CHANGES. CHANGES. CHANGES.

So Sam and I have been talking and we realized that we needed more color; more variety in our posts. So we're giving this blog a little upgrade. We will be doing more reviews, hauls, recommendations  and things like that. Starting this month, we will also be doing a 'Monthly Favorites' from each of us! We hope you guys enjoy it. If you don't, we do, so...that's that. K BAI

oh and
This is Malko saying Maytheforcebewithyou XD

Right Here Right Now

Currently Listening to: Same Old War
Currently Obsessed with:EVERYTHING BY BASTILLE AND THE NEIGHBORHOOD AND VITAMIN STRING QUARTET
Current Mood: Imma get shit shit mood(aka determined)

Optimistic Fractions

Because I have nothing to say, I will just resort to blogging profound-at-the-time conversations with friends.

Me, on hearing of the break-up of a couple I'd been fond of: I don't like the world.
Doobie: But this is only a fraction of the world! There's more to it which you will like, however small that fraction is. ^_^ And you will love it and it will keep you going. ^_^
Me: And what fraction is that?

Doobie: Depends on what your expectations of the world are. Everybody has their own fraction. ^_^
Me: Wow, you're on an optimistic roll.
Doobie: But I do believe that.
Me: It's a beautiful thought. I will also believe in it. I will, in fact, blog about it.
Doobie: GIVE ME CREDITS!! I AM WISE AND PEOPLE NEED TO RECOGNIZE THAT!



~Sam

A New Year

Hello, non-existent readers. Today I will be blogging about everything I want to say. Before I begin, I just want  to say that I personally think that New Year resolutions are overrated. But I feel like I'm at a point in my life where I need to start taking charge of my life. I keep complaining that I need to get my life together. I say that I refuse to live a mediocre life. I can't just sit there and whine. It will not be handed to me. I have never been lucky. I believe I never will (to all of you who have been favored in this aspect, I say to you-Lucky Bastards). So in order to start getting things together I have compiled a list of.....stuff.

-First of all, a big 'YES' to everything Sam said about New Years resolutions. No more thinking that I'm not good enough, or skinny enough or pretty enough. More confidence. Hell, I should be. I can do a lot of things. I will not be placed under the norms of vanity. I am my own person. I have my own style. I will not think twice about what I want to do. I will wear make up if I want. I will keep my nails neat and manicured if I want. I will eat 6 slices of pizza if I want. I will make efforts to look good if I want. I will play video games for hours straight if I want. I will listen to whichever music I feel like. I will to go college with bedhead. I will have days where I don't give a fuck. I will do everything; and I will do nothing.

-I told myself that I will try harder this year. I will try not to slack off. That is not going very well. Being lazy comes so naturally to me; I can't help it, but I shall try.

-This one has been my goal for the past three years; exercising. I've come around to it during September of 2013. I kind of slacked off in November. All I did in December was eat(IT WAS HOLIDAY SEASON IN MY DEFENSE). I should really continue working out this month.

So that's it for this year. I guess. I'm not really good at planning but you gotta start somewhere right?

This is Malko saying maytheforcebewithyou

At the end of another day

The day ends and in the blinking light of the passing cars,
You see them all. Heading home.
The men with stooped backs carrying heavy loads,
To wives whom they will beat and love.
The women, heads down and steps quick, to a cold stove,
Waiting to be heated up.
The parents, smiling bright, bickering soft,
Behind children with lips turned up as high as the balloons floating above.

~Sam

Being Mean/This post kind of sucks but whatever, I feel like writing

Darren, I'm going to dramatically talk about my feelings now, so you can leave if you want to.


Throughout my childhood, as far back as I can remember, my mother warned me about hurtful words. Not for me was the adage that "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me." I was sarcastic, and, not to be boastful, I had an uncanny ability to (verbally) hit people where it would hurt. My mother had experience with hurtful words, as everyone does, and, noticing my natural meanness, preached to me all the time about thinking before I spoke, placing the proverbial filter between mind and mouth-caring about other people's feelings. As I grew older, I obviously ran into people whose mothers hadn't been so preachy, perceptive or persuasive, and I disliked them intensely. Not being nice was a cardinal sin in my book, just ahead of being judgmental.

So today, as I'm wracked with guilt because I accidentally said something mean to someone (a joke which didn't quite come across as a joke), I'm also kind of happy. Because it means that my mom succeeded in taking that mean streak out of me, and even if it has made me a little too easily guilt-stricken, I remain ever-grateful.


~Sam

Resolute!

Some of my resolutions based on some of the things I've thought this year.


"I'm fat and ugly and no one will ever love me."
#1. Less insecurity.

"I'm fine."
#2. Less lying. Also, like, more actually being fine.

"*whines*"
#3. Less whining. More "disgusting cheerfulness."

"There are a million good writers in this world. Who the hell am I?"
#4. More confidence.

"The world sucks."
#5. More hope.

"Oh, I should blog about that...but ugh."
#6. Less ugh. NO ugh. More writing.

"But..."
#7. Less negativity.

"Yes, absolutely, I have no problems whatsoever!"
#8. More honesty.

"You'e an idiot."
#9. More tactful honesty.

"I can't."
#10. More doing.


Happy New Year, folks! Once again, I hope it's a wonderful one and no one wishes they were dead. ^_^

Much love.
~Sam

A Description

Hello, lovelies. It's been almost a month since I've last blogged-for that, I'm sorry, mostly to myself.
Here's a little thing I wrote a while ago. One day, I hope to make it part of a story.

The weather was beautiful, the breeze stirring. I was on the terrace, and the sky was the Dreamworks sky again, the stars patterned just for me, in a language I couldn’t decipher and didn’t need to. I chatted with the boy who’d liked me, and whom I cared for most when he didn’t, and wished it were socially acceptable to speak with friends the way I do with a blank page, wished I could describe this moment of pure scenic joy, pure Keatsian beauty, like this, to him. 

Love. 

~Sam

Inertia of the Mind

I was stalking myself, and I realized that we've been on blogger since 2011. 2011. It's almost 2014, now, and it's crazy how fast time has flown. Things I could've sworn I wrote last week are actually, somehow, last year's posts-my space-filling posts are now almost a year old. Yesterday's memories are last year's memories. And last year's memories, last century's. I never quite realized just how very old my old memories were. Thoughts of home now refer to a place which doesn't even really exist anymore. I've been through so much, and so little, and-everything is just so mind-boggling right now. It's like my train soundlessly moved ahead and passed a million stations while I kept my eyes shut and still thought myself at the first one.

And yes, I know three years isn't very long, but it's so very long, you know?

Time is weird.
~Sam

I remember.

I remember the first time I applied kajal, I smudged my face so badly that I resembled a raccoon. I remember trying desperately to scrub it off, the concept of a make-up remover being alien to me back then. I remember red, sore eyes for hours afterward.
I remember going to buy chips with my brother, and dropping a packet on the road. The awe in my eyes at his courage (stupidity) in making his way through the (albeit light) traffic to pick it up again. He was the wisest, the bravest man ever, back then.
I remember believing adults at face value. Believing them to be stronger, wiser, better.
I remember the first time I (vaguely) understood death, and life.
I remember my first concert, my first Enid Blyton, I remember having fixed ideas of the normal and the abnormal. Having role models because they did one good thing. Seeing the world in black and white and technicolor, but not gray.
Definitely not gray.

