Through the glass she looked


She was the innocent child thrown out to the wolves and learnt to crave his knife to lead the pack instead. Adventure was her snowflake that beckoned her to come out and play. Through the looking glass at the end of the tunnel she stood; taking her breath away was the last thing on his mind. She was never his or her own. She belonged to something far too unknown. She detested recycled stories of boy-meets-girl. Yet, she got entangled in his dream catcher and all she could do was stare. Weak men ran away from her cause they lacked the strength to fix the broken. He was a fixer and knew exactly how many and where the stitches go!

Play it cool, independent girls don’t love

The feelings rush into your heart as fast as gasoline setting on fire. It has been too long since you’ve felt this way and it burns deep. You try to play it cool as much as possible, but you’re the type to wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s inevitable – the wants, the needs, the desires.

Everyone tells you to let him come to you. At this age though, why is that still a thing? You’re over the games, you’ve dealt with being alone and you’ve experienced love followed by heartbreak. You know what you want and that shouldn’t be your fault.

The days you’re together are magical, and the nights those lead into are a fairytale. You start getting to know everything about each other. Staying up until 4 am asking and answering every question imaginable becomes routine. He gives no indication you’re moving to fast, no sign of turning back, no thought of wanting to slow down.

Then there come the nights he wants nothing to do with you. You’ve discussed the whole communicating thing and expressing feelings. You’ve had endless talks about your sensitivity and your neediness. At the time, he believes “it’s cute”, “it’s endearing”, but in reality, its pushing him away-until he’s gone.

Feelings of insecurity and hopelessness surround your brain. Second guessing yourself becomes a daily activity. Why isn’t he inviting me out with his friends? Why doesn’t he want to constantly spend time with me? Why doesn’t he try to go above and beyond? You’re used to being the pursued not the one pursuing and it’s killing you.

How is it fair that because feelings overwhelm your brain and because you acknowledge them, you’re in the wrong? I want a love that is pure and magical but apparently that is too much to handle.

I’m an independent woman. I am strong, I am smart, I am outgoing but all of that combined with knowing what I want, is against society’s norms. I am not allowed to express how I feel, I am crazy if I am too interested in someone, I am needy if I want to see the person I like multiple times a week.

I can’t control it though. I deserve a person that doesn’t just “handle” me but truly wants me. I deserve to not only feel happiness from myself but also from my partner. While some might think that’s too much to ask, it shouldn’t be.

The girl who cared too much to notice

It’s ok.
She is used to people using her
She is used to people walking all over her and then out of her life
She is used to people talking shit about her
She is used to people pretending to be friends just to get a favour
She is used to people lying to her
She is used to disappointing people and in return being disappointed too
She is used to people leaving her waiting
She is used to people stabbing her in the back
She is used to people replacing her in the circle of friends
She is used to people keeping secrets from her and about her
She is used to people betraying her trust
She is used to people shattering her self esteem
She is used to people playing her and messing with her feelings
She is used to people toying around with her head
She is used to trusting too much and having her heart broken
She is used to people calling her sweet names and then slow fading into oblivion
So, whatever you did: It dint surprise her. Cause all of it has already been done to her.
It was like the sad line of the poetry or the epitaph in a graveyard, She was used to it.

And then all of a sudden she changed.
She came back a completely different person with a new mindset, outlook and soul.
The girl that once cared way too much about everyone – No longer cared at all.

Just Let Things Be?

I’m learning not to force things to happen.

I’m learning to just let them be, to let them align with my life when the time is right, to the let the universe bring them to me without having to run after them; because if you have to run after something, it means that it doesn’t want to stand still, it doesn’t want to be caught, it doesn’t want to stop at your door. I’m trusting God that what’s meant for me will eventually find me no matter where I am. I’m not going to be passive but I also won’t fight a losing battle.

I’m learning to let love find me.

I’m learning to stop decoding messages and mixed signals and signs and wait for the clear message, the message that is so obvious and easy to understand, the message that doesn’t make you question or second guess anything and the message that you’re truly waiting for.

I’m learning to let those who don’t want me in their lives go, I might even hold the door open for them because I don’t want temporary visitors anymore, I don’t want to share my bed with someone doesn’t want to spend every night with me and I won’t share my heart with someone who doesn’t want to protect it. I’m learning to let love find me when it’s real, when it’s simple, when it’s mutual and when it’s passionate.

I’m learning to be patient with myself.

