Beyond the rationality of life there lives a little craziness that promises to never let you stop believing; it is a sense of delusion that turns the most idiotic decisions into the most obvious ones. Would you take such decisions knowing that your progress would reset? Knowing that it will be deleted the moment the sun shines upon you? It’s a little ironic but sometimes the greatest actions are the ones that are not realistic, not rational or logical—rather, they simply are.

I just finished watching 50 first dates, which stars Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler in lead roles and I was perplexed—being unsure on how to rate the film, so I’ll leave that part out. It was because a part of me had complaints with it as a film, the screenplay, the direction, composition of some scenes, a few dialogues here and there—even editing. But on an emotional level—the film did its job so I don’t know how I can ever rate such a film while making sure I do justice to it.

With that out of the way, the story follows Henry Roth (Adam Sandler), a man who is quite annoying, afraid of commitment, and knits the most bizarre stories to hide himself behind a mask so no “relationship” of his ever meets him again. I don’t know about 2004 but in today’s day and age—a very realistic and believable guy. He can’t stand being in a long lasting relationship, and the one he does fall in love with—cannot be in one because of a medical condition that wipes her short term memories. He wants his “lovers” to forget him, and then falls for the one who literally will—Every. Single. Day. And that I believe is how you write the most engaging theme for your story.

One thing that caught my attention though were two truths that many people seem to miss. I’ve felt it, I’ve lived it, and I believe even those who go through it don’t realize it—is that avoidance is not always about growing cold, ending things abruptly or disappearing with no trace. Rather, it can come in the form of stories, excuses, and blankets of lies that feel like vulnerability and warmth. The exact things Henry Roth used with his dates to make them never see him again. His disappearance was not neglectful or sudden—it was calculative, drawn out till the end of the line, and honest in its expression. Some of those were crazy and outrageous but all in all, if someone truly fell for you—I’m sure they’ll believe stupider things than that.

The second truth—the realization that sometimes avoidance is just a coping mechanism for a few. Something even most avoidants don’t realize, thinking they are “protecting their peace” or “just don’t like too much closeness” but that is because their brains were hurt to the point that it was easy to send a threat response to closeness than actually being close. The thing that everyone including the avoidants don’t understand is that even they are capable of loving deeply—maybe that exactly is the fear pulling them back. And we really see that in the later half of the story. Henry wasn’t just being a playboy, he was being a man-child. He couldn’t let love hurt him again so he chose to reap the highs without even looking at the lows. Might be reach, but there is this scene where he is with one of his dates after he has already fallen for Lucy (Drew Barrymore) where, he tells the lady that he lied when he said he is a “Cliff Diver” and that he is “Afraid of heights”—this scene comes right after his realization that this time he has really fallen for someone and cannot let it be a one time thing. He was afraid of the heights, not just physically but the metaphorical bars of his relationships—which ones reached—will lead to a fall eventually. Relationships are a waveform at the end of the day.

Lucy on the other hand is someone who doesn’t just accept love, but wants to hold onto it when she finds it. She almost instantaneously takes a liking to Henry during their first meeting, but she is not to be mistaken as a hopeless romantic either. She is someone who understands a sense of depth and connects on a level—albeit sometimes superficial—that is deeper than Henry can really allow himself to be. Her losing memories was one of the more interesting things cause that opened room for scenes that show us she wasn’t as straightforward as her first scene makes her to be. The way her every day is spent in the same exact sequence only gives us a closer look at her. We don’t see her grow as a character, but we see how beautiful her internal mind already is. Her mental strength is something that kept me in awe every single time they showed her being told how she lives this day, everyday. Think about how you’d react if you get to know that? would you really calm down in an hour or two—continuing your day? It would take up so much from one to even process it, let alone believe. I for one know I’ll think of it as a practical joke or something.

The way the love was handled was not realistic to me in a way because even with tapes or diaries you really can’t fall for someone. Stories that are not lived experiences cannot create a sense of love, but maybe the love that we see from her throughout the passing days was true—not in the sense of the feelings, but in the realization of what this man was willing to go through for her. It was not about how the memories or videos made Lucy feel, but in the effort and consistency of Henry that they showed. Or maybe the film is about all about destiny, maybe she does connect with him so easily because somewhere, something in her knew him. She was a local after all. I’d like to connect this to the red string theory and say that they had met not in body, but in through the places around them that sent the messages of their presence to each other.

One of the best parts about the film was the chemistry the leads had, their jokes written in a way that complement each other. They were as different as two people can be when it comes to their ideas on relationship but as people they felt the same. A testament on why opinions can be different in a relationship for connection is not merely something you can calculate using traits, likings, dislikes etc. It’s all about what you can compromise on knowing what you’ll be getting. It was a question of “is it worth it” for Henry every single time, and when it turned into a yes—he was ready to make her fall in love with him every day.

The film is a reminder that love doesn’t last forever—it lasts until we are ready to make it last.

Sanity of an act

Don’t let my actions deceive you—they are only a façade
We’re merely actors on the stage—we’re not who we are
We’re ruined by applaud, we are hungry for love
If the masks ever fall, we’ll be seen—messed up, undone
Every smile is taught, through the sugar coated lies
Every tear that falls, is contained within our eyes
We know what we’ve been fed, but no one can explain
We’re left to cry in silence, until we’ve turned “sane”
A state of suppressed emotions—your worst pains you can’t weep
But poison is poison, doesn’t matter how sweet

What is hope if not a dream

What is hope if not a dream,
Distant from us, away from reach
It grows and shines like a star—
Away in a foreign land
Between truth and fiction
It frivolously hangs—still
With time it grows and shines brighter
Like a sun, it burns with life
And then collapses by it’s own ambition
Leaving nothing but a void

What is life if not a lie,
That is sold to us through them
Those who speak of fortune—
of money, love and fame
Life is to live, but we exist
For that is all, that’s left for us

With time, it grows and grows to death
With time it goes from youth to hell
And thus I ask my lord, why must I live
Why must I love, and why must I be ?