~Sam

Will There be Fire?

What do I dream, what do I desire?
What burning thoughts flame my inner fire?
Is there a fire, is there desire?
Or has it gone out in this daily quagmire
Of routine and work, sunken hopes and dying dreams.
So all that is gone which once burst from my seams,
So all that is gone which once burned in my eyes-
Fires and desires smothered in implacable ice.
I drown in poetry, I dream of Literature,
And yet, "Get down to Earth," snaps my law teacher.
Was it the right choice, will I ever know?
Will the fruits of taking the safer path ever show?
A glint in the eye, the sigh of a desired job well done-
Will passion and flame ever my insides burn?
Or will it forever be hopeless fatigue's turn?
Will there be fire, will there be desire?


~Sam

Never meet

Credits: Humans of Amsterdam

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=524183944295814&set=a.410083055705904.88527.406776679369875&type=1&theater

Two people who won't greet; two souls who won't speak.

So close and so far; two stories which won't meet.

So many that we pass, never once to grasp hands or touch eyes.

Never once to share laughs, shed tears, breathe sighs-

In another world, that was a best friend walking by.

~Sam

In flux.

Neither here, nor there,
We wait.
Wanting here, yearning there.
We wait.
Here in the waiting room,
Of life.

For life.

---

We are the tormented novelists,
Not the protagonists.
Suffering, creating brilliance,
Not guaranteed of a happy ending.


~Sam

Peace and Poignance

Things are so poignant sometimes.
Simple things, daily things.
The leaf lying on the grey road,
Unremarkable, old,
And yet I want to take a picture.
The tilted bench against the brick house,
The grown puppy teetering around the door.
Nothing new.
All routine sights,
And yet, I want to capture them all.

-----

Just a mood.
When your mind is scattered,
Unfocused, adrift,
A certain sadness hanging,
In the dusty shelves that comprise it.
Just a mood.
When you can wander every-any direction,
Direct your steps here,
Then there, at anyone's beck,
And call.
Just a mood.
When you're peaceful,
Not worried, not thinking,
Just looking and seeing.
At one with the world.
At once away from it.

-----

Why is it associated with sadness,
That peace,
That comes with calm,
That comes with acceptance,
That comes but so rarely in our existence?
Why is it associated with sadness,
That emptiness,
That connection,
Which comes with nature,
Which drains and nurtures?
Why is it associated with sadness,
That bliss,
That emotion,
That for which we have no name.
That for which we have no name.


~Sam

I've known how to write since kindergarten, but I still don't know if I'm any good at it. Who would have thought that phrasing the right words together could  have been so damn difficult?

~Sam

Dancing in the Shadows

I paint a picture of an eerie horizon,

That whispers songs of death and agony,

And there I stand for all of eternity,

Drowning in a poisonous black lake

Somewhere far beyond,

There's a place,

Of music, dreams hope and love

And I parade in its shadow like a marionette.

Great  flesh eating ghouls gnaw at my skin

And the dark spirits are devouring my soul

Slowly

And painfully

Till it is almost gone

And then give it back

To dance all over again.

I wrote this spontaneously one evening while I was staring at the buffer screen of the horrible stream for the Reading and Leeds festival. What is it, you may ask? Only the best music festival in England. There, were all of my favorite bands performing under one(or two) roof(s) and here I was, sobbing frantically, assessing my situation.

Be happy.

"Why won't you let yourself be happy?"

"What is there to be happy for?"

Be happy for yourself. Be happy for your life, that it has form, even if it is not perfectly moulded yet. 

It may be the peace before or after the storm, but it is still peace. Be happy for that peace. 

Be happy because things are not sad. Crave, but be content. Be happy for everything you have, even if it is not all you want. 

Be angry when things go wrong, be sad when things are bad, but be happy when things are okay. 

Let things be okay. When life is not going out of its way to be good-but it is not going out of its way to be bad-be happy then.
Things will always be wrong, things will always be right. Heal the bad, be happy for the good.
Be happy. 

~Sam

Issues

Philosophy is not distant, is not abstract. It's real, it's every day, every act.
Something I've realized as I've grown older: there are issues everywhere you look. Every single act is propelled by a philosophy, whether you realize it or not. Feminism, religion, nationalism, liberalism. Ideas, issues, philosophies. They permeate not only politics and college classrooms, but everything. The reason you're okay/not okay with the weird girl being weird. The reason your mother doesn't work. The reason it's okay/not okay for your brother to wear pink. The reason being gay is a big deal/not a big deal. The reason you can/can't get a haircut. The reason that music video is okay/not okay. The reason you follow/don't follow the rules. Every single opinion of yours.
Reflects your philosophy. 

~Sam

Another "Things I've Thought" Post

• People's lives are very different from what they appear to be.
• Everyone is a freakshow. Everyone. 
• Sometimes, it is just that simple.
• Sometimes it's not.
• Let things be okay. What we feel and how happy we are is a choice we make. 
• "Just do it" isn't always the best idea.
• It isn't always the worst idea, either.
• Thinking solves things. Sometimes, it complicates them.
• Making decisions solves things. 
• We have more control over our lives than we think we do. Some things are more difficult to control-but in the end, they can be controlled.
• Let things go. 

~Sam

The Capacity to Survive

What gives me hope for the human race is that we usually manage to handle what we have to. Somehow or the other, we survive. We finish the project. We calm the crying child. We accept our grief. We survive. 

I never thought I could handle laundry and food and cleaning and generally running a household before I moved out. But I could. I never thought I could survive that History course in college. I did. And let's not restrict this to the little things. There are people my age who are mothers. I don't think I could handle a child. But if I were put in that position-I think I would. When the Arctic circle melts and global warming is unbearable because we as a species suck at long term planning, I think we'll figure out a way to handle it. When flying cockroaches take over the world, we'll figure out a way to handle it.

Because we survive. Scarred, wounded, hurt, traumatized, one way or another, we survive. And we heal. And we move on, to survive new things. 

Because survivng is human.

~Sam

Why is wisdom so unfun?

The wise guy never has any fun in any book, movie or story that I know of, while it's always the dumb ones goin' all YOLO and partyin' the night away. Don't get me wrong, that isn't my idea of fun, but why are wise people always portrayed as these dudes who're over worldly pleasures and don't want to do anything but ponder over the sadness of life? Why is dumb equated with fun and happy, and wisdom with maturity (the boring kind of maturity) and permanent solemnity? Clearly there is more to life than chilling, but chilling is a part-and, I would argue, an important part-of living. And I think wisdom involves recognizing that.

~Sam

I have a dream.

I have a dream of a world where men and women walk free without the threat of mosquitoes.

I have a dream of a world where dates and romantic walks are not ruined by pesky parasites.

I have a dream of a world where my children may sleep fearlessly and where their blood will not be drunk mercilessly each night.

I have a dream of a mosquito extermination army gone defunct for lack of mosquitoes.

I have a dream of a world where no blood is shed.

~Sam and the Christmas Cookie

The Quantification of Need

I'm an avid follower of Humans of New York, which is run by this dude called Brandon Stanton in New York. Recently, something Brandon did made me smile more than his page normally does.

