There's an anguish I have left in each sentence I have written. And the reason is I don't have the power to be kind. I befriended a Psychologist and that's the only good decision I have made this year.
Days are passing by, and I have been silent mostly. The ideal Kunal.
There are people out there who want to be sexually desired by many to escape the feeling of being unlovable, I ain't one of them. I feel everyone deserves to be loved in one or the other way.
The fear I had is going away, gradually. I am back with people who crave listening to me, who don't go away while I am speaking, and I feel I deserve this, for being the same, don't I?
I am Kunal, I have never made anyone hate their body, I didn't destroy someone's self esteem by cheating and lying to them. I have been a very powerful person throughout my life, trying to help others and implement the changes on myself.
And it's very liberating to know that every problem I faced wasn't my problem. I told someone that I wish I had cheated on them too and it's such a wrong thought. I never even tried to make her feel jealous. I could have but I didn't.
It's very evident that people fall for me because of the way I talk, but believe me I don't use it as a weapon. I was cheesy, romantic, I sexted, shared sexual memes and replied to sexual memes that came from a single place. What if I wasn't this guy? Then I am sure half of the girls I would have flirted with would have been from Mirakee itself. But I never did.
Now, there are no excuses for me being an asshole too, I was anxious because I never got what I deserved, I never got the same amount of attention I gave, can you believe it? It's the first time ever, was the person even worth it that I took back to back hits and still demand everything?
The feeling of shame is natural. Your silence on actions gives other the consent. And Silence is not consent whether in matters of love or sex.
My character isn't weak, it was made weak by throwing circumstances.
You weaken your character by going back to someone who emotionally destroyed you.
Don't ever cross oceans for someone who wouldn't jump in a puddle for you. And it makes sense.
I am better when I speak less, ain't I? But I have no wish to be a mystery because I can talk about everything and still be a mystery.
My voice is my saviour, it loves to love and it loves to hate.
I can call out anyone on their bullshit, closest of friends, a prima donna or a king because a friend is someone who always wants to see you in a better place not in a shithole of self induced toxic habits.
If your friends let you be, then they aren't better than foes.
The winter penetrated into my sleeves, quicker than I could realize. After another seven months, I could watch my grandma on the same chair in the balcony, knitting sweaters. She could knit sweaters, and at the same time recite the poems my grandfather wrote for her. Incomplete they were, she would always forget the concluding lines. "I will end this tomorrow," she would say with the slightest smile, such that I could feel her tears. The next evening, she would start another poem, and I wondered if these poems would ever find an end. The more I listened to her, reciting it with all the love, the more I wanted to listen to the last poem. It was as if she would wake up, to look forward to this particular moment of the day. Since the day my grandfather left, he took away the voice of my grandma. And I too watched the clock more than a hundred times, as if it could bring 5 p.m. anymore closer; just to hear her voice. It feels like a millennium, when the most talkative person in the house grows quiet all of a sudden, and it feels incomplete, as a whole.
From the balcony, one could watch the foliage and the grey buildings and the cars moving along. But poems would always entice me more, more than anything in this world I have ever known. And grandfather's poems were one of the best collections I've ever read, or maybe listened to. But that day, the chair carried the sweater, completed and ready to wear. I ran to her room to find her on the bed. For the first time, I saw her smile after grandfather left. She called me to sit near her and I did. "Your grandfather never wrote me poems. These are the poems I wrote for him, but could never dare to gift him. After he left, his pictures and my poems are all I am left with. Every single memory, I have etched down with the sweetest ending by his name. I am sorry my girl, for I could not recite you the endings. I couldn't reveal the truth, because I never dared. But today, your grandfather is calling me. And I must leave.... I am handing you all the letters, pictures and my poems to you. These are yours now. And always remember, these papers are worth more than thousands of jewels and properties. Thank you for always being there. I love you, my girl." Her tears drenched my hand and it felt warm. I wanted to scream and hold her tight but my hands didn't reciprocate, neither did my lips. And she continued,
//To the stars and beyond, Will even the cosmos can Keep you away from me? Darling, we are humans but Our love isn't. It is meant to soar, swim, run. Behind the shadowy sky, Across the platonic ocean, Over the dead, yellow leaves. It will leave, And we too will To a place where infinity Shall be the beginning Of our journey. You just need to wait for me In the Heavens you belong//