A Boy & a Girl

“Don’t mess with me,” he said, curling his fists up into tight balls at his side. “You wouldn’t know what hit you if you did. So I suggest, gentlemen, that you leave her alone.”

That’s the opening line – inspired by one of his girlfriend’s favorite phrase to use on him when they argue – of one of my writer friend’s many stories. His latest is a venture into childhood relationships that grow up into deep understanding adult friendships. The theme really being an exploration of platonic relationships. He borrowed the example of Max and Ariel, my characters, and decided to work upon that just for fun, and his story was born <Max and Ariel express their heartfelt gratitude for this thoughtful gesture of his >. I read through the fifteen page story and thought he dealt with the theme very carefully, not over stepping the boundary of social acceptance, but did hit the nail hard at times. I would love to see this story of his printed and bound and bought, or at least in a magazine <since he does not have a blog and does not trust the internet, strange creature of the 21st century, he is>. Anyway…reading his story made me revisit what I’d done with Max and Ariel. It had never crossed my mind to make them a pair – two of my best friends would’ve pelted me with granite if I had. Max and Ariel were always destined to be the closest of friends. Of course, Steven does the whole jealousy dance, and does not warm up to Max until he realizes that in his absence the only person who would take care of her is Max. Eventually he trusts him enough to name him godfather to their children – Steven’s and Ariel’s – and entrust his personal legal affairs wholly to Max <that would be where the cast and crew break into a screechy rendition of that Barney song – I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family – while the end credits roll in right after the fairy tale fonted ‘And they lived happily ever after.’ Bad joke. Verzeihen Sie mir, bitte>

I always wanted to maintain that feeling within Ariel that she will be indebted to Max even though she never explains why. Max, I’ve made it to be, is the first boy she kisses, her first boyfriend, her first long distance relationship, and her first breakup. He’s essentially the first man in her life, though nothing between them goes beyond the boundaries of friendship. I’m happy keeping them that way. I shall not elaborate further.

It’s nice to write about something you rarely see around you. And if you see it and appreciate it, there’s always that person beside you who says, “There must be something more.” Why should there be? Why can’t we picture two people of the different genders sharing a platonic relationship? Someone told me that it doesn’t exist – a platonic relationship. That even if it did, it would never survive. I beg to differ. There are several people of my acquaintance who are extremely close and have never been anything more than just friends. They share a certain understanding and a certain closeness that cannot be forger between people involved in a romantic relationship. So there are those many people who would disagree with me, but c’mon! It can work both ways. I’ve seen proof of it. You want to be blind to it, go ahead!

I believe in the Yin-Yang. So if Yin is the non-existence of platonic relationships, then the Yang must be…still more non-existent? I think not. Hint: – It’s called balance, it is how everything around is. You ready to acknowledge the Yang just yet?


I WIll Never Know Myself…

One of the main reasons why I am so stuck up on Linkin Park, and in particular the song Somewhere I Belong, is the very essence of enigma in it. The music, the lyrics, the tone, the voice…
So why did it inspire me so much, especially when I have known inspiration all my life?Soul searching begins now.
I find inspiration from a lot of things, but I mainly see it in people around me and drawing inferences through their daily routines, be it the handling of a phone call, the various moods, etc, has inspired me to take the good things (which are a lot) from them and try and adapt those features in my lifestyle. Not character. Lifestyle.
Character is a definition of the person inside, no hype, no pretense. Just the object we were created, by Him, to be. What the character of a person defines, is the representation of the person itself, by his inner most, deepest, darkest, secrets. Character can be built but not changed. Which is why, being around people of high stature and dignity built my character in such a way that now there are others who come and ask me how I became the way I am!! And I’m just twenty!! I am not boasting off here, I’m just genuinely surprised that people would even consider being inspired by someone their own age. I know I wouldn’t.
I would learn from them, maybe, but I would not be inspired. [P.S. The logic behind this is rather tedious to explain, those who know me will understand why I am saying this. I only beg that no wrong inferences of my character be made.]