A bit of background here: Humans of New York is essentially a photoblog of random people in New York, whom Brandon stops in the streets and speaks to. The pictures are then uploaded with captions which reveal a little bit of their lives: stories which are witty, funny, touching, moving, sweet, sad, and just plain human. It's a great way of showing us that everyone we pass in the street has a life, a story and of bringing people together. The people who comment on these threads are some of the most accepting and amazing people I've found on the internet. ANYWAY little fan outpouring aside, what happened in this instance was that Brandon came across a mother and her son, Rumi, selling cowboy supplies on the pavement, in order to save up for a horse, because "Rumi's biggest dream is to own a horse."

Now most of us, if you guys are anything like me, would just smile at this piece of absolute adorableness, and the hope, and the maternal love, and the general awesomeness reflected in this picture and story and move on.

Not Brandon.

He decided, since owning a horse in New York is a little difficult/expensive, to send Rumi on a Wild West Adventure, and asked followers of his page to donate some money. The goal was $7000. It was raised in 15 minutes. A total of $32, 167 have been raised, and the rest is going to the New York Therapeutic Riding Centre.

Which is all wonderful (SO MINDBLOWINGLY WONDERFUL OH MY GOD I LOVE PEOPLE), but that is not the point of this post.

The point is that some of the people who have commented in places where this story has been reported seem...upset. Because Rumi is not a starving orphan. Because going on a Wild West adventure is not a basic need. Because he has a house and a loving mother and therefore does not deserve to have strangers spend money on him to fulfill his little first world wish.

Excuse me?

I understand that the world is in a bad way. There are people suffering for the food I'm snacking on while typing this post. There are people dying for the most basic amenities. There is, after all, this picture.

But does that mean we cannot help anybody who isn't that far gone?

Must we hunt down the most despairing soul to give our charity to? Must we feel guilty every time we buy a new phone, because someone is dying for lack of a morsel, or every time we help a Rumi instead of a homeless man because his need is less than that of a man on the street? Should I feel bad that the person I helped wasn't as bad off as the next one?

Must need be quantified?

It would be great if the world was a utopian socialist heaven where everyone had all they needed and could get down to the business of wants. It is not. It is probably not going to be. It is not even heading in that direction.

But when we do decide to help somebody, whether it's by driving a kid down to Six Flags and watching her leap for joy, or donating to Greenpeace or Blue Cross, we shouldn't be told that we didn't help the right person.

What does that argument even mean?

That we can't help someone until every person worse off than them has been helped?

That we can't fight for animal rights until the rights of every human have been granted and guaranteed?

That your need/want is not important as long as there are needier people?

Please. Their needs may exist, but so do these. Yes, there are people who need a lot more. Yes, we should help them. Yes, you will get more moral brownie points for helping those people.

But when someone is in front of you, and they need something, and you can help them, you do that. And when someone else does that, you don't diss them for it. People help those they want to help, support the causes they want to. Because even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have.

~Sam

To Be Or Not To Be And All That Jazz

Impromptu writing session with a friend.
[Like, written-in-three-minutes-in-the-middle-of-an-unrelated-conversation impromptu.]
We alternated stanzas. I'm the hopeful one.

To be or not to be,
To love or not to love,
To laugh or not to laugh,
To live or not to live,
When it all ends in tears.

It seems so difficult,
So impossible even to imagine,
That it could be easy.
But it can be easy.

I tried my best,
Opened my heart to a world of hope,
But all I got was a world of pain,
Can you blame me when I wonder
Whether to be or not to be?

But some days it gets better.
Some days I can see.
The shining letters dancing,
Screaming, "Be, be, be!"


~Sam

A period-less post.

Okay I am in love with Rascal Flatts I'm pretty sure this is no suprise to anyone who knows me because duh it's like their songs are composed of mush and love and the tears of heartbreak and just pure amazingness which is basically me but yeah I've basically been listening to them all evening and wow

Does a period-less post remain a true period-less post if there are capitals and punctuation and paragraphs and maybe I'm not as good at this as I thought

Buzzfeed just posted a picture of a hedgehog in a sombero and wow it's at times like these that I'm glad the internet exists though I've basically just been ugh about it lately because wow there's a lot of stuff on the internet it just drags you in you know no okay it's just me then

I'm really sorry I just don't think I can write anymore I don't know what's wrong with me oh yes I do laziness and writer's block

I can't believe I'm actually going to publish this it's totally going to come back and bite me but ah well

~Sam

If only I were capable of managing time.

A poem written out of a conversation between the Christmas Cookie and I.

"Why must sleep and work be so mutually exclusive,
For me?"
"Well, if only you could manage time,
They wouldn't be!"
"If I were to manage time, ha!
I could rid the world of cancer.
Then I would be rich and famous,
Live a life fulfilled and joyous.
Know all the right men and women,
Even my beloved, Hugh Jackman!
And with Hiddelston, the Tom,
Get the Cookie on!
Oh what a life would be mine,
If only I were able to manage time!"

~Sam

I wish I was a bit of bubblewrap.

I wish I was a bit of bubble wrap.
Protecting things precious,
But more desired than them all.
Light and soft and easy to bear,
But with aeons of joy in each bubble of air.
Evincing a child's focused delight in all,
Calming and soothing and easing all cares.
Never quite over, no matter how much you tear.
Always, always with a bit of love to spare.

~Sam writing like the five year old she is at heart

Do you remember?

A story-poem-thing.


Do you remember?
The times before you knew to lie.
To keep your mouth smiling shut, your head down.
Before the sounds of screaming and fighting,
Became such a part of your life.

Do you remember?
Being shaken in the middle of the night.
Your brother couldn't witness it alone.
Your mother with a lit match to her clothes,
Your father laughing on the bed in front.

Do you remember?
"Mum!" Reaching out to save her.
The horror dawning in her contorted face,
As she realized what she would have left behind,
Whom she would have left them with.

Do you remember?
The years passing by,
With uneasy smiles and risky lives.
Abandonment and anger,
Misery and regret.

Do you remember?
His hand exploding across your face,
His eyes fastened on yours,
The fear clenching your guts,
His clap thundering around the room.

Do you remember?
Your mother and brother rushing in,
(enough was enough),
The relief in your blood,
The rage rushing through your veins,
While your mouth remained paper dry.

Do you remember?
The screams screaming what you never knew.
The blur of rushing away,
The burn of seeing him again.
The haze of  packing and leaving.

Do you remember?
The post-traumatic peace.
The feeling of love,
And the remnants of hate.
Fear and comfort, rage and relief, smiles and sorrow.

Do you remember?
Floating in a new life,
Lost and unsure,
Safe and unsafe,
Until that decision was made.

That enough, was enough.

~Sam

Today's post is this article written by somebody else.

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2013/having-nothing-to-say/

~Sam

Opinions

Not one of my better pieces, but it's been a while since I posted, so here you go.

Opinions matter. Opinions reflect perspectives, and perspectives matter immensely. It’s easy to say that someone has the wrong opinion-that wanting to kill a lot of people for a cause is the wrong opinion, since you don’t think that is a valid cause, or you don’t believe violence achieves anything-but that judgment is still an opinion. And to the other person, their opinion is still valid.

It's opinions which shape the world. People don’t decide based on an ‘objective’ understanding of the situation and the most rational solution. (What is objectivity, what is rationality?) They choose their understanding and their solution, whether they understand that or not. Terrorists don’t believe they’re doing wrong (I would assume)-they are simply trying to fix what they perceive as a problem in what they perceive is the most effective way. The same way freedom fighters do, or the goverment, or the police.