I’m learning to take it easy on myself and my plans. I’m learning to be kind to myself when I slip-up and patient enough to make my dreams come true. I’m learning to forgive myself for my mistakes and let them be memories instead of labels. I’m learning to let these mistakes prove that I’ve tried for things that weren’t right for me, that I didn’t always play it safe, that I went for things I was unsure of and that I took chances.

I’m taking the wisdom I got from all these mistakes; the wisdom that taught that mistakes often happen because we are forcing something that is not meant for us and we are trying to get something we probably shouldn’t have.

I’m learning to stop trying so hard to control my life.

I’m learning that it is okay if I don’t have all the answers or if I’m not where I want to be. I’m learning to let life take its course instead of trying to steer the wheel in another direction. I’m learning that I won’t always get what I want but life will give me what I need. I’m learning to treat life as a friend; trying to understand it, trying to love it when it’s difficult, trying to accept it even when it’s frustrating me and trying to appreciate the experiences it has provided me with, the memories it gave me, the laughter it brought me and the sadness it put me through just to grow.

I’m learning to let things be and I’m learning to look at life as a person; a person who is also still trying to figure it out, a person who is flawed and a person who wants to be better on most days but falls short on other days like everyone else.

I’m learning to let the force of life move me instead of forcing it to stop.

This is the art of ‘Something Borrowed’.

I’m in a relationship with the Whatsapp guy

I like you. I really like you.

You are what I usually look for when I think about things I want a man to be. You are tall, dark, handsome and charming just like the fairy tales say! You laugh and crack a funny joke when I say this because you have an intellect that can hold a decent conversation. You are a fitness freak and play sports to keep up your passion. You are ambitious, hardworking and someone every girl craves to be with. You said so yourself!

I wait to get your texts or the random selfie you send me through the day. (In which, you look hot af I must admit!) I know you sleep early so I try to get as much conversation with you as I can through the day. You wear braces and have an awkward demeanour when it comes to first impressions. I get that. Wow! I haven’t complimented a man in sometime and in so many words. So, I know I really like you.

I also feel the butterflies, you know the ones that my stomach created a grave yard for and I never imagined another set of species would survive there again but you did this to my stomach. It now hosts a various range and is now what I call a Butterfly Park!

What is this? I mean what are we doing here? I don’t know if our “relationship” will ever extend from the Whatsapp and iMessages to a phone call or FaceTime. Or if you are just talking to me in the hope of sleeping with me someday soon. And you know what? I am not so sure I would be able to resist the temptation.

We may have that phone call to have a really drunk date and make out session. Or maybe our first date will make you run for the mountains. You might meet me again or maybe we’ll meet once more at the bar and then awkwardly make up an excuse for work the next day. My desperate attempts to talk to you must give out different vibes. Maybe we’ll fall for each other or maybe we’ll fall back into the title of complete strangers when I see you next on Tinder and swipe left. I’m really not sure what you’ll be to me and what I can be to you.

I’m exhausted with just lusting for a man. I know you have those shoulder blades that I want to dig my teeth into. I knew it with every selfie I saw! It’s finally nice to talk to someone I know I might feel the sex with. I have concluded that we will have sex.

I know we aren’t each other’s firsts, and we probably won’t be each other’s lasts. We’ve already experienced our first kiss, first love, first heartbreak, first everything. You’ve probably slept with a handful of women, and I myself have done the same with men. You aren’t my first love, and there have been other guys before you that have changed the way I view ‘a relationship’. My emotions aren’t as innocent and raw as they once were. Life has changed me and it has changed how I am going to look at you.

I have a ‘whatever’ relationship stance with you right now. It’s not yet a crush, infatuation, fling, one-night stand or even a date yet. You are another guy on my address book who I think something might come out of it. I’m not naive and I’m not going to expect that anything will come of this until something does actually come of it. But to begin with, can I expect a phone call?

It’s been close to a month since we’ve begun texting which translates into speaking for the 21st century dating culture and I’m not going to put a label on this.

Dating has evolved into one giant twisted and fucked up game, and we all willingly play along. With the numerous Tinder, Grindr, Aisle, Truly Madly, Flo and Mingle apps it is a complicated game and I hesitate even before I get in.

If I like you, I’m going to tell you. But, don’t flatter yourself just yet, that doesn’t always mean I’m looking to be your girlfriend. Nor does it mean I’m quick to jump in and be your fuck buddy either. I’m not expecting a grandiose proposal or flowers at my doorstep.  It doesn’t mean I’m head over heels for you or you’re the person I want to have my babies with. So relax. I like the kind of person you are and I’d like to be around you more to know how that would feel. That’s all.