What is love if not a thought ?
An idea of existence, through your heart
Not an emotion to die out with time
But an ever-growing seed—our state of mind
It begins from us and excludes all thought—
of reality, of truth, and all that’s not.
Not a part of you, but part of us
In silence which grows, and grows with trust
Slowly consuming all that can be—
Consumed by our trust

A Dream I saw that night

Through dusk and dawn a masked lie forever lingers in the dark
Through sheets and wind which blows away, the truth with joy departs
Would this faint smell of smithers of love, break the winding heart
As it locks away all that is—beginning of grotesque art

As if the moon mourned in pain for every part of it’s broken self
I hear the fount—broke and bleed—withering through my mind
I held her hand; in eyes despair—but a joyous heart to thrive
It may just be another day, inside a dreadful night

When I saw her smile at my face, my all went down in her
I was neither lost, nor was known, inside myself; must I endure
For the youngest of nights and deepest of sleeps are hard to break

But as the sun rose above, my day trembled into a ruined night—
of darkness below the blooming sun, away—from the treacherous night

If I could forget you

If I could forget you,
Life wouldn't be the same
I won't be writing everyday,
My mind would be at rest
The day when I forget you,
I'll be the happiest (I've ever been)

The fallen leaves that I see—
Will no longer be the dead
But will be the clothes shed by the trees—
To show their truer self
The roses with thorns won't make me bleed
Will be adored, not touched
And the day that I forget you
A thorn I would’ve plucked

We meet everyday,
like two strangers in a park
I smile when I see you,
Can't let him know our ways have part
My mind is too young,
too innocent and naïve
I can't let him know—
To him you've lied

We live in the same city,
Thus I see you everyday
Even if I could forget you,
I'd fall in love again

Just a rose; in the book of love

The world’s a book which you tried to read
And I—the rose in between

The pages—when you turned, left me behind
Forgotten, decayed, untouched in time
Wish I could go back, to speak a word with you
Wish it were that easy; to just rewind

The petals fell, and thorns remained
Now I can’t face the world, with such heart
And even if it were to be
The mundane mind, forsaken in love—
has already left with you

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Is it hope to wait for you, or delusion in disguise?

What makes me walk this sullen road
If not for love, for the love unowned
I sleep in loneliness
I walk with smiles
And I wait for you, to make you mine
The days like that Autumn-
Fall and shed
I wait and wait with seldom hope
As if the day was yesterday
When we went down that broken road

The day I remember was shady
The sun; too afraid to watch
I saw you mix my love with water
As you offered the blood red wine
We danced all afternoon, no thought in mind
Till the light turned dark
The sun had left me, and you alone
To dance below the stars

And now I stand here—
so unaware,
Of what is now to come
With these white walls, covering me
As I hold me like my dress
I dance in thought of who you were—
to me; that you I miss ?
Even if I stumble, I know you’ll hold me
Even if now, you’re not here
You will be here at all times of need
Even if you left me, alone
As past is what was to happen
But it is now when we make the truth
I have no fear of falling now
As your love I know was true

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There was this shift in this feeling of friendship that started to take shape about a year ago. I didn’t mean to lose anyone, but the relationship started to feel more like an obligation, a promise to maintain—it felt nothing like one expects a friendship to be. And I knew deep down that it wasn’t about them being the wrong type of people, it was not about them not caring, in fact I’d say they cared more than I did. Making plans, trying to hang out, texting me every now and then. The issue was with the part of me that had given up on all these “emotions”.

I began seeing the meltdown last year—nothing new honestly. I was leaving my friends on read, had miss calls piling up, pulling back like always; yet it all feeling fine. Sure, the avoidant in me didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, but this time it wasn’t about that. It was this feeling that maybe I’m just acting like a person I was supposed to be. A person who I believed I was.

Imagine this, sitting with your friends, but you don’t want to be there—in a café that everyone chose unanimously, and yet you’re feeling out-of-place. While everyone is having a discussion, you just listen to them. You have not zoned-out, you are not “not interested” but something inside of you feels like you shouldn’t be here. Not because the people around you are wrong, boring, uninteresting, or alien to you; it’s because you started to feel they like you as an image, as that actor they met. They don’t know you.

This feeling recently got triggered again when a friend of mine who has known me for over a year got me a gift. She revealed that she just had no clue what to get me, she didn’t know what I liked. Heck, if you’d ask me my favorite color, I’ll tell you a random one that pops into my head and the justification for doing so would be—each color has its own value, each of them feels different. Or, I would’ve done that. I learned a few months back that I was able to fix my avoidance issues over time, but never the fear of being too much.

Fast forward to a couple months back, I met someone sweet and wonderful. Talking to her made me understand what a friend feels like. A person with whom conversations stopped feeling like a game of chess (figuring out the entire conversation before saying anything), and yes there were awkward moments—but when was I not fluent in silence?

At no moment did I care if the jokes would land, or if I should not be asking that question. There were days I stopped texting, yes, but it felt too secure (for the first time) to not run away. It might sound funny, but I truly realized it all when I was able to confidently spell my favorite color to her. I was being myself for the first time, not giving two thoughts about the word I said. I knew it, I felt it, and I said it. Sounds stupid and simple enough but to me it was liberating; a butterfly out of its cocoon.

Since I started that chapter in my life, some fears just started to fall apart. Seeing it clearly how I ended up being friends with people who were similar not to me, but to the act I had been playing. They were a part of not my life but the story of a character I had known too well. They care, they understand, they listen—but they could never get to the real me.

This is a very messy post, but I just wanted to let it out that sometimes friendships can feel toxic or even suffocating, but they begin from us imprisoning ourselves. And then becoming yourself is never easy, ‘cause it’s not only a person you so confidently believed to be you—you have to leave behind, but sometimes even the people who connected with that idea of you.

