tumbling cat ‘02

meows politely ･ s/her ･ writes ferociously

[carpet-museum]

The blind man in my room

I lost the keys to my room and my senses have heightened. I keep thinking about various ways to run, away from the noise, away from the men around me. I used to think I could never hate a man because I’d be the best manipulator and sneak a punch or two at him if he tried to get close into my space.

There were never genders assigned to the people I loved. There were pure intentions I harboured for people I loved platonically/romantically. Yet, I am called the harlot of emotions in the town my heart lives in. I am a whore for complicated stories, even if my mind can’t fathom the grey out of black and white. But this never meant I didn’t draw lines. Oh, the lines I draw, such long and deeply engraved even I am unconsciously unaware of.

Again, a man entered my temple this year, broke the silence of my safe nights. I am not allowed to scream out loud about it because he was a page in my book I cared for. Because the society would kill his house of lies. I call them lies, because I see everything black about him and I hate him so deeply. I keep thinking about him from time to time. I keep replaying the scenes from the past and the present. Aligning and recalling stories to match my words and his. Will someone believe me when I say I do things and am aware of them, the mistakes I am aware of? Will they hear me out when I say I don’t know why this happened to me again? I feel so numb talking about it even. My heart broke into lots of pieces and I don’t know how to unlearn the word — distrust.

The key takeaways are mostly — misery, drowning in dirt, scared.

I didn’t know if writing about it would make me less miserable, but it helped. A little context —

A few months back a close friend forced his way into my personal space and shattered the trust I had, shook reality and even though the right word would be “harassment”, I still don’t know how to place it on top of the story as a label.

[carpet-museum]

Things I keep forgetting about —

1. The old monitor on my cupboard I used to be glued to as a kid

2. The wrongs people did to me, the rights I did for them

3. The colourful lights in my room I no longer get excited about

4. My younger brother in the other room, trying to make sense of this world

5. The roof I live under with my parents

6. The mountains, I don’t yearn for them. Explains, I like the sea, the beach

7. The fact that I was a beast at chess.

8. My ability to go full blast on the creation side of things

9. That downloaded playlist and the radio station I listened to on repeat till 2am everyday in 2017. Scratching notebooks with math problems like my heart beat an equation per minute.

10. About kite runner, and the fact that I spoke about it so loud and alone in the library to a woman who let me speak in the room full of people I didn’t probably see as part of my life at that point in life.

11. The crickets at night and sparrows on a summer morning.

12. That I loved listening to piano and classical music. I am not tone deaf.

13. That I could practice my way into any recreational hobby.

14. I hate being tied to the leg of my room, I hate being confined in spaces. I am not claustrophobic, it is nothing that enrages my body physically. Just something I keep reminding myself because my personality doesn’t align with ways of a homebody. I don’t want to be stuck.

15. Change is permanent. The world is a circle, what goes around comes around

[carpet-museum]

Whiskey tastes softer and warmer now

Smell of the summer flower leaves a kind of distaste

I don’t know what I am doing here, to and fro

The radio station sings a tune deep inside my mind

Leaving an after taste, an after thought, leaving me outside and now I can’t get back in even if I try to.

Is it my turn to wait because I can’t see myself anymore

[carpet-museum]

the house is like a museum of growing anger

the slim wires that run up the walls carrying electricity worth thousands of memories now hum a different tune of hatred

[carpet-museum]

i feel like a pathetic loser, like the trees that stand together yet apart, i feel like there’s infinite space between my finger tip and the skin that embodies everything else, there’s so much left unsaid because i have become unbearable to myself, i am sure no one wants to hear a self aware self diagnosed lonely tree of hanging memories, stories that have been repeated and forgotten and brought back to life on a table of unopened bottles

[carpet-museum]

I think about writing a book every single day, but procrastination keeps me at bay. The ocean feels deeper and farther every day. Why am I in a box, I ask myself. I look at my surroundings and blame it on the floating heads of power. Can I just step out? I have never been a risk taker, I need to accept that. I have been the man with a plan, a backup plan and a backup backup plan. But the clouds seem closer and the water all dry. I am hungry, I am tired at 3 am, my eyes burn. Do I get up and leave? Do I run away? Do I just disappear?

