everybody makes them but
I wanted to be the one whose mistakes don’t show,
I’ve let everyone down;
even I can’t put up with me no more.
I always took things as they came;
I build upon what others would regret,
as usual I’m the only one I’m gonna blame
but now I want a time machine to avoid the upsets.
it hurts in the tête. it hurts I can’t forget.
it hurts to think of everything we could’ve became.
it’s chaos in my brain, my body’s full of pain,
I don’t know myself anymore,
you’re not the only stranger in the rain,
I can’t tell if the name I deplore’s even mine anymore.
Now I’m a collection of yearnings and lies I told myself,
I quite need what you always provided,
love, empowerment, opportunity and help.
(exams right now: yay ugh. these ones carry the most significance in my life so far so ye what better way to take some pressure off than procrastinate [wasted far too much time yeesh] here, right?)
[Trice]: And what I had for you was a need,
And to be frank my core entertained it,
I held this need, so much I’m losing me
Again. The elegant touch of this pit
That holds despondent water with my head underneath;
My mirror’s bleeding from its mislead-wrists
But also from its teeth.
Memories don’t fade and the scars still linger,
Goodbye my friend;
Why’d I ever love again?
In the coldest winter.
At the end of the day,
A monarch’s just a sinecure,
Equipped but never ready,
Feeling gifted, disillusioned and insecure.
I hate that memories retreat,
Their acquisition being the only
Argument against my frigid feet.
Hell; I’m only celibate, not holy.
But it didn’t stop me from
Crying into my sheets.
Believe me, bestie,
This is in no way an epitaph,
We’re not through; don’t leave, my other half,
Come with me,
Back to being intertwined
And thinking on each other’s behalf;
I’m not leaving.
Memories made in the coldest winter,
Goodbye my friend,
I won’t ever love again.
It’s not just me shedding essence,
I hate to admit it but I have to accept
Irrevocably, a searing, dumbing absence
Of you. But;
Who’d I be without you?
(I didn’t mean to sweet-talk in any manner xD BUT HOW COULD I LEAVE THESE TWO OUT HUH? :’) )
(to start off with a little clarity, this is a “I haven’t been posting lately I cannaht” – post, yeah :/)
I’ll begin by exclaiming the fact that I really amn’t one for excuses. Honestly.
But it’s been a comparatively barren month, yeah.
I’ve had my preliminary mock exams taking up the largest part of the month, still not a worthy excuse.
*sigh* I’ve thirty-three drafts running and I open several every night but I can’t actually get around to writing anything ugh; it’s like cognition condition-zero here BLEH
Gah so yeah; this post doesn’t serve much of a purpose apart from the fact that it’s a little like a softcopy-slap in the face. That’s because seriously, who apart from myself actually reads this blog?
(do note: this glorious event took place some twenty-two hours ago and that would explain why this sounds like really unnatural writing ehh finally something I could shove in the face of people who told me I look like a good poet xD except this blog and its material isn’t open to people I know barring two so it’s not like I can actually show people this ugh)
Do you know what waterboarding is?
Was that a no
I’d heard; thought so.
Lemme, use this opportunity
To educate ya fool,
You get one lesson in theory,
So do apprehend that water’s just a tool.
The only thing I felt before I rose,
Like the pick of the deep-fryer,
Was the heat, humidity
And a headache; all verbose.
Then found myself lying gratefully on the
Frigid bathroom floor that had flown to
Meet my jaw,
And I thought that was a fin to a vie sans amour.
Somehow swaying back to my feet,
A million annoying motivation songs
Flooded my ears otherwise kaput,
But the travail prolonged.
Two feeble tugs at the taunting towel
And an instinctive wrap-around,
Meant my pallid face
Would be the first sight when I was found.
Groped at the floor, fumbled into the door,
All I needed was to feel
The metal of the lock
But like my eyes and stream of thought:
I was just blocked.
Two heaving breaths later,
I rolled out
On a steaming platter.
I still don’t know how long I lay there
But I got back up,
Dappled shoulders, brined hair,
I made a mistake, yup.