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I recently saw this image of the Earth from the moon (By Artemis II), and it got me thinking “When the moon appears full from the Earth, the moon sees Earth in complete darkness. How tragic is such a relationship.” But maybe some relationships are like that—they are not always in sync, but that doesn’t make them unbalanced. One of you can be excited about something while the other is not. Does that make them toxic? Does that make you “too much”? The relationship between Earth and the Moon is similar. They were never required for each other’s independent existence, but it was their relationship which gave them stability. A relationship where they always face each other, and yet their fate never allows one to look at the other completely.

This perspective made me realize how we have a weird obsession with finding the right person and yet we fail each time—not because good people don’t enter our lives, but because we don’t see people as who they are; we see them as we are. In fact, we want them to be as we are. We can be fragmented from inside while the most complete person walks into our life, or we can be the anxious one while an avoidant is sent by the universe (This story calls for it’s own post someday). No matter how it goes we end up falling—either for them or away from them. It’s not because they were right or wrong—rather, it is due to the perception we had about the world; due to us having labels of right and wrong.

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It made me wonder—what if a relationship stands not on shared interests and opinions, and doesn’t ask you to share the same stream of thought. Rather, it uses these differences to grow and become something real. A dynamic where communication creates connection—not demand reasons for it. Such a relationship sounds like it would be the hardest to begin, and even harder to maintain. But the realism of it—not living in fantasy of romance but the beauty of it—in my opinion can allow one to grow in ways no relationship of the past has.

The phases of the Moon and the Earth also tell us the different sides of the same person—they can be vulnerable, pleased, calm, content, excited, frustrated, romantic, or go can silent—all in a matter of days when life turns around (quite literally for the Earth and the Moon). But through it all, life only thrives, growth is only sustained, and love only expands into the mental realms we never quite felt. It’s about understanding that the other person is only a human—capable of going through hard times and mental problems that may never align with yours. You both may go through the good and the bad days differently, and that is the beauty of it—to not only go through it all together, but to share your good with them too.

Maybe incompatibility is not a lack of synchronization in thoughts and emotional states; incompatibility is the misunderstanding, the expectations of always being on the same page. Love is not solely about the agreements; it’s about understanding each other during disagreements too. The Earth wouldn’t have the life it does without the moon, and the moon would’ve been destabilized without the rock we call our home. The light that reflects from one, shines on the other. This keeps neither of them in complete darkness forever—even when they can’t see each other in complete light—maybe that is love.

We might not be the Moon and the Earth—after all, they are something celestial; something we can never reach for. But they can teach us that distinctness does not hinder a relation, and being agreeable cannot make them grow into something more.

Just a reminder,

Have you ever looked at the road ahead of you at a random crossing and thought “I wonder where this goes?” or looked at the handrails on the stairs—silently waiting for you; it doesn’t matter if you are going up or coming down—they stay there to support you.

No matter where you look in life, there are symbols, objects, and patterns, all of which constantly try to tell you something. There is a sense of beauty in the broken glass pieces that lie around only to hurt you if you are not careful. Was the hurt caused by your mistake or are you being punished for someone else’s just because you didn’t keep your distance? The world of lessons and stories expands beyond the books, movies, poems, and songs—entering your reality once you look beyond what is told to you, and think about what has never been said. In that moment, your mind does something magical—it creates meaning out of life. It stops following the reasoning and explanations laid by others, it stops living through ideas that it heard, and starts to find it’s own purpose to be.

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Your favorite cup/mug which you used each day to drink your coffee until it broke and could not provide for you—thus was thrown away. Maybe it really was your beloved, so you chose to use it anyways—by ignoring the cracks—since it could still be used to drink, or by planting a little plant in it—elevating it’s importance from just another item...to a home. How beautiful is it that these objects all tell us stories, speak to us in plain sight, sing to us as they get struck by something or fall. Yet we don’t learn, are we that oblivious, or were these lessons always inside of us and we just realize them through these objects.

There are objects, then there are memories attached to them—but those memories are not individual events floating in your mind; memories are connected to emotions which give you a reason to remember them. If there are stories waiting to be told everywhere around us, why do we search for them in views of others when our own can reveal what theirs can’t.

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My eyes that help me see your face

Are much dearer to me than yours

Since the day I drowned them in your eyes

I’ve started to love me more

Now, that I’m deep within your thoughts

Within your eyes, I love me more

I’m obsessed with lips that sing you songs

And read you, your favourite poems

And since you’ve said “I love your smiles”

I’m obsessed with lips of mine

It is me, I love more than you

Whom you chose as your lover

Who writes you every day and night

Who’ll write for you forever

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To be hurt by you.

I can say “I’ll cross the oceans, or fly beyond the lands”
Or that “I’ll walk barefoot on the scorching sands”
But why make such promises and waste words on lies
When we know we are mere humans; such words I despise

Look into my eyes, and I promise I will stay
I will never let you down again, will never walk the same
The path was of treachery, and I know what I did
And the only thing I can do for you, is to accept what may

I won’t justify my actions, for you have every right to speak
To let words out at your heart’s desire, and to let me feel
The pain, the burden of our relation that you felt
The sorrow, the guilt—everything you’ve dealt

I will stay silent, and will take whatever you want
For I know I’m guilty, won’t plead for innocence in this court
I won’t defend my actions for that is all I can be—
The one who said “I’ll do everything for you”

And indeed I will—even if that means to get hurt by you

At least (I’m still yours)

At least the moon, the stars and the sky can see us together
At least the earth we walk on, is still the same
At least the air that I breath, had at one point—felt your lips
Had been inside your heart—and caressed your face
At least this air will touch you again, will be the reason for your life
After it leaves my body (giving me a part of you)

At least, the rain will touch us, both the same,
And when it does,
It will have your tears,
It will have your essence
It will have those smiles that you showed
When the droplets rained and you looked at them,
When they kissed your wounds,
And washed them away
Will the raindrops take my messages for you ?
Will they gently caress you for me
I ask this question every time, the clouds rain down on me

At least the rain, the stars and the moon
Don't know the envy that I have for them
As they are closer to you, as they are dearer to you
Than I, will ever be

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There is something about that sheet of paper in your hand with their handwriting that is so personal; a feeling that I wish had a word for its own. You have their handwriting in front of you, their words from the heart pressed onto the paper. The words painting a portrait of feelings that can never be replicated because it’s for you—from them.