So when you raise someone with an opinion-think about what you’re unleashing into the world.

~Sam

Today, I understand.

I understand loneliness. I understand why people are thrust into desperate measures to find that someone, that person who is theirs like no one else’s, that person who is their person.  I understand we cannot survive alone. I understand why I feel the need…not to be alone. I understand that the odds are in favour of despair. That we just fight for our joy, that we must fight. I understand people, the conflicting needs to get ahead of other people, and of needing other people. I understand we are scattered, alone, selfish, insecure, needy, hungry. All searching for, wanting, the same thing, few willing to give it. I understand we can no longer think of empathy, hardly of sympathy. That money is important, and war, and that little piece of land. I understand we have forgotten that people are important. Not all of us, though. I remember that there are people, Brandons in New York, and elsewhere, trying to make us remember what we have forgotten. I hope that they succeed.

I understand why image is important. I understand that we have moved away from the time-if at all there was such a time- when we judged by substance, where our word was enough, when careers dedicated to finding loopholes or perfecting eyebrows did not exist.  When we spent time on things, on people, when things did not have to be accompanied with flashy signs of “breaking news” to capture out attention. When books were read.

Today I understand why people hurt others, and themselves, why sometimes a fatal leap into the unknown can seem better than what we see and know. I understand that your perspective will always be different from reality- that no one really sees reality. I understand that we cannot avoid sadness. There must be death with birth, despair with joy. I understand that despair can easily kill the joy. That we speak more of rape than of making love, or even sex.

I understand that there will be moments of joy, gifts from life. I understand that life is a harsh, miserly master. That these gifts must be seized, treasured and remembered. That these gifts are important, these moments worth all the hours of hell.

~Sam

Questions

Okay so today I'm going to post a song. Sam has asked me to post it a bajillion times, but I wasn't very sure about it. But here goes nothing.

My thoughts echo loudly

Through Silence in the dead of the night

Even in this house of giants

Home is ever so far away

This skin isn't mine and

My eyes don't let me see what I want to,

This belief; it deceives

I only scream as loud as my silence

Only heard in the stillness

Only heard to those who listen

Only heard to the emptiness

All in this nothingness

Trapped in invisible cages

Waging unbeatable wars of fears

Where am I now,

I'm so far away

These thoughts are mine and

My heart doesn't let me feel what I need

This belief; it deceives

I only scream as loud as my silence

Only heard in the stillness

Only heard to those who listen

Only heard to the emptiness

All in this nothingness

Scattered books and shattered glass in my home

Unsolved puzzles and questionable riddles in my mind

I only scream as loud as my silence

Only heard in the stillness

Only heard to those who listen

Only heard to the emptiness

All in this nothingness 

Wait a minute-II.

Take a breath.
Stop doing. Stop thinking. Stop.
Look. Look at the people around you. Don't just see. Look.
Think about where they're going, what they're doing.
Think about the billions of people in the world thinking and doing. Or the millions in your city.
Think about how big the world is. Think about how small your world is. How big, and how small, your problems are.
And then go on.

~Sam

Wait a minute

If dolphins have very few natural enemies...and are also the only creature apart from humans who have sex for fun...why aren't there more dolphins in the world?

~Sam

Writing

You haven't written for a while.
Well, of course you've written, papers and projects and other people's paraphrased words.
But you haven't written.
It itches at you, the feeling of not writing. Like a scratchy mat against your heart, a dryness in your mouth and throat. A haze behind your eyes.

You haven't written for a while.
Haven't paid attention to the letters being tapped on the keyboard, haven't cared much about the placing, the perfectness of the word.
The keys stare at you, blank, empty. Not judging, but you feel judged. Why haven't you written?

You write. You look at the keys, still blank, still empty, but happy, smiling. You look at the letters being typed out even though you don't need to. You lose yourself in the black and the white, the thoughts crystal clear, distinct, so different from the blur of when you actually have a story to say, have words to set on paper, to screen.

Because you don't have anything to write, you see. You just want to.
Need to.

~Sam

Rape Rant

A lot of countries imprison sexual offenders. Some countries even proclaim a death penalty for rape. Not India. They fuss and create a spectacle of an incident through the media, but in the end, they run free. After the Delhi gang rape, the Indian Government passed an ordinance in which a death penalty is applied only when the rape leads to the death of the victim of persistent vegetative state. Wow. So basically they're measuring the intensity of the damage done. It's not something that can be measured! Either way, it's still horrific and traumatic.


Only a few sexual assaults are reported. How many unknown, unreported incidents? They happen every day. In not only India, but other countries. Quite a few counties take extreme measures against rape. India has begun framing laws only now. Really? REALLY? Even if the required laws are frame(if ever), it is the job of the offenders to get their perverted thoughts in line. I think what India is really afraid of is that once they declare a death penalty for rape, the population of India will decrease considerably. That wouldn't be that bad after all. Just saying.


P.S. The above words may be a little harsh, but that is my opinion and life is harsh.




Update from Sam: For the record, I don't agree with all of that up there.

Something

The clouds have shadows,
Long and dark,
Sheathing the earth,
In their noon-time dusk.

The moon has a glow,
Low and shining,
Guiding the lovers,
Off on their horse.

The wind has billows,
Loud and tumultuous,
Shielding the playing child,
As his mother cries.

The sea has waves,
Soft and sweet,
A soothing balm,
Cleansing all sorrows.


~Sam

Something impulsive I came up with watching the clouds cover the town, on my flight. Just writing for the sake of writing. It isn't very good, but it's been a while.

What is it about the rain that makes you remember?

Our first guest post! This is by a friend of mine (Sam's), the aforementioned Vowel-less. Enjoy yourself with this wonderful piece on the most wonderful things of all-rain and memories.

Also available on her own blog: http://doubt-thou-the-stars-are-fire.blogspot.in/2014/06/what-is-it-about-rain-that-makes-you.html
____
I am sitting by the window. It is raining and I can feel the drops of water on my face. As a drop trickles down my face and falls on my hand, memories of a time long forgotten, a childhood, not that far back yet so unreachable, flood my mind. A sudden flashback of running through the front garden and getting drenched in the rain in one of the many old British-style houses that I lived in fills my mind vividly. Then another image, of my mother shouting at me asking me to come back.
What is it about rain that always makes you sift through all those past memories that in the humdrum of daily life become repressed in your subconscious?
Hailstones! The initial excitement of listening to the exaggerated pitter-patter on the roof as tiny lumps of ice fall on the ground. Running to the front verandah to collect the ice faster than my brother. Image after image of those days, long past. Of innocence, long gone. Of hope, long forgotten. Memories.
A song comes to my mind. The song that was playing in the background when I shared an umbrella with my first crush. I can almost feel my heart thundering, the way it had thundered for those few precious stolen moments. Anticipation tugs at my heart. And a certain melancholy. A sudden yearning to go back into those days of sweet innocence, of glorious horizons and endless possibilities, of happy dreams. Falling asleep near my mother. Playing with my brother. Not knowing the feeling of apprehension. Where future is a bright happy place.
What is it about rain that makes you remember?

~Vowel-less

Rain, a cut and a bandaid.