I think about conversations with people a lot these days. I miss strangers more than I miss people in my head.

[carpet-museum]

Panic attacks are back in season, and my heart wasn’t even ready for it. These days, they have been frequent. Although I consider myself to be centred when it comes to my emotions and anxiety (in particular), the race towards a panic attack is something I keep chasing. My nerves pop off, my heart feels heavier and slower, eyes moving faster than my thoughts, hands running away before my mind comprehends what is going to come next.

There’s so much I think I address so that it doesn’t hinder my day to day activities but, my heart has been missing out on the simple activities of recreation. Sigh, I am back to my 15year old self, I just feel sad she has to see me like this again. I could not protect her.

[carpet-museum]

There is a shift in my focus, the strums of guitar get louder and louder in my head. I keep losing sight of a scene I was incharge of. The directors screams in the background, and home seems far away. The girl stands with her eyes wide open, tears streaming like a storm just passed by and she was the eye. The focus keeps shifting from a clearer view to barely anything visible. I think I am going to fall. What happened to the seat I was sitting on, i am left wondering. My legs give up and I keep falling into the void. Like, my world is spinning, my heart is in my mouth. I try so hard to breathe, and the drums play louder. I try looking at my hands and they seem like a distant dream. My hair defies gravity and I keep falling.

The breeze calls my name and I keep hearing a faint voice asking me if I am okay. I am swept away by a phoenix in the sky. My body feels a warm embrace and I think I am going to be fine. But I am two breaths down and a heartbeat less and I absolutely love the feeling.

[melpomeniee-too]

[carpet-museum]

I have been having strange dreams, not heart doesn’t race so fast in real time nightmares about real things. The anxiety doesn’t get to me, I used to think. But i realised, I am human. I break so many times, my body freezes and internalises the pain and trauma but the show must go on. I seem like a strong daughter to my parents, but I am allowed a little fancy candy here and there.

Today, I had sleep paralysis. I could not bring myself to wake up. My eyes were open but my body didn’t move an inch. As if I didn’t have a body no more. My eyes were wide open, I never blinked. The scariest part was the darkness. I have never admitted this but I am scared of dark rooms even though I have conditioned myself to not be.

It was so fucking scary, my heart was in my mouth.

[carpet-museum]

the clouds loom louder in your 20s i guess

winters feel heavier at home and so does the crushing expectation of being a model of your parents’ dreams

[carpet-museum]

Even when I failed to be the perfect child, I never forgot to water the plants.

If that lasts in the “being consistent” book, I’d have been the most exemplary citizen.

[carpet-museum]

The pile of clothes in my room grows bigger and bigger each day, each week, each year. My face is puffy after a Saturday afternoon sleep. I am glued to the bed like my heart’s comfort. My eyes don’t feel awake, nor does the sound in my house. The air is heavier where I doze off these days.

- Signs winter came early

[carpet-museum]

In my dreams, I hope to run back home to me. An empty house and a full heart. An empty cup and nothing boiling till it blasts.

[carpet-museum]

You did not know

How little I loved, before I loved anything. The fraction becoming a whole with every step. The stability that breaks and expands like a hot wheel. I am at a flower field, an open land, no man’s land. The walls are not high enough to barricade the doors and boundaries of giving.

[carpet-museum]

//wrote a little something and i thought this could speak to the ones who'd understand.

don't let the dry run its way into this life

these dreams of rock and stars,

don't let them die on you

and even if

these false dreams go quiet into the night

I'll burn the ashes when we meet again

we'll dream to begin again

[carpet-museum]

if you dream of seeing a string of pearls strewn across the lad’s back, know this is how it is going to end

The softness in wind and little snow to make it somber. Your nose red with shame or just the cold hanging on to you, you are numb. You walk a path of fear, fearful of the last petal that falls, fearful of the thousand rocks breaking your flow state. You walk home scared of the many broken dreams and sleepless nights but somehow the road to home is to the brim with flowers. It is all so soft and white and beautiful and yet the sudden sharpness in the wind catches you off guard every now and then.