How beautiful does a letter feel—held between your fingers, touched by your sight, reflecting not just words but emotions that one would never say out loud. It can be anything—love, regret, apology, or perhaps a confession. Whatever it may be—it’s yours to fold and keep, or tear away.

A physical letter is not only an artifact of pure expression—it is a piece of your relationship with the other person; the torn edges, the folded lines, and the fading handwriting become a testament to everything your relationship withstood. And if it didn’t—the ashes or the torn pieces tell that story quite well too.

But it’s not only about the texture, and the stories this single sheet of paper can tell. This little artifact is also one of the reminders about the efforts one is willing to put, only to let you know how they feel.

Instant messaging has ruined two things that letters have—they are ephemeral and intimate.

Knowing the letter won’t last if not taken care of makes it that much more valuable—the fact that it can be lost makes you care for it more, and the keeping around of the letter makes it that much more intimate. Can you imagine meeting after a good while and reading letters you wrote to each other over the last couple years? Just having them around speaks everything one needs to hear about how much they love, and are loved. The intimacy doesn’t end there though—there is also an intimacy of the unsaid. Writing things you couldn’t say to them or never can. Trying to articulate that feeling and putting it in words—even if you fail to—is a reminder of everything love stands for.

I am not talking about the type of longing these online articles and posts express (the irony!) but the type that they try to mimic. The type that makes being in love feel like the best thing that happened to you. Don't know if you noticed, but love was never supposed to be a winning game. It was the one where loss is the most rewarding, where winning feels deserved—not simply earned, because you never win love; you choose it because you deserve it.

So, how is connectivity killing love? The real question is—how could it not. We usually talk about how there is this fantasy of love being served to us, so I'm skipping over that. I'll be talking about how being connected to them, having access to talk to them at any point—is the problem. And about the dating apps that keep you connected with the “choices” they provide.

Real love is—unfortunately—in the longing of it, when yearning gives birth to fantasies, when you desire them, not have them available 24/7 and then finally earning that love you waited for. But that is just one part of it, another is the availability of options when you open your phone and scroll through those dating apps or your DMs. Humans are not a commodity to be accepted or rejected from the shelf through a swipe. The availability of people makes it easier to connect with them, but you never spend enough time to fully know them. Simply put—when there are too many options, your hunt for the "perfect" one begins, something that doesn't exist for humans. Each awkward interaction, each quirk turns into a box being unchecked from the list, and "You deserve the best" turns into the real fantasy—not the poems or the love those novels promise; perfection is a myth after all.

It is also not about ghosting them either to create longing; it’s about the efforts you go through to prove your love for them—and them remembering those efforts like inscription of your love in their heart. The efforts dilute in that availability because you cannot be pushing—cannot be giving your all—when you know “this might not work out” or “I might find someone better” and it goes the same way for them too. Slowly you both take a step back, trying to save the best—for the best; waiting to be sure of it only makes you more unsure.

I am not asking you to settle for less than you deserve, I am simply trying to explain that options don't mean the best decision making—it only confuses you further, and availability removes the one thing that makes you stay awake at night, desiring, yearning—loving. Because love isn't about what has been built; love is about what can be built—and the process from inception to completion.

Love is art. The best pieces cannot be created until you give it your all, and if you wait for the best piece before you put it out—you'll never be who you're meant to be. Love is the sole masterpiece we as humans are capable of painting so let imagination, longing, and efforts make it—or else unsurety will ruin the process and the result.

There used to be a time when we constantly asked our friends for movie or book recommendations, and those recommendations were unique to them. Now everyone speaks of the same books they saw scrolling on their feed, or the same song that has been playing everywhere. This is giving us a sense of belonging while stripping away what really causes it—we are losing identities that we can connect to on a deeper level. When we outsource our personality to trends and feeds we are left with facades; playlists sound the same, book reviews echo the same ideas, movies and shows feel like objectives to complete, and constant communication is taken as a symbol of connection. Beyond all this, do you ever wonder if that song really speaks to you, or you’ve just heard it enough times to like it?

Our feeds have been so specifically curated that we are forgetting it was distinctness that made people connect, that it was the expansion of our thoughts, ideas and tastes which used to become a conversation starter. Somewhere along the way we lost that curiosity. It is really exciting when someone tells you what their favorite song is, and yours turns out to be the same. But have you ever felt what it’s like when you tell someone about your favorite song and they’ve never heard it, then they check out your recommendation, and hit you with a text later that day?

(spoiler: It’s the one of the best feelings ever)

How quickly are we to disregard things or people we don’t understand, but what happens when we don’t understand ourselves? Our personalities are what makes us who we are, and we silence ourselves in order to “blend-in” but humans have always had friends, even before we all had trends to control our decision making at such micro-levels; trends help us connect but they also disconnect us from ourselves.

We live in a world where things get awkward, people get an “ick” or label something as cringe in a matter of seconds, but it wasn’t always like this. Yes, society has always had a habit of determining what level of individuality is acceptable but it has never been to this point where all it takes is one wrong decision to ruin a relationship—even if everything has been done well in the past. The reason for this is simple, if we don’t understand ourselves—how can we understand them? If we are not ready to accept our flaws and be ourselves, we will be expecting the act of perfection from others too. The loss of personalities and self goes to not only isolate us in a constantly connected world, but also ruins whatever moments of intimacy and vulnerability we can find.

