Confessions

I wouldn't really call them confessions. More like confiding in someone. You tell them about your life, your secret affairs, you reveal that part of you which is safely hidden away from the world.

While narrating the memories, some forbidden, some bittersweet, some painful you relive them, recount them, experience them again and you are surprised to find that those memories matter. Slowly you peel off every layer and you show forth yourself to this person. At times, you yourself cannot recognise this person that emerges through the narration of your experiences.

And then you realise that you cease to be acquaintances. You are friends now.

Thank you for confiding in me. Friend.

Oral fixation

I love Shakira. I think she is gorgeous. Oozes sex appeal and is a great dancer, not to mention a talented singer as well and yet inspite of all this she seems to be highly affected or shall I say disturbed by a particular attribute of hers.
She has been obsessing over it in so many of her songs. "My breasts are small and humble so you don't confuse them with mountains". Also "Next to her cheap Silicone I look minimal. That's why in your eyes I am invisible".
Is she pointing it out herself so that she does not feel humiliated when someone else does or is she trying to make a statement. "Hey! I don't care. I am tiny. Big deal". But the very fact that she mentions it over and over means she cares. A lot.
Why do we waste our time trying to please men? Or get their attention, affection, devotion? End of the day do they really make us feel good? Or loved, wanted, beautiful, precious, anything positive at all? And if they do, for how long? Do we somehow always end up feeling shortchanged?
We are troubled, anxious, conscious of each and every flaw in ourselves. Be it physical, emotional, anything. Why do we constantly flog ourselves over them?
One thing I like about men is that they come to terms with their flaws. Actually love themselves for their flaws. Flaunt them. They are proud of them. They even hone them. They make them sharper, crueller, more hurtful.
And hell we love them for that. That is what draws us to them. The BAD BOY! Just like iron nails are drawn to a magnet. There is nothing the nails can do to resist the pull. The only choice is to give in, let go and to be drawn.
Point is men are just as confused and disillusioned and vulnerable as we are. They just don't kill themselves for being so.
Your flaws are what make you you. Each of your quirks, your idiosyncrasies define you. Make you stand apart, make you different from the sea of humanity inhabiting the earth. Change the things you can if they bother you or others too much. But essentially be yourself.

So all you Shakiras don't waste your time mulling over some unchangeable, inconsequential, pointless, meaningless, unimportant flaws of your own and stop trying to become another person in order to please the current man in your life. Instead indulge yourself, take pride in yourself, be your own biggest fan and you'll realise that you don't need a man to make you feel wonderful

Disappeared?

I have been meaning to write for quite a few days now. Quite a few thoughts entered my mind and well, each of them left when they didn't get their deserved attention! As always time didn't stop. So many days have gone by and I haven't written anything.
Suddenly, a feeling of dread has gripped me
What if I lose the ability to write?
There are a few things that are very important to me.
One of them being being able to write whatever's on my mind. My dreams, my fancies, my stories, the wanderings of my mind, the people I come across, the people I create. I want to write about it all.
And what if some day I can't? Panic!