Only four slippery steps
And palm-marks on white walls,
And I was facedown yet again,
Expecting a pall.
But here, twenty-two hours in the future,
I haven’t yet seen Death’s embouchure,
And maybe I amn’t as beholden,
Don’t know how to end this;
And I find that golden.
(yeah well, I still don’t know if it was a blackout or did I even faint or what? I have been constantly ill for a little over two months now hmm. When I made it out the room; I walked out with a very indifferent demeanour, no doubt intentional. Heck, I forgot to look at the time as well xD Would have given me some clue as to what happened. Heh I just blew up a simple stagger and made it sound like I’m dying in like four-hundred words holy shit. Soon as I actually manage to binge-watch something; I can officially be the angsty teenager my parents are always complaining about 🙂 yay)
(this didn’t start off a poem.song/whatever but it just transfigured itself into one in the process of writing eh well xD)
During exercise, a muscle is stretched and strained and taut and tight and degenerated and what not.
Especially in cases subject to strenuosity.
The common, tried-and-tested go-to method for effective muscle recovery after strenuous muscle exertion we’ve got
Cold Press, Hot Press
Sure there’s warmth in heat packs and all that.
But none of those are applied for the purpose of recovery.
Only for relief. Up next; the slats.
Now the heart is a muscle.
Going cold after your heart’s been rippled or ripped is equivocally discouraged, of course.
But that’s only because the inherent human pursuit of happiness
Or rather; a pursuit of a paucity of negativity
Has convinced our vain species that
Warmth is the only plausible eventuality.
Let go of love and forget looking forward
Because that undermines all your recuperation.
Us soup boys;
Symbols-Ambassadors of the Southern Tamil Nation.
One thing unites us;
It’s this induced, justified misogyny
And a heart gone bust.
But even smokers keep going
Although they know they’re their own agents of killing.
(I have absolutely got to add that the premise of this post – as it popped into my steamy jet of rumination under a hot shower – immensely surprised me; perhaps beyond anything else this entire calendar year. Why? Because I’m no misogynist nor someone who dis-advocates love despite his celibacy backed by reason and heavy thought. I may never want to ever fall in love but I sure do keep that to myself – usually. I’ll add that the whole recovery, Hot–Cold thing may come from the fact that my very injury-prone muscles and a couple of ice baths were put to the test following my school’s Annual Sports Meet a week ago)
(this post, Pt. II; aims to expound the provocateur, motive and timing of culmination: Pt. I)
Now this comes just a couple of hours (at the time I begin writing this) following my Additional Mathematics (That’s the more challenging variant offered by my school, alongside Extended Mathematics) Semester-Assessment. Generally, when it’s an elegy/lament about anything education-related, it has something to do with maths xD
Well uh, to commence bluntly: That’s the worst test I’ve ever sat through.
I’ve gone through tests in which I had no clue what was going on, no answers on my paper, ran out of time on an answer I knew exactly how to go about and scored awfully low marks on a test I’d walked out of confidently. (I guess we all have, mm?)
And material-wise, this paper frankly didn’t droop to those levels; I’m still getting less than fifty-percent but the marks I’m going to be awarded are the least of my worries here.
In that case, why would I call this the worst? It’s not like I sat through it entirely in the dark or anything, right?
This semester, for the first time since I began IGCSE, I wasn’t completely lost and clueless in Additional Maths Class. And for an entire twelve months preceding that, it was exactly how I felt. Never scored above fifty-percent on my tests but that wasn’t the worst of it; I dreaded (Do note: I’m not using “dreaded” in some casual, conversational sense) that one hour of school each day; it further occupied my thoughts and worries during my already haunting nights (more on that soon enough) and every class, I knew nothing at all. I used to sit there, endeavour to keep my thoughts from straying in an attempt to salvage something from my decision to sit in that classroom because I had nothing else to do there. A classroom of the elite, that I’d managed to get myself into.