Not being yourself ruins more than it fixes: the intimacy of silence gets shut in the act of communication, the expression of self gets diluted in the pixels of your screen, your face is no longer just a reflection in a mirror, but is trapped—behind lights, filters, colors—not in memories, but carefully crafted stories. Relatability turns into acknowledgment of existence—maybe even acquaintanceship, but never into a deeper connection because you never let yourself be known.

In the years I spent acting like what I believed to be myself, I only realized how much of our energy we waste on people only to keep them around, or reminiscing about what we’ve lost. We don’t realize when we do so, but we end up using precious resources that are the very essence of us as humans. We change ourselves into what we’re not, and for what? Creating a circle of friends, or to keep that one relationship alive that will break the moment we turn off the projection.

Are we doing a favor to ourselves being the social animals we are, or are we giving in—to our fears, our isolation, and our emptiness?

The performative mask is often completely out of our control due to the pretense of taking the right decision, but shouldn’t the right decision be honesty—with yourself, and others?

And then with time as we get tired, exhausted even; perhaps get too comfortable—the layers of pretentiousness fall. With time I’ve understood that no one is at fault when we hear things like “You’ve changed” or “I thought you were different”. We feel exposed, and they feel burdened by the reality they were barred from because the relationships were never built on the reality—rather—they were built on a house of perfectly placed cards; beautiful to look at, impossible to stabilize forever.

What we don’t understand is that—be it the person we create out of ourselves to please others, or the memories we spend our time remembering—everything takes a part of us that we can never regain; it’s not just time that we lose, it’s the authenticity of being ourselves. We are all artists in the end—navigating the theatre of our minds. Whether we end up acting or expressing is what we have to choose.

Both, the idea you sell or the idea of the person you take a liking for—are mental constructs you create. When neither what you show and what you see are real, something as pure as love cannot thrive. In the end, the fantasies break, all we are left with are memories, regrets, and all that might have been.

We spend not only identity and time while we are in that relationship, but this price tends to be paid even after everything ends.

When wishing, yearning, and longing turns into our identity—even if behind closed doors, only to ourselves—we lose present to buy hopes.

The reality is oftentimes less than it is remembered; one must not turn their back on the present or the future when they decide to look at all that has been left behind.

You look at something like “predicament” and it just feels it’s something that is confusing or hard, or “Amalgamation” which felt like the word in itself was twisted or contorted. Even without reading their meanings I could tell you those descriptions, but etymology and words are a different post altogether someday.

With time I realized it was not me who was weird—rather—it was just that those around me didn’t understand the beauty of these things. I used to shy away from things, back down fairly quickly; but that was because I couldn’t understand it then that people are different, everyone doesn’t need to like everything. Amidst all this, one movie recommendation changed my life, and I am so thankful I listened.

Prose, poetry, quotations, all are the same thing essentially—words. But words can influence emotions, provide reason, interject ideas; they not only turn thoughts into expression but can draw someone towards their real self—or away from it.

When I saw Dead Poets Society I realized how beautiful life really is, it changed everything from how I perceived literature, philosophy and ideas, to how I look at the little things around me. It is one of those films where the more you try to review it, the more you realize how little you understand artistic expression. Each frame, each character, each dialogue meant something; seldom does one see such a film where every other moment feels like a quote to be remembered. It is stories that are remembered, this was something that need not be forgotten.

This film taught me how every piece of art—be it paintings, music, poetry, theatre, or any other possible form out there—needs respect, needs understanding, and needs to be seen for what it is; only then can one understand what we are. Every book, song, poem, or play ever penned has the potential of being someone’s favorite, no piece is worthless—and certainly not because someone tells you it is.

When Neil said “I was good, I was really good” I believe he wasn’t talking about his performance; to me it was a confession, a desperation, his words not declaring what he was on the stage that night—but on the stage his father crafted for him. He was “good”, by agreeing to his father’s words. Every. Single. Time. Until he decided not to.

And that one scene made me understand how we perform our whole life only to be good for the ones watching, when the crowed never even gathered there for us; it was simply there existing alongside us.

I’ve started to question myself every time I decided not to take an action— “am I stopping because this decision will protect me, or because I believe it will protect me”. That distinction matters. That one question changes everything. If a life is well-lived or not, depends upon how guilty your unmade decisions make you feel on your deathbed

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People call love an emotion, but is it? Love does not simply speaks through you like anger, joy, sorrow, excitement, hatred, or any other emotion does—love speaks to you; it makes you think beyond those as you start to sit with it, asking questions. You suddenly want to know a person more than you’ve ever tried to know yourself, you want to ask if you are the right match or if they are. Your insecurities, your innermost fears, and your most beautiful side, perhaps even the ugliest one—everything comes out when you are in love. It’s the only time when you think about your own feelings with such depth and passion that you start to learn about yourself as you learn about the other person. Love is not an emotion because it lives with—and without—all of them; love can exist amidst fights, along the shared laughter, and still not get wept away by tears

One very interesting thing love does is that it makes you find things that used to appear “annoying” or “irritating”—funny or cute. That one specific coffee flavor you hated, and judged people for? Now it seems like it’s not that bad. It changes your perception on things, and also somehow gives you this superpower to change behavioral patterns that you never thought possible. All of a sudden your desires and actions seem to align much better. Goals you always had, but procrastinated on—you want to do them now. It makes you want to be better everyday, maybe because love gives you a reason to be better (side note: Self-love counts too!). It’s not all sunshine and rainbows though, as it requires you already having the mindset. Love can enhance things, not create them; but that’s a topic for another time.

Love has always been such an interested topic to think about because as stated earlier—it lives beyond the stream of emotions. Love somehow does not need to stay on one tangent and grow from there, it can flourish throughout an array of emotions. Unlike those emotions, love doesn’t come-and-go depending upon the scenario—it does not change on a day-to-day basis; love lingers till efforts are consciously made from both sides. It somehow is a feeling that never leaves, but can never fully stay at all times either. It’s an amalgamation of so many things that we don’t even realize. Love begins with either the desire to pursue someone or the intriguing thought of understanding them—to really know them. This leads the state of really understanding the person, and once you know them that’s when true connection builds. The connection leads to trust and loyalty which—frankly speaking—are the two most important things.