In a dictionary, one would find the word inspiration followed by

in·spi·ra·tion /ˌɪnspəˈreɪʃən/ –noun
1. an inspiring or animating action or influence

2. something inspired, as an idea.
3. a result of inspired activity.
4. a thing or person that inspires.
5. Theology.
a. a divine influence directly and immediately exerted upon the mind or soul.
b. the divine quality of the writings or words of a person so influenced.
6. the drawing of air into the lungs; inhalation.
7. the act of inspiring; quality or state of being inspired.
[Origin: 1275–1325; ME inspiracio(u)n

Not a facile thing to understand, huh? Anyway, it depends completely ‘pon how one wants to look at things aorund them. Their prerogative wholly and unconditionally. Which is probably the reason why I was able to write a hundred page novel on MS Word because of this song!! And all of this when actually I fell in love with Linkin Park with the release of In The End, Crawling and Pushes Me Away. Of course all the other songs from Hybrid Theory caught my attention in a very uncanny way, such that I played ’em at the highest level even at two in the morning. But something about the way the song Somewhere I Belong, now to be acronymed as S.I.B., was sung, the rap and otherwise, the words and the music, had me searching the depths of my soul for answers, because two days after I heard this song, I started writing the novel and I am proud of the way it has come out to be. Publishing it is the next step but I wrote it for me and for now it shall remain that way.

Right, so, the song. I have never felt this way even about a book, which kind of had everyone close to me perturbed for books are my first love, let alone a person [for reference read my previous post entitled Confabulation of Ideas].

It will be two years, this May, since I began writing the book, and November, since I finished writing the book, but it will be about seven years, to date, since the characters of the book came alive. I haven’t been able to write much since the completion of this novel venture and I haven’t been able to find a song or a person or an idea that would compel me to write. I have found several stimuli to make me work on other things, but to write another novel, like that…Not yet.

And all of this, ladies and gentlemen, was because I was allowed my own free will and I see to have taken a wee bit of advantage, in the right way, of it.

I Will Never Know Myself Until I Do This On My Own.

Inside Of Me, Nothing To Lose

For those who are aware of the chaos floating in to reign the world it might be a good time to run for cover.No. I have not lost it. I am, I admit, a tad bit demented, but am not completely deranged. Besides, my demented-ness comes and goes on temporary basis only, no need to worry. I’m fine.

Global warming. The threat of World War Three. Blah. Blah. And double Blah.

I am no great critic am definitely not into politics. I’m not even so much in to pure sciences either. So why do I care??? Cause no one else wants to care. It’s like everything has been said but nothing’s been done. That is true.

Let’s just face the damn truth, shall we?

Money, no matter how much people try to deny it, places a very important role in out lives. A person who denies this is a fool. Money will make you happy. It might not make you complete, but it will most definitely make you happy. And power is something everybody craves for. Yeah, yeah, go ahead, scoff. Call me a heartless whatever, for all I care. But if you can’t accept this, then you’re not meant to be human. Power goes a long way. And when you have the power, one needs to make sure that it does not get to your head. That’s all. Simple ain’t it? Use it. Just don’t abuse it. Easy for a human to do. Right??

Now. We’re getting close to extinction. At least that’s what I believe. And NO, it does not matter to me if anyone else disagrees with me. Go ahead. It’s always better to live life without the complications that it needs to have. Or at least, pretend the complications don’t exist. I don’t want to be there when the world ends. I don’t want to see the Earth freezing over and I do not want to watch everything we’ve built be washed away to nothing.

I gain or lose nothing by saying all this. Thus I am saying it.

There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth.
From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one.
Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine.
And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out carol the lark and the nightingale.
One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles.
For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain…. Or so says the Legend…
– The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCullough

That’s what I think we’re doing to ourselves. That’s what I believe we’ve always done.
As humans we find pleasure in someone else’s pain. It’s sadistic and it’s pathetic. It’s useless.
Believe it or not, every time we do that, we are becoming, with every passing, unknown soulless entities.