Darkened tar on the roads
Offsets the bright fallen leaves.
The cold wind hurls rain at my face
Through space and sorrow and fluid green trees.
A cut and a conversation are the cherry on top,
And a bandaid and a childhood cure make my joy complete.

(Yes, I have an irrational fascination with small wounds and bandaids.)

~Sam

Open Doors: A Short Story

I wrote a story, I wrote a story! As you've probably figured out from the title of this post. Whatever.

So I found out a couple of things while doing this: a) It's much more difficult to write a story than to think of one and b) My grammar is god-awful.

The story is slightly philosophical, slightly cynical. The idea is basically how a little bit of corruption can spoil a really good thing, how one (possibly) bad person can spoil a town. 

Also, just a note: the commas look like periods in this font, but the capitals should allow you to figure out what it's supposed to be. We'll work on finding a better font, though this one is just so amazing. :/

Okay. Here you go.

The doors were all open when I walked into town.

The doors were all open when I walked into town, and so were all the shutters, and windows, and every opening of every kind. I had just entered town with my suitcase and my backpack, and I was astounded. It was a pleasant day, yes, but never had I seen such a multitude of open doors.

A woman walked by, smiling at me with twinkling eyes. She seemed hospitable enough, so I stopped her: “Why are all the doors open?”

“Well, to let the breeze in, of course. It’s such a pleasant day out, isn’t it?” she replied, as if surprised by my question.

“But…aren’t people worried of theft, abduction…crime?” I was confused. Surely they couldn’t be that oblivious to the dangers of the world.

She laughed. “Well of course not! We don’t have that kind of thing here. We trust each other. We’re all happy here, all friends.”

___

It had been a month since I’d moved in, with the help of the lady I’d met on my first day. During the first week of my stay, the windows had remained shut, but soon I found myself living like the locals: doors open.The people of Trustville, as I’d taken to calling the town in my head, were friendly and helpful, and had enveloped me into their little community as easily as waves envelope stones on the beach. I had friends, I had a job: I was content.

It had not been easy getting to that position. In my first week, I had bought the first ever lock sold in the history of Trustville, and what a task it had been to find that lock. Then I had tried to “rescue” my neighbour’s daughter when a stranger approached her in the park: although the stranger was, in fact, unknown to the family, no one else had seemed to find it worrisome for a child to be alone with a stranger, and I had received nothing by odd looks for my pains. When I tried to explain to the child’s mother what a danger the stranger could have been, she looked at me odd, and when I tried to take it upon myself to teach the child not to speak to strangers, she stopped speaking to me altogether. That is not to say that she didn’t trust me: she still left her door open, her child running free. But for the first time in the history of Trustville, someone had thought ill of another, and it was not a good omen.

I started learning the ways of the town then. I learned that strangers were not looked on with suspicion: they were humans, just like the rest of us, and they were expected to behave as humans. Children didn’t learn the concept of not taking candy from strangers; in fact, some old ladies went around with goodies in their handbags meant just for the little delights they found on the street. This worked in a way as a self-fulfilling prophecy: children grew up in an environment of trust and goodness, and evolved into good and trusting adults. Because people were expected to behave in a trustworthy manner, they refrained from the sort of incivilities and crimes that plagued every other place I’d been to. It was a strange town, for sure, but it was a good town. I was in awe of how good people could be if they wanted to, and I was content. What geniuses these people were! What paragons of human development!

___

But people cannot be content for long, can they? When I looked back on this incident later-an incident I am ashamed of to this day-I imagine the people of Trustville as Adam and Eve before the Fall- innocent, trusting. I, however, was a man of the earthly world, and when temptation is put in the path of such a man, he falls.

It was a tiny thing, to begin with. I had made a new friend in town, and he had a collection of baseball cards. And what a collection it was! First editions, special editions: it was more than I had ever even dreamed of owning. It was a hobby of mine, collecting such cards, and it was over this hobby that we had actually connected. We pored over the cards for days on end, exclaiming and shouting in delight.

One day, walking by his house, I saw the cards on a table next to the door. Smiling to myself about the silliness of keeping such a precious belonging in such a state, and then at my own silliness at thinking that the people of Trustville would do anything else, I walked on. No one would steal anything here.

The next day, the cards were still there. And the next, and the next. No one would steal anything here.

Every day I passed the cards, and every day my smile thinned a little. They were there, right there. He wasn’t using them, he didn’t love them as much as I did, or else he would have kept them safer. He didn’t deserve them. In fact, he deserved to lose them for being so lax.

No one would steal anything here.

___

He thought he’d lost them. He was the most organized man on the planet, but he thought he had misplaced the cards. Never did a more sinister thought cross his mind. He looked at me apologetically, sorry that I wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing them anymore. What did he know?

___

­­­

A diamond ring was lost next. It was beautiful, a pink heart-shaped diamond on a gold ring, some silly fool’s engagement ring. It called to me the moment I saw it. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t want it, or else she would have kept it safer.

An engraved tobacco pipe. A beautiful umbrella. An antique pocket-watch. More and more things began to go missing, and it was a long while before people’s suspicions were aroused. A long, long while- long enough for me to make plans to get out of there. No one suspected the new guy, the stranger, the first suspect in any civilized, cynical society. What fools these people were!

___

Suspicion was slow to enter the hearts of the people of Trustville, and change was even slower. It did happen, though. Doors began to be shut, locks became easier to find. There was a meeting about what was to be done, how the perpetrator was to be found. The poor souls, they had no idea what they were doing.

And still, no one suspected the new guy.

___

There was a box I’d had my eye on for a while. It was tiny, a miniature treasure chest, studded with semi-precious stones. It lived on a window-sill in the house of one of Trustville’s oldest citizens, the father of the lady I’d met on my first day. The things I had taken-not stolen, taken, it wasn’t stealing, they were sitting there for the taking, for any passer-by to pick up, it wasn’t anything wrong to take it, I valued it more than they did-had all been near the door so far. This one was in what I presumed was the living room, but I thought I’d be okay. The lady visited her father in the evenings; in the afternoons he indulged in a siesta, and as old people are wont to be, he was slower in adapting to the change taking place in Trustville. His doors were still open and unlocked. I thought I could get away fine, and I planned to leave town immediately after that. My bags were packed, for these folks were becoming smarter, planning for cameras and the like.

___

I strolled down the street leisurely after lunch, observing the scene as was my habit. People smiled less these days; their gaze was shiftier than before. I smiled to myself. Now they were behaving like people.

I walked through the open door, went through the hall to the living room. It was right there. Probably the most precious item in the house, and it was sitting on the window-sill, tempting passers-by with its twinkling gaze. That old fool didn’t deserve it.

I wandered over to the table, picked it up. Still engrossed in the beauty of the little box, I turned to leave…

…and looked up to see the woman. I suppose she’d come earlier to visit her father, or perhaps the fates decided a life of crime wasn’t for me, or perhaps my own subdued conscience had chosen the right path and delayed my plans, knowing I would run into her. It doesn’t matter why now, all that matters is what. I looked at her, and she looked at me. Not in fright, or even surprise, after that first moment. She just looked with…pity. Like she was looking at the most hopeless soul on the planet, one whom no one could save. She said nothing, quietly turned around and walked up the stairs to her waiting, trusting father.