When love skips every stage of interaction, it is—in it’s true sense—simply attraction. I used to believe that maybe it isn’t true because we fall in love with things, nature and places. But I later realized even objects are loved when they have a memory attached to them, or when they remind us of someone. We love places because we fall in love with the stories they provide, or the stories they could’ve. Finally, nature is loved because it made us feel comfortable. Those trees, flowers, and those starts—they showed us that we can be heard without judgement, the sky showed us—through all the colors it changes each day—how things change with time, but those who love us always are around no matter what they themselves go through. Their appearance may change, they might get cold, but they never stop caring.

With all of these things intact, the question still remains—what is love?

It is not just an emotion, it is not just a biological response for procreation, or merely social. If it were any of those, it would’ve never existed for colors, flowers, the sunlight or animals. It even stays after someone leaves us, and it’s hard to figure out why. Why does love persist so adamantly in us all—wanting to be given and received? And every time we fall in love, why this question bothers us—Why do I love you?

I usually write about metaphors, symbolism, emotions, and philosophy but the recent trends in technologies have made me question if technology serves us—or in the pretense of serving—it has held us hostage. Computers were created to do tasks faster, cars were built to reduce time, LEDs saved cost on lighting up the things around us, and the internet was created to connect us, making it easier to send not just files but ideas. In retrospect when we look at it, has it really helped us the way it was promised to the human race? Tasks being done faster didn’t mean we had more time to take breaks, it just meant we had more things to get done in the same amount of time; faster commute was only faster until the transportation was not cheap and accessible to everyone, cheap LEDs meant putting a light on everything that led to the need of even more powerplants—A classic example of Jevons Paradox. And finally, the internet meant to connect us led to more isolation than even a pandemic could bring, because this time the distance was not physical but psychological.

Social media creating influencers and random Facebook “friends”—most of which would forget you if you weren’t online for a while. There was a genuine connection for many of us through online communities but for the majority it ended in echo chambers where the same idea gets repeated again and again until the thought turns into reality. It has been known from a very long time how social media has been affecting us emotionally and psychologically, and yet none of us seem to stop caring about our comments, likes, and views.

This post is not about that for I would need to write an entirely new essay to express my views on social media. This one is about Technology, and its advancements so let’s continue to the next step in this “evolution”—Artificial Intelligence.

If you might have read about the entire AI surge that has been going around, there must have been a realization as to how much it has been publicized as being a great tool. Statements like “Learn AI or be left behind” are being said everywhere by even those who don’t even know how these technologies work. There are so many articles detailing about prompt engineering but if we look at it in the end, prompt engineering is teaching the one thing that we have slowly reduced in our day-to-day lives as technology entered the picture; it’s teaching you how to think in steps, sequences, procedures, and not in vague, half-baked ideas. Think about it—we have reached an age of evolution where we need to learn how to think. This comes to my next issue with technology; we have outsourced our thinking to the machines.

People always talk about how calculators never took away jobs—guess what, they did. The term computer existed way back in the 1600s and used to refer to people who performed calculations by hand, computation was an art for which ancient Romans, Indians and Chinese even had methods that are long forgotten for an average individual. But calculation was one little aspect of the whole creation process, and making it easier only made it possible for us to create things that would’ve been almost impossible to do in one person’s lifetime. Can you imagine solving engineering equations by hand to develop a propeller for a rocket?

The issue is not with the idea of using machines, and the little trivia in the last paragraph was merely to prove that jobs do disappear when a technology makes something easier, but with AI or LLMs as they should really be called—we don’t outsource one aspect—we have started outsourcing every. It is one thing to ask an AI to be your editor, and it is another to first ask it what to write about, then how to write about it before finally asking it to write it until you are liking what it comes up with. LLMs are just predictors that are commendable at their job but what they write are not your thoughts. Using an LLM and believing you are a good writer or developer is no different than being a navigator—sitting in a car and reading the map. Is it an important role? Yes, but it does not mean you know how to drive or make decisions when the road is blocked, clogged, or there is an accident.

I am not against LLMs, never was—I just want everyone to know the price they are paying for “faster workflows”. Speed is being paid for, with your originality. If you do choose to use LLMs, use them to improve your already written documents, your already laid out code architecture. You use it to fix grammar or punctuation, but never ask it to write for you. When you stop thinking, articulating, and struggling with your ideas—you stop being yourself, and become a statistical average.

Technology is a beautiful thing but only till it works with you, not for you.

We often take those who love us, truly and passionately—and place them either on a pedestal, or on a plane so far away we lose contact with their reality. In that moment, we don’t realize what we are to them or what they were to us, making the loss that follows almost unrecognizable.

I recently saw this film “The Perks of being a Wallflower” and it made me realize how it’s not hate that chokes us—but the blanket of love that not only stops our breathing, but shuts our eyes, and our lips; never allowing us to see, or speak. The story follows Charles “Charlie” Kelmeckis through his first year of high school as a seemingly introverted kid trying to navigate the new world he’s entered. On his journey he meets Patrick and his step-sister Sam. Everything about the story is brilliantly depicted, making Charles a very relatable character for many from the get-go.

The way the film treats its viewers is commendable, most of the things on-screen are not told to us, they make sense as the story progresses—not as the words are spoken. Understanding the dynamics between the characters and their behaviors becomes easier when we get to the climax. It’s almost as if the story shows you how “lonely” Charlie is, but then asks you in the end—”Loneliness wasn’t a choice to him, was it?”. The story is not about how a lonely kid finds friends and gets his date. It’s about the pain that is caused when those we believed will love us—hurt us, while naming it as love.

