; while the other part wants to share a warm smile if we ever see each other again.

as of now, a part of me really wants to shut my eyes, and doze off; while the other part has your contact number ready to be dialled up.

it’s just an act where two people hold each other, with their arms wrapped around one another.

now you could literally be holding onto your phone, with your palms wrapped around it, and feeling more entertained, but there’s something more to this silly word, well not just word, but an act.

hugs are so strange, and beautiful. it’s like two bodies grabbing each other, just to fit in like the lost pieces of the most delicate puzzle. it’s two souls fusing with one another, becoming one, to bring the comfort of a warm spring break.

and when you hug someone, you devote yourself to them, all of you, and they do the same. it is a way of declaring how you are both - in charge, where you want to give them all that you’ve got, as well as how you’ve completely surrendered yourself, into their arms.

it’s like these two walking creations of god, create an universe of their own, where heart beats sync, where breaths sync, and you create life at the same moments.

the blood pumping within the heavenly creators, it just evinces how the divine essence of creation just flows through.

and trust me, this universe has the potential to turn lives around.

so do me favour, and please adore yourself for turning lives around, for letting someone come home to you, to your arms, for letting someone relish into that warmth, for letting someone merge their very own unique piece with yours to solve the puzzle, and for always being the most ethereal piece of them all.

so here’s me, with my piece, right here, for anyone who wants to solve a beautiful puzzle right now, or any time, and i really do hope, if not turn, then maybe it makes your universe boogie a little.

i think about how such a hopeless romantic moon is, been in love with earth for billions of years now, still won’t come to her, still won’t hold her in its(his) arms. just shows its(his) presence every night, except one, to embrace her beauty, to make her glow, to make her bathe in the white gleam it(he) has to offer.

i wonder if they ever crave to collide into each other, becoming one. but maybe they know, they’ll only consume each other, rather than amplifying, and maybe they love each other enough, that even after being aware of the fact how moon is drifting apart with each passing year, they even make the distance seem absurd, and let their love mature with every revolution.

and maybe they’ve their own way around confessions. the moon goes away for a night, just to show up the other day with a smile (crescent), and the earth waits, calmly, for her lover, just ready for it(him) to lay its(his) gaze on her.

then there are times, when i feel hollow, as if nothing else really matters, apart from me, and the moon. we stare at each other as if we’ve never endured it before, immensely lost in those moments. it’s not love, how can i ever love so obscurely, how can i ever love without embraces, how can i ever love without words, knowing well enough my words can’t ever reach it(him), even if i shout my heart out, how can i ever love in such a way, where only my eyes are enough, how can i ever love when i don’t even know if it’s love?

but maybe it is love, for the moon, after all i’m a part of earth, such a minuscule, but significant part, and so is every other being.

and what i can perceive from this is, by looking at the moon every night, and wondering if it’s love, and wondering if the moon is in love too, which it(he) is, we fall in love with it(him) a little bit more, with each rendezvous, and we also fall in love with each one of us, who looks at the moon, with nothing but amusement in their eyes.

~ ks//

a friend of mine sent me this, and i’m here sharing what randomly came to my mind after i saw this. this is an unedited photo.

//maybe the sky isn’t as red as that wine kept on your shelf, the one you’ve been planning on drinking tonight, while watching that movie you decided last week, with your love, but it still has red in it. maybe the sky isn’t as red as your blood, the blood which keeps you alive, the blood which tastes so sweet. maybe this isn’t as red as your cheeks, all flushed, like the last time you danced with her and smiled coyly. maybe the sky isn’t as red as the rose you gave her last time you saw her. maybe the sky isn’t as red as her lips, everyone else’s look pale when you’ve your gaze on her.

but this sky is red, yes it is.

as red as itself. and sometimes, you just got to be as red as yourself. cause you’re beautiful in being the red you are. you are beautiful in whatever shade of red you choose to be.//

winter will come anyway, so why to hold your feet back from dancing in the spring. there’ll be absence of sunflowers, yes, but the presence of the warmth within will keep you beaming. //

i really like rugged stuff. you know it kind of tells you how something which isn’t theoretically perfect can actually make you feel so good. i’m not talking about just the looking cool part, but the feeling of it being a way of expressing how i am as a person. yes, i’m rugged, and, maybe everyone is. and it’s just not one part, it’s me as a whole. and yes i do know that a rugged person is someone who’s tough and determined, and strong, and yes i am all of those, but i’m also torn in my own ways. there are parts of me clinging onto each other by mere threads. parts you can easily look through, my bare self exposed. parts which might not look so good, parts which might attract you. i might not like exposing my skin through those jeans sometimes, just cause it looks dry at the moment, or pale, or maybe just doesn’t feel good, and other times, i love how i can feel the chill on my skin through the little gaps. likewise, sometimes i don’t want anyone to look through my shredded parts, to see what is beneath, even though i know they can clearly make it out, and the other times i want them to delve into each and every minor speck of me. one time, i accidentally pulled the gap on my denim jacket so much, that it created a hollow. i’ve done that to myself too, instead of trying to keep the threads together, i’ve pulled them apart just to end up with spaces, hollows within me. they’re not empty, they’ve made room for things even i’m unaware of. but that doesn’t mean i’ll never know. i still wear that jacket proudly, and adore it the same. they just get better with every chance i get to wear them. and with each passing day, i fall in love with how beautifully rugged i am, and how beautiful my each rugged possession is.