I Was Confused

I think I’m a crazy enough person, without the complications that come with being a girl.
Thing is, everybody is a mystery. No one can figure out anyone else completely. ‘Cause just when you think you’ve someone all figured out, they say something and you realize you know nothing about that person.
It’s happened before, it’s happened now, and it’ll go on happening as long as humans remain to rule this Earth.Of late I’ve been thinking in earnest of the future. Of what it holds for me, of what I am doing right now to make sure that the future is good enough for me. And I still draw a blank as far as ‘life’ is concerned. In the sense, I know I’ve said I’ve recognized and identified my strengths and weaknesses but I still haven’t discovered myself fully – as the person I was supposed to be.

Looking back, at my baby pictures, I am startled to see a plump little baby with a thick matt of curly jet black hair falling in to large dark eyes, with no teeth and no worries, nestled safely and comfortably in her father’s arms. And when I look into the mirror I see the same baby. Confused and still growing. Still wandering within the walls of security put up by my parents. My grandfather and uncle included.

I know I love to write and that I want to do something about it. I know I love to sit in front of the computer for hours together and wonder why, how, where, when, etc. came to be (not on the internet, mind you). I also know that I would never want to stray out of that line wherein I find every possible sense of security. I know how much I ought to trust others and I know that everything isn’t what it seems. And I also know of my ability to judge people accurately, most of the time, in terms of their character and expectations. But that’s it.

I have passed two decades on the planet and I know not from which planet I landed here. I have my own set of philosophies on life and most other things that none but I can understand for want of imagination. I have my craziness to account for every stupid thing I do and I have my brains to account for all the intelligent things I do.

I am not questioning my existence. No sirreee. But I am questioning the reasons for the existence to have happened.

I am still confused.

When This Began

When this began, I was definitely confused.In the eighth grade, for the first time in my life, my English teacher complimented me on my simplistic way of writing. Of dealing with emotions with words. Apparently the explanation I gave in the essay I wrote, entitled “The Worst Day of My Life”, moved her to tears (FYI: – I imagined it was my birthday and I lost my Daddyma, my dad’s mother.)
Yeah sure, before that I’d always received the commendation that my spoken English was very good and the accent I had was also really fine, but not once had anyone said anything about my written word.
I was twelve at the time I received this compliment. It was something big, especially when it’s given in front of the entire class that too in a place where only looking good meant you were clever.
A year later. Exactly a year. Another English teacher, the best ever, in my opinion, asked the class nerd (and topper), “Who is this girl? Sruthi?”
Shocked as the girl was, she pointed me out and it was only a month or so later that I realized why my teacher had asked for me to be identified. She’d seen in my answers (in my Literature paper – it was Shakespeare) and had been impressed by the way I’d expressed the situation in The Merchant of Venice.
THAT is where it really began.
I didn’t know what I was capable of then. All I did was read millions of novels. Science fiction and marvelous mysteries and spy stories. No gruesome murder went unsolved as long I picked up the book. And the other thing I did was write my answers with a personal touch. Emotional touch.
Having received my second word of appreciation, I began writing in earnest. Not poetry or anything out of academics. Just my answers and synopsis of poems and short stories. That’s all.
And it was enough. Because a year later I had penned my first poem. And sometime in between two characters began to evolve within me.
Inspired by works of fiction, some television drama series, and still other works of fiction and cartoons, two characters had been living within me since the seventh grade and I realized this in the ninth grade. I began to write down situations involving these two beings. I put them in situations and made them react in the same way that I might have reacted had I been in the same situation. I even put in real things. Some problems that I faced, for example, at school, etc.
They grew up with me into the confused teenager and eventually the maturing adolescent.

It took a lot of grooming as I kept changing the predicaments I wanted the two of them to face, and in the process I came by a hundred of my own original pieces of poetry, and a few essays on present issues and my opinions on certain debates.

Slowly, in due course, I began to realize the similarities in my expectations from life and people around me and the achievements of my characters. I drew inspirations from the oddest of places and found that I was discovering myself through the words that I wrote.
I realized the power I had within me through these words. I even cried, reading some of them. Why? I don’t know. Or maybe I do.
I am still confused.
But one thing I know for sure. It has begun.