We get to know Charlie was assaulted by his aunt—a woman he talks of with great regard throughout the film—not because she was a wonderful lady, but because of his suppressed trauma about the woman who had gone through abusive relationships and had come out stronger. He looked at her as a hero, as someone who was able to turn her life around. Perhaps he was too young to understand what she did to him, causing his nervous system to respond in trauma, pain, and fear while his brain had no idea why that response was being triggered.

However, I believe there was more to his praises for his Aunt Helen. The pain that he underwent must have caused him to have negative thoughts about her being “gone”. He even mentions to his sister Candace over the phone “I was just thinking... what if I wanted her to die, Candace?” To me, that was a confession right there, maybe he did think of such but the memories just turned hazy with time. He believed his Aunt’s death was his fault, causing him to feel the guilt that made him always speak nice of her. In a way, he was trying to fix his mistakes by talking good of her—most probably without even knowing. The idea may sound crazy, but—at times—the brain works in its own realm where logic and meaning comprises of whatever the mind believes to be the truth.

When I saw Candace’s relationship with her boyfriend Derek, I could see a very similar pattern being repeated. She was no different than Charlie in how her brain processed the actions of someone she loved, leading us back to the quote from the beginning—to the premise of the entire story. She loved Derek to the point of defending his actions when he slapped her, by saying “He’s never hit me before”—when Charlie tried to confront Candace about the incident.

Feelings taking over the understanding of how one must be treated if truly loved—is a theme that recurs throughout the film in more ways than one. There is Patrick who is in love with Brad, the only relationship that seems to be working on the surface throughout the first half of the film, but the burden of one wrong choice falls onto Patrick too when Brad and he are caught by Brad’s father—who beats his son on finding the truth. The result is Brad’s cold behavior towards Patrick which leads to a physical conflict; resulting in a painful end to their relationship.

When I first saw the film I missed it, but later I realized how even Brad—with all the negatives he had—was another person hurt by someone who was supposed to understand him when everything went against him. He was another victim, being physically and emotionally wounded by his parent.

The final act of heartbreak comes when Sam’s boyfriend cheats on her. He was shown as being emotionally unavailable multiple times throughout the film, not making time for a show of theirs together, and even missing the “Stupid High School Dance” as Sam tells Charlie. There ain’t too many incidences in the film—but not being there for Sam at any moment she really needed him showed where the man’s priorities stood.

There are many scenes that first seemed like comic ones, or just stupid. But as the story progresses they start to make a lot more sense to the viewers. It is here that the film nailed its execution, showing how seemingly simple things can be trauma responses. One of the best ones for me was when Charlie is dating Mary Elizabeth—even though he doesn’t love her. In one of the scenes, Charlie’s mom tells him “Charlie, you have to break up with her.” to which he responds “I can do that?”. At first it seemed like a silly scene just to show how deep he is into his boyfriend role—but after you realize what his aunt did to him—it is clear that the boy never felt like he had choices in his life. Whatever happened to him was done by someone without his consent when he was a kid; to his brain it was normal to feel that he cannot choose how others treat him. There is also this moment where Sam asks Charlie why he didn’t ask her out when he had feelings for her; to which he replies “I just didn’t think you wanted that”, and that he just wants Sam to be happy. To this she says “I just can’t feel that”.

Trauma makes it hard for us to accept what we truly deserve at times. Sam had her first kiss with her father’s boss, had a childhood that parallels that of Charlie. When love is stripped out at an age where it should have been learnt, known, and was supposed to care for you; the two had it taken away or used against them.

The strongest points of the story comes by the fact that it doesn’t treat any character as the most important. Everyone from Charlie to Brad have a relationship that wounds them in one-way-or-another. The story is about hope, and healing of not only the protagonist through whom we experience each scene—but of every major character that shares the scene with him. A very subtle but important scene was when Brad thanks Charlie for stopping the fight at the cafeteria, even though it was by Charlie hitting Brad’s friend to save Patrick. Brad was shown as an aggressive and destructive character, him thanking Charlie shows his progress. Not everyone finds the love they deserve in the end, but every character moves into a new stage of themselves mentally as the story concludes.

Things the film taught me through it’s characters—

Memories are photographs of the past, they can be hung in the rooms of your mind, but how many times you look at them is up to you. Ignoring photographs won’t make the memories a lie, but understanding that photographs are just that—realities of the past, can help you smile for the next ones.

And

We deserve the love we never expected.

And after all is said and done:

All I can see is the light beyond, all I can see is escape

The more I try to push forward, the more they prick and bleed

Is this the life I have been given, from where I cant be freed

The sun seems there, and it is indeed

Why, then can't I, by the heavens be free?

I see, the path, and the warmth I feel

With the constant pain, that seeps in me

I won't turn back, they can't make me

Mine are not wounds—are memories

Are marks of wars I've fought within

Within these thorns that tie me in

I can see this light, and I can walk this path

I was made to suffer, was broken apart

Cause my soul needed strength, and a stronger heart

For my dreams are brighter than a morning star

So, you creating a dozen scenarios in your head as to how your interview or your next date can go wrong is what makes you human? Well, in a way it does.

How other organisms create their beautiful constructions—like the weaver bird—is a part of who they are as species. The annoying spider nets you stumble upon while walking—another biological creation—a survival response; not mere aesthetics. Humans comprehend the world differently because we think differently. We have moved beyond the physical survivability realm, and are now in what I’d like to call “The thought survival state”. We don’t want to survive physically, but want to live mentally. To us creation is not merely a means of completing our basic needs—food, water, shelter, procreation—it is to become human. Maybe that is the reason we have this superiority complex, this belief that humans are a superior species. Maybe we are, or maybe we are just evolution in a different direction.

I believe humans turned into a species that is capable of thinking beyond its own biological functioning. We are humans because we are the only species that work more through their mind than their body; we create machines—extensions of our physical selves to do what we could not. We created arts to make sense of the world—something no other species is capable of, because frankly speaking, they don’t overthink—they just live.