___

I walked like a zombie back to my house, the treasure chest still in my hand. Only when I reached did I realize I had it, numbly looking down at my hand for my key-I had started relocking my door again, loudly proclaiming that people couldn’t be trusted anymore, not even here. I went inside and put the box down. 

And then I turned around and left, my entire horde left right there.

The damage had been done, though.

The doors were all open when I’d walked into town.

Not a single door was open when I walked out.

~Sam

PS: Yes, it's really long for a blogpost. My apologies. 

Crush

About a crush I once had on someone I thought I knew a long time ago; testimony to the staggering number of things human beings can just Get Over.

It’s a typical teenage situation.

Actually, why restrict it? It’s a typical love situation. I like a boy. He’s perfect, slender, smirking, sexy-voiced, joking and nice. I’m just about twice his size, shy and awkward. He’s the town’s darling. Most people don’t know my name.

He has a girlfriend. He’s a devoted boyfriend, even long distance. Nice girl that I am, I decide not to make a move (as if I could).  I’ve always respected The Girlfriend.

He has issues with his girlfriend. Suddenly, everything changes. I…feel a twinge of happiness at the news. Me. Nice, kind, me, who is more proud of her nice nature than just about anything else (nice, I said, not modest). I go from waiting to move on, for my hormones to find someone else to latch onto, to wanting him to return the feelings. I go from fantasising about imaginary guys (or Hugh Jackman) to fantasising about him. I go from mere crushing to actually, truly, viscerally wanting to date someone, an unprecedented incident.

I plan an entire date in my head. I wanted a formal, actual date, so I wear a dress. He’s wearing a shirt, a smile, a funny tie, and those twinkling eyes. Somehow I end up ahead of him and hold the door open for him, welcoming him in with a curtsey and a teasing smile. We sit, talk, eat, laugh. He walks me home. The city is beautiful, our conversation easy. Happy. We kiss. I’m trying to perfect the scene in my head when a friend nudges me. I startle out of my trance with an internal sigh.

We chat online. A normal, banal conversation. My heart stutters every time he replies. My friends laugh at my dramatic silliness. A goofy smile spreads across my face every time I think of him-when the thought isn’t breaking my heart. When did I become such a lovesick puppy?

He doesn’t like me that way. I wish I had the courage to put myself out there and tell him I liked him. I finally understand just how much that takes. The fear of rejection is overpowering. So is the doubt. For all I know, he and his girlfriend have patched up and gone back to being the beautiful couple they always appeared to be. If I put myself out there, would he, could he like me? I don’t want to jeopardize what little friendship we have. But I want him.

I want him.

“Do you ever think, when you're all alone,

All that we could be? Where this thing could go?

Am I crazy or falling in love?

Is it real or just another crush?

Do you catch a breath when I look at you?

Are you holding back like the way I do?

'Cause I'm trying, trying to walk away

But I know this crush ain't goin' away.

     
[It went away.]
                                                                                        

 ~Sam

Overcomplicated

Why are things so unnecessarily complicated? Why is it such an issue for me to skip a day of work to visit a friend in a nearby city? Why do pointless societal rules stop me from following my dreams? Why do they dictate aspects of my life which concern no one but me?
We live for so little time. Why can't we just do what we want, when it doesn't hurt anyone? Why do such tiny, basic things have to have so much thought involved, so many ramifications?

Why can't we just live?

~Sam

Liberty, my ass.

Sometimes, I'm afraid of having the wrong opinion.

I don't mean wrong as in unacceptable, because the point of opinions is that they're subjective and therefore in all probability will be unacceptable to someone. I mean misinformed, or uninformed or underinformed. And because you're never quite fully informed, your opinion is always going to be one-sided (which comes with subjectivity, of course, but still, you want to be as objective as possible) and incomplete.
I think that's partly why I'm so indecisive.


~Sam

Hate and Love

Hate. It's such a strong word, isn't it? So much stronger than love. Think of Hitler. Think of aggression, of wrath, of the violent father's fury, of seething jealousy. Think of anger, of a human scorned, think of sore egos and nurtured scores. Think of the storm, wiping everything in its path. How could anything withstand the forceful tsunami of hate?

Then think of love. Think of the boy in the striped pyjamas. Think of childhood, think of innocence, of forgiveness and acceptance, of a mother's healing hand, of embracing the good in others and in yourself. Think of trust, of wounds healed and scars faded, of the waves washing all that is ill and all that is good into the past and leaving clean sand. Rejuvenating, regenerating, rebirthing. A renaissance. Think of second chances and a stranger's smile. Think of the birds rebuilding, think of the bud peeping through after everything has been wiped out. How could anything resist the gentle persuasion of love?

~Sam

Transient Beauty

"I havent seen you in ages
Sometimes I find myself
Wondering where you are
For me you'll always be eighteen
And beautiful
And dancin away with my heart."
-Dancing Away With My Heart, Lady Antebellum

Human relationships are all so bittersweet, no? All moments in human life, in general, actually. And since life mostly consists of relationships...

I mean. Everything passes. That's an unalterable fact. The person may stay (though they usually don't, stupid globalisation), but that one beautiful moment will pass. There will be more moments, but not that one. Memories capture them to some extent, but that just adds to the bittersweetness of the whole experience, of all experience. Transience adds value-short lived things are the most treasured, shooting stars the most loved- but it also makes your heart hurt.

And you don't want things to be permanent, even when you do, because they won't be the same if they don't pass. Like in Shrek 3. Even the most perfect day lived over and over again can become imperfect. And I guess it's better to have a short, beautiful experience, than to make it stretch and ruin it.

But how do you stop wanting it to last forever? How do you make your heart understand that it's better this way, that life is a collection of sweet moments, not sweet forevers, that leaving some joys behind makes way for new ones, that farewells make way for reunions?

~Sam

There is so much to know in this world, and so little time to know it.

There is so much to read. Kafka and Salinger and Lispector and Khaled Hosseini and Nietzsche and Virginia Woolf and Terry Pratchett and Salman Rushdie and Hemingway and Charles Baudelaire and Fitzegerald and…so much. And so much poetry.

So much to see. Vienna and Paris and Egypt and Nigeria and Angola and Prague and Iran and London and New York and...everywhere.

So much to hear. So many, many songs, so much music I haven't even discovered yet.

So much to experience.

And so little time.

~Sam

Right Here, Right Now.

Currently listening to Heartbeats by Jose Gonzalez
Currently Obsessed with Here Comes A Regular by The Replacements, Open by Rhye, Babe I'm Gonna Leave You by Led Zeppelin
Current Mood-Guilty for not feeling guilty.

I have a visceral, mortal fear.

Of people dying, or committing suicide. I think all those "Chicken Soup for the Soul" books I read when I was 13 laid the ground for this one. But honestly. Have you noticed just how easy it is for someone to die, how fragile life is?
Of staircases, specifically, of falling down staircases. It's happened before, it can happen again.
Of jinxing things. It's really, really difficult for me to brag. (Though that statement is in itself bragging, in a sense.)
Of getting into trouble. Reason #1 I did not have the typical tumultous teen years or crazy college life. I was just too goddamn aware of the consequences, both possible and improbable, of my actions.
Of failure. Though this is one which I can, and am trying to, get over.
I have others, of course, but these are the ones that really influence every decision, haunt every moment.
~Sam

Retrospection

I just read my posts from last November and last December [i.e., of 2011, which seems both so near and so far], and this November and this December-which, let's be honest, consists mainly of Space Filling, and I just..
Wow. I don't think I realized just how depressed I was back then. Even though I have more work now, and equal reason to be stressed, if not more, I'm happy I've evolved enough not to go crazy over it. To have gained a little perspective to look at things as a whole, to see the larger picture.
And I'm glad we started blogging.
Thanks, Malko.