And this was a position I’d never been in before. I wouldn’t say I’m one of the smartest or elite of the class: It’s been a decade since then (Yes, I was quite the “nerd”, bottoms pulled up as far as they’d go, awry teeth, overwrought eyes, the lot xD). However, this one class killed it all for me last year. Let’s just say I wasn’t going through the best of times and I can take nothing that may have been of any help away from it.
Was I depressed because of this class or did I not see any light in this class because I was depressed?
(And do keep in mind, as I must’ve mentioned before; I don’t use words casually. Especially not words like depressed)
And we’ve heard people say they were clueless but I quite literally knew nothing. Every new day, bringing a swipe and replenish of the whiteboard felt like another crushing blow on the conveyor belt; I couldn’t even figure out what topics they were doing in class or worse; what was even in my syllabus.
My incapability, incompetence and shame was tested with each question until I was brought to a stage where I was no longer acknowledged in the classroom. Mixed feelings, really. I must’ve felt super relieved but in hindsight, that wasn’t helping me. I’ve never aimed to survive anything; always to succeed (what is success?I’ll explore this in a future post as well) or stand out in it. So the first time something made me feel this way, I felt defeated, or maybe even a failure.
(Again, very strong words I’ll delineate in another post)
Now back to this semester, following a couple of months of quite the constructive and countless hours at tuition, most of which counted up to twenty-eight hours a week, I was feeling really good about maths after quite some time. This coincided with the betterment of my emotional/mental state (interestingly). I’d reached the stage where I was a part of the class. I knew what was going on. I wasn’t completely clueless. I didn’t shy away or get awfully embarrassed at the mention of maths anymore.
Of course, it wasn’t like suddenly become some Math Whiz. Indubitably, I hadn’t become that good at Maths or anything. Sure, I’d gotten myself out of the fringes of the class but my confidence hadn’t shot up to a level where I was far less uncomfortable answering questions in class. However, I didn’t have to keep watching my mind from deviating anymore because I finally felt like a part of the class: A significant part. And none of this came easy; my unimpeachable work, all the time, at every hour of the day you can call out, I’ve most probably been deep working on maths tho get myself up to an acceptable mark; someone worthy of an A* (The highest that one can be graded in IGCSE).
All these nights, free hours and parties sacrificed. All these hour-long trips going to tuition and hour-long trips back.
Now, in addition, I’d spent the entire day before my Maths exam (well, from the morning till the evening) at the tuition centre, working my bloody arse off again. I saw this test as my first reasonable shot at an A*. Sure, these aren’t my final boards or even preliminary mocks but they mattered nonetheless. Not from a practical point of view, not for those who were sure they’ve done well. But for me because of all the weight I’d staked on this one test.
This was a matter of faith. A matter of belief, of toil and dividend. Of knowing where I stand.A matter of springboarding, of building upon this newfound drive to work.
And it all came crashing down.
Defeat, or perhaps even Failure.
I opened the question paper and half-an-hour later I’d already reached the end, having tried, attempted and failed to answer every question.
And yet, I didn’t give in just yet, racking my head for everything, anything, that might get me through another step of working or atleast give me some sort of clue.
I couldn’t fill up much more in the following hour-and-a-half.
The culmination: The final five minutes of the examination. For the first time, I willingly gave up. I just sat there, my hands refusing to write any further and my mind choosing to abandon it there, instead thinking about all the loss that had taken place here and all the repercussions to come.
To be blunt, by the time I realised I wasn’t going to ace this, I’d also figured out just how this culmination was going to roll out, and I should’ve seen it coming, over the last couple of days. (but that’s perhaps for another post)
I don’t know how it’s gonna go on from here. For all I know, it’s already affected the course of the remainder of my tests over the course of the next week or so. Maybe I should be studying rather than blogging here. I should be, shouldn’t I?
(For someone who isn’t exactly the biggest fan of sharing his worries or laments publicly, this is quite the event. I think the only thing I can take away from this is the fact that at the very least, I have a new post up. And guilt, and procrastination. Mostly guilt from all this procrastination)