We didn’t evolve to perfect a single biological function. We evolved to be a species that can make itself capable of performing multiple functions, or of creating extensions that can perform those functions for us. The concept of a polymath is the basis of human beings; being a polymath is not an achievement—it’s our nature. We have the capacity to create and adapt, learn and memorize—we are humans because we think across domains, not inside them. Our overthinking is not a flaw; it is the mechanism that allows us to become many things at once.

Here is something I read, I don’t know if this was ever meant to exactly represent one of the most consequential things in evolutionary biology:

Since childhood, many of us are obsessed with the moon; wanting to be astronauts, reaching for worlds beyond the known, while neglecting the one we are born into. It makes me wonder if this feeling of admiration, this search for something new translates into our own lives in peculiar ways. What if when we fall in love, we don’t love the person as we know them—rather—we fall in love with who we believe them to be, or what they can become. Maybe the moon as a metaphor not only speaks of beauty and admiration, but also of how we desire things beyond our reach by ignoring what’s around.

Have you ever seen someone, and felt something stir? Wanting to know them more, or simply having a desire to be around them. What you think about them is just that—a thought, an image, a projection. We don’t even know who someone truly is, and yet fall in love. Can that even be called love? Maybe it is only a sense of admiration towards how they dress, how they speak, how they appear. We don’t love in that moment—we desire. Without knowing one’s thoughts, without knowing their likes or dislikes—we create an image of them; we start to desire not a human but a portrait.

But that is not the only thing I ponder over when I catch a sight of the moon. Another thing that crosses my mind—and bothers me—is what must it feel like to be the moon? Being someone who is admired, written about, and immortalized in words, thoughts & poems while never getting to know what someone feels about you. Is it a tragedy for people to be turned into an idea, a point of adulation without ever knowing what they are worth to someone, or the tragedy is to be appreciated, even desired by someone, but never be truly known? Many of us have been the source of such adornment, and have created thoughts about a seemingly trivial person; someone who just happened to be in the same space as us. Trivial—just another person, only special because your eyes couldn’t forget theirs.

There are many things that teach us about life. The moon taught me this—being admired, and being loved are different; so are being loved and being known.

Life moves on with or without them, but maybe they were special, maybe it wasn’t just an illusion. The moon—after all—is not merely an accessory to our night sky. Whatever it was, in that moment, it felt real.

So, who’s your moon?

Getting back to what this was about—essays. What is an essay, to be exact? It comes from a French word “essayer”. The roots of which were laid all the way back in the late 1500s. Today the word has evolved, into boring writeups, college and school projects but it wasn’t always such. The idea to elegantly lay the beads of words in accordance to the thread of grammar was not about writing the best pieces, or having the best vocabulary; it was simply to understand. When we write our thoughts and turn them into words we unlock something that can only be felt, not seen—such a paradox. Ultimately, writing offers understanding not only to the reader, but to us writers—as we come to understand our own thoughts. Then why do we write if it is merely to understand, something that can be achieved by reading? Books provide knowledge, giving us the resources. Writing, however, teaches us how to use them.

Understanding is—in fact—only the first quarter of what essay writing helps you with. Once your ideas have been laid down by you; it also helps you retain them better. The only time you know you have truly learned something is when you can explain it. Now, I am not saying your words should be mugged up and crammed up to be recited on command, but there is a sense of memorizing that takes place when you write. When your thoughts finally have words to express themselves, and you have done the work to articulate them, you know—what you actually wanted to say, and what you have said. This is the third thing writing helps with, understanding the difference between thoughts and articulation. You can have the best of ideas in your head, but most of us fumble when putting them out for others; we are at a loss of words—almost empty, as if the thoughts aren’t ours. Writing helps you learn how to articulate them; deriving meaning out of the noise you call thought. So, you write an essay to know what you have understood, to retain your thoughts better, and to have a strong sense of articulation in you, but even after all those are done there is one last thing that writing helps you with, and that is one of the most important things—it helps you know yourself better. Even if you are not journaling your emotions each day, writing about how every moment went with the smallest of details; just write, because even writing on topics that are of interest, seemingly random things—from the flower you saw, to an article you read; is worth it. When you write, you not only write what you felt, what you thought, or what you believe; you also pay attention to what they said, and what they meant. When your thoughts are presented to you—in the form of words—not from inside, but from outside through external stimulus, you tend to process them differently. Sometimes it is this very processing that makes you realize where you went wrong in understanding others, or how you misread their points. Writing on any topic is an introspection of your own mind, because everyone sees a flower differently—some see the color first, some see the type, some like its scent, and others are captivated by the way it sways to the wind. There are no “correct” ways of experiencing reality, but that is a discussion for another time.

So, you know why one should write and you want to begin writing, but how should one begin? There are several ways you can find online, or you can take on a course on writing but until you are not writing to be read; the best way is to pick up the pen and draw symbols on that paper. Seriously, you don’t need any structure to begin with, just write whatever comes to your mind. Saw a movie recently—what did you like? Went on a date—how did it feel? You’ll be surprised to know how much your brain cared about seemingly random things when you begin writing, were you late? was someone else late? maybe the food wasn’t all that great, but their attire was? Vice-versa maybe? There are so many things that you notice around you, and what you notice vs what you don’t is a great way of understanding yourself. Writing reveals parts of you, you didn’t even notice before. If there still needs to be a structure, then a basic one I like to follow is—describe the topic, why you chose it, what it makes you feel, how would you go about it next time (or would recommend others to go about it), and some random thoughts in the end. It’s not about polishing your thoughts if you don’t want to publish them, or want others to read with a critical eye. It’s about expressing.

Once you have understood the meaning, the structure, and have placed your ideas on that piece of paper or that computer, you have successfully spent a couple hours of your life learning about yourself rather than learning about the million problems going on in the world. You finally know what was the reason, why the new film everyone seems to be going crazy over was not your cup of tea, or why—if such movies usually are—the tea felt distasteful this time; perhaps it was cold, maybe just over-seasoned? Whatever it is, trust me knowing it all... it’s worth it.