~Sam 

With regard to the third panel.

I do not want my life to be this.
I do not want my life to be counting calories, running miles.
I do not want my life to be answering to society, fulfilling strangers' expectations.
I do not want my life to be defensive, answering questions from those who don't deserve to ask them.
I do not want my life to be routine.
I do not want my life to be worried.
I do not want my life to be unhappy.

Yes, I will do all of those things, sometimes. Most times.
But I do not want my life to be just that.

I want to eat a cupcake, five cupcakes, without thinking about the consequences to my thighs.
I want to tell someone to fuck off when they ask me why I'm doing things so strangely. People who ask through looks and smirks, who have not the courage to use their words. Because if they had the courage to ask, they would have the sense not to want to.
I want to get up and fly to Paris, simply because.
I want to smile at the old man with his little dog, whom he used to let me pet back in seventh grade, without thinking that he's a kidnapper.
I want to laugh off getting fired and immerse myself in a book. Jump into an inviting pool fully clothed. Run down the street to hug my love.
I want..to live.

~Sam

I'm not even sure why we have viewers anymore (if we do).

Hi, it's time for the normal spiel again, i.e., it has been a long while and I am in no position to write something deep or coherent [shit loads of work left, and a friend is making the strangest noises as she experiences Confessions of a Shopaholic-the movie, not the book-for the first time]. So here is a bunch of things I've thought since the last time I blogged, in no particular order.


Loving is giving more, and getting more than you'd ever imagined you could or would.

Beginnings and endings are so special to us, to all of us, as a race. One rarely comments about the beauty of the sun at high noon-it's always a sunrise or a sunset that wells the heart. Maybe because they actually are more beautiful, but the same can be said about births and deaths, which have a way of bringing us together in a way that most occasions don't. We celebrate birthdays every year, a symbol of a beginning; we celebrate weddings and moving and retirements and farewells, because they're a new beginning, and an ending.


Not yet.
Not yet decided,
Not yet written.
Not yet a star,
Not yet a somebody.



Putting something into words is such a big deal. It imparts such a sense of certainty. Permanence. Words are so..lasting.



I am intensely fascinated by bruises, both metaphorical and literal.



Epiphany of the week: I've realized that I actually have hope for the human race, despite all our contradictions and our wars and our stupid silly quarrels and our egos and our occasional insipidity. Despite our Hitlers and our Idi Amins. Because we still have Schindlers, so many Schindlers that we don't even know their names. Friends, lovers. Who sacrifice for us, even if it is something as simple as staying up all night just to let us rant. And despite what Ayn Rand may have preached, I still do believe that to sacrifice for someone is the greatest thing you can do for them, and, in the right situations, for yourself.


~Sam

Suffocating.

I am not one in a million.  I am the epitome of normalcy and mediocre. I feel like I'm being laughed at by karma. My life is a joke. How long before I realize my dreams are just false hope? Am I really that ignorant, or am I just living in denial? I am not destined for greatness. Who am I even kidding? I don't even know if I can get that 700 in the GMAT. Does it matter how much I want this? Does it make a difference? Do I make a difference?

I'm so tired of this. Fatigue is creeping into my bones. My life is dull. I'm done with this place and its people. I'm not asking for firecrackers, just a few sparks here and there. But all that exists, is darkness and silence. I am confined. I'm suffocating.

This is Malko saying

Maytheforcebewithyou

Chickens!

Isn't is strange and interesting and weird how when we talk about the food, it's always singular, "chicken", but when we speak of the creature, it can be plural, too?

~Sam, who has a marching tune stuck in her head and can't stop marching (though no one around here seems to consider that unusual, strangely enough).

Best feelings in the world.

• Long Hot Showers. Feeling the tension ease off as each drop of water acquaints itself with your shoulders.
• Macaroni and Cheese when you've been starving for hours. 
• An incomprehensibly good song that drives you insane.
• Books that make you want to scream out for the character's agony or burst into flames for their happiness.
• Slowly crawling back into your warm sea of blankets knowing that you have more time to sleep on a cold winter's day. 
• The scent of rain and feeling its spray touch your skin.

 Most other people would probably say that Love is one of the best feelings in the world, but I don't know anything about it, so I don't believe in it. But for now, "These are a few of my favorite things" as Julie Andrews so beautifully sang in The Sound of Music.

This is Malko saying 

Maytheforcebewithyou

Why must I always want to write when I have nothing to say?

Choices

This is slightly more personal than my other stuff, and up here solely for the sake of posterity, and perhaps as a caution against the twin evils of indecisiveness and impulsiveness that so love to plague me.

So I've spoken about how I live in a state of constant indecisiveness, and that is more true than you can imagine. Constraint of time is the only thing that makes me hurry up and make a choice, which, like everything else I do, I make at the last possible minute.This is true of pretty much every choice I've made till date, whether I'm deciding what to order at a restaurant..or what career to pursue.

This story is about the latter.

So, rewind a bit in my life. It's time to pick a college/university/whatever you refer to them as. I'll stick to college. I'm eligible for two equally brilliant ones, and it's time to make a choice, that much detested thing. One of these colleges is what I specifically prepared for, and far beyond what I'd ever hoped to reach. The other offers me the course which I love. Why was I preparing for a course different from what I love? Well I prepared for both, but my focus was on one. There was a choice involved there, too, another one-foolishly-taken at the last moment, but let's just say that reason led to this one. The whole brain v. heart conundrum again. This one had better prospects, and I liked it well enough; that one was the eternal love and passion of my life. If I was to pick the first, I had to start preparing, and soon, and so I began, without quite realizing that this was one in a line of choices that would determine the course of my life. Without thinking about what I was losing. I had been slightly hesitant, and thought I'd leave myself open to both my options, what I liked and what I loved, and pick depending on where I got in-thought that I would decide later when, if I got in.

That first step in the sea swept me away though. The fact that I had a goal in mind,  something to work at; the fact that I invested so much in preparing, all sort of cemented this option in my mind, automatically relegated the second option, what I loved, to second place. A back up, a second choice. I'd dreamed about making it to a certain place: never did I dream of getting accepted to a better place. When that happened, everyone, everyone was overjoyed. Except me: I was still in shock I think. I don't remember much, but I distinctly remember that I wasn't..happy. Just numb. I had found out earlier that I might eligible for the place I loved-I wouldn't know until later that I might have been accepted there had I passed the interview (which I didn't attend, having already made my decision by then), and I wouldn't regret it until even later than that, when life and consequences had caught up with me.



This story is still incomplete. And I think it always will be, because I will never know where that other path would have led. I don't even fully know where this path is going. Maybe they'll merge somewhere, though. Maybe I'll be sure somewhere.


~Sam

Post 'The Book Thief'

You know what authors are? They're the biggest manipulators of all time. The things they can do with human emotion. Take your heart and twist it and wring out all these feelings, all this attachment, towards people who don't exist, but who are still people. So much investment in a world which doesn't exist, but one which is still real. Often much more love for this fiction than we ever feel for the real world, the real people. Anyone who's been half awake on the internet and seen all the various fandoms-Harry Potter comes to mind first-would know that. And it isn't just authors. Every type of artist. Painters, musicians, directors, actors. They all make us..care. And isn't that what I want to do? Make people care? Make people listen. Make people cry.



~Sam, whose heart just finished crying over The Book Thief. 

The Difficulty of Explaining Something to Someone on the Outside

Well the title sort of says it all. I just finished reading The Devil Wears Prada (not a good idea, should've finished Lolita instead) and the main character, Andrea, talks about how her work life is so completely insulated from the outside world, and how no one on the outside can understand her, not even her best friend.
And that is so, so true. I highly doubt I'm the only person who relates with that. People keep asking me how life is, how things are going, how I like this and that, how I like my new place, and how do you explain? How do you possibly put all the feelings into words and explain them to someone who isn't there and will not be able to understand (and usually, who isn't even listening, which is just pissing off)? When you put something into words, it becomes so real, so understated, so..incomplete. Because you can't speak someone a blogpost giving them a complete picture of your life. Can't answer a "How are you?" with a thousand word reply of how, exactly, you are. You just say "Fine" and move on with life. Because even if you gave them the thousand words, they still wouldnt understand, wouldnt be there, in your place, feeling and seeing and being.
Much as I value words, they aren't the same as feelings, as participation, as presence.

~Sam

Stupid facebookers

Poetry is saying what everyone else has been thinking. [Which is something a critic said about some poet whose name I have shamelessly forgotten, and which has stayed with me forever because it just rings so true.]
Facebook statuses are repeating what everyone else had been saying and raking in the likes. >.<
~Sam

I blame the movies.

I blame the movies. The movies and the books, but I can't hate my beloved books so I'm just going to lay all the blame on the movies. For showing me pretend, fantasy and making me believe, wish that it was real. For screwing up my life by setting such high standards of what a scripted reality can be like, and for making me forget that that's just what it is: scripted. Not real. Never real.
~Sam

Ending

The day is ending.
The sky is darkening,
The balloons are drooping,
Their life running dry.
The sun is setting,
The crows are crying,
Circling round the sky.
Leaves scatter the ground,
The heavens glow dull,
The night creatures start to stir.
The crescent moon already rising,
I accompany it up the stairs.
Down the hall,
Through the door,
Into my haven.

And a day in the world ends.

~Sam

Ring!

This is pretty.
It's also the only ring I've come across so far that I would like, as, you know. A ring. So for posterity's sake, here it is.
Super cheesy, I know, but still.

~Sam

Too much

Sometimes, I think having too much of something turns out worse than having too little. Being too smart, too rich. The ones with average insight, the poorer ones, their lives are so much simpler. When you're happy, satisfied, content with just the bare essentials. When a tiny step forward is a giant leap. Much as I hate Economics, I do see the whole decreasing marginal utility principle applying in my life: the tenth slice of chocolate cake is not half as tasty as that first bite. And while you still might keep eating it because the basic aim of our lives is to get more, and more-you've already crossed your optimum level of happiness.
But you can't not want more. You can't..regress..to ignorance, to poverty. Nor can you really keep still: once you begin, you always hunger for more, even as you move from necessity to indulgence to gluttony. From need to contentment to a constant dissatisfaction.

My Dad Got Me A Toy Helicopter For My Birthday

Yes, it happened. At first I was like, "Ooooh shiny toy!" but then, I realized I no longer enjoy toy helicopters or toy cars. I am not Nine; I'm Nineteen. Nineteen. 19. Wow saying that sounds very strange. How different am I now from when I was Nine? I enjoyed reading and dreaming and imagining. I still do enjoy all of those things. I used to play with toys. I pretty much STOPPED doing that when I turned 12. I think it's difficult for both of us to realize that I'm not a child anymore. I'm the youngest one so I guess I was always treated like a child. But I'm not,and that makes me happy and sad. Happy because like every other adult, I want to move out of my parents house and do my own thing. I want my own apartment and I want an independent life. Sad because there's so much responsibility. But "With great power comes great responsibility".

Maytheforcebewithyou.

Everything is a lie.

The previous one was the 199th post.
This is the 200th.
Your life is a lie.
You're in the Matrix.
I'm evil.
Haha.

Happy New Year!
~Sam

200('13)

This year, I pray for happiness. I pray for peace, and I pray for joy. I pray for getting my old mush back, I pray for getting my old self back, my bubbliness and my enthusiasm for life and for speaking in capital letters. I pray for work not to get me down and for friends to always be around. I pray for fun and frolick and contemplation and epiphany. I pray for depth in happiness and frivolity in sadness. I pray for clarity. I pray for me, and I pray for the world.

~Sam

I also pray for a better 300th post than the 100th or 200th were. *sigh* Such anticlimactic-ness.
Oh, and that I get better at board games, and find more time to play them.
And that I finish my 346 long reading list on Goodreads, and add more to it.
And that I write better, and more, and become more confident with my writing. That I'm not ashamed to own up to it.
And that I get whatever I want (which isn't bad for me) :P
That I get some certainty in my life, and my opinions, and make up my mind about who I am and what I believe and what I want to be.
That I figure out why people are actually reading this.

Space Filling VIII

It's so funny. As New Year's gets closer and closer, your declarations get grander and grander.
Like, I'm not going to watch TV again this year. I'm not going to eat again this year. I'm not going to breathe again this year.

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Okay I got used to Space Filling and now I have nothing substantial to say for the big two-oh-oh so I'll just keep rambling here.
Rambling should be a good way to herald in the new year. Maybe I can ramble through that.

Instead of rambling, I should have just kept a diary of what I did tonight.
Though there wouldn't be much to say. All I did was:
-avoid social pressure to attend a party of any sort, along with a friend of mine who, for clarity's sake shall be referred to as Vowel-less
-watch a part of The Notebook and drool over Ryan Gosling [despite his total creepiness in the beginning when he tries to get whatshername to date him]
-go get the Chinese delivery
-hog on Chinese food
-initiate facebook conversation with Random Person I
-chatter like I've known him forever and be my usual happy high self
-get pissed off at Stupid Comment
-make sarcastic comments about Random Person I's intelligence, and lack thereof
-initiate conversation with Random Person II, who is also Scary MetalHead Weed Guy, in a group conversation so I don't have to face him alone
-regret the decision
-regret the decision
-get bored
-regret the decision
-blog
-blog
-blog
-blog
-blog
-blog
-regret the decision
-answer blog comments
-blog
-turn into Grouchy Grinch five seconds before the New Year
I EVEN FORGOT TO UPDATE MY STATUS TO "I WILL NOT BREATHE AGAIN THIS YEAR". No fair. :/


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WHATEVER EITHER WAY THIS IS THE 199TH POST PEOPLE!
I hope all of them weren't as lame and pointless as the last few, though I'm quite sure a lot of them have been.

OHMYGOD 200 POSTS ALREADY THIS HAS ALL GONE BY TOO FAST STOP STOP STOP.
THERE ARE TOO MANY FEELS I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY I CAN'T ARGHIHASJKDFSA;HF.

HAPPY NEW YEAR PEOPLE! I hope it's awesome and no one wishes they were dead.

~Sam