You can call me “crazy” for developing feelings, but I could say the same to you for being petrified of a relationship that was never even established in the first place. You aren’t looking for a commitment, but when did I say I was?

You aren’t my first guy. And you might not be last. Don’t string me along for your own entertainment but also don’t assume I’m looking for a committed relationship until I tell you that I am. Our “whatever” break up might sting for a little bit, but you won’t break me. Life moves on, and so will I.

I think deep. I think a lot. I imagine every single positive or negative scenario there is to us before I can make up my mind about what this status actually means. Like many I’ve been told by, I am stupid and insane to overthink. But this is me!

I know you don’t read so you finding this page is nearly impossible. But, even if you did, I hope it’s month later after the phone call, our first kiss, our first everything that you read to know that for once I went with the flow. Or maybe you will read when you find me again on Tinder and are wondering why we became strangers on a fateful day and my last seen was at 3:57AM when I wrote about the pain in my heart. I haven’t felt this crushing pain in months and years even. You sound like my next painful disaster.

I’m worried. Yet, I am drawn to you like I have opened up a secret sky full of stars, that I want to lie down next to you and watch. While I play with the cold neck chain hanging down on your shoulder and you caress my hair to kiss my neck. I’m jealous of this girl I’m imagining here. She is right there next to you.

And here I am sitting 18 KMS away from you, hoping you are sitting in the cubicle of your office just thinking of what it is like to be with this girl I’m texting and making mental notes of a blog you haven’t written.

What it is like to be guarded…

There’s a reason why my walls are built so high, and there’s a reason it will take you longer than expected to bring them down. There’s a reason why I’m guarded.

I’m guarded because I’ve been hurt before. We all have. My weakness is that I carry the pain with me as a constant reminder that it could happen again. And while this is such a cautious way to walk through life, while instead I could be wildly sprinting, the wild sprint has made me fall and trip before, and the scrapes and burns were painful. So painful that it takes a while to try and run that fast again. So I walk, and I walk carefully noticing my surroundings because I worry if I were to ever fall that hard again, I might not be able to get back up.

I’m guarded because I’m scared of what you’ll think, but not scared enough to admit it. I fear your disapproval like a little girl fears the monster under her bed, and right now I will just keep quiet to avoid any disturbance. I’m guarded because no one has ever protected me as well as I protect myself. My own armor has been stronger than yours, or his, or hers, and it will continue to be until someone shows me otherwise.

I’m guarded because I’m no stranger to failure, and while it has made me stronger, it has also made me more aware of how all of it can go wrong. I’m guarded because I’ve mistakenly invested my trust in those who took it for granted, and because of their disregard, I no longer hand out trust so easily.

I’m guarded because I see the damage coming before it even happens, and I know that the lucky ones will tell me how unreasonable, pessimistic, and sad this all sounds, but even when you try to tell yourself that this time is different, the reminder seeps back in. Life will bring hurt and pain, and people will disappoint you, but no one has the ability to break down your walls except for you. I’m guarded because I’ve chosen to be that way.

I think when you’re young, you’re hoping that this person will be the right one, the one you’re going to be in love with forever, but sometimes you want that so much you create something that really isn’t there. But I didn’t understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly he would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair.

That is the way it is with a wound. The wound begins to close in on itself, to protect what is hurting so much. And once it is closed, you no longer see what is underneath, what started the pain. I have learned now that while those who speak about one’s miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more.

20 minutes of your attention span is all I got

There’s a picture on my phone of us, hidden among all of the discarded pictures, selfies and screenshots of quotes and saying that make my chest heave a sigh. There is a little sparkle in your eye that makes my heart melt into a puddle of dissolved cynicism and pessimism.

Each time we had sex you would push me in a way I didn’t know I could be pushed. I loved every second of it. I would drink up every part of you and scream into your shoulders – even those muscles did nothing to silence the sounds you brought out of me. I’ve always been loud but you took it to an entirely different level. But more than the sex I was addicted to talking to you until the sun started to come up. You once said that coming over to my place took planning because you knew that what with anyone else would be a 20 minute thing would last for 5 hours between you and me. I think I fell for you a little bit each time we’d start arguing before either one of us had gotten a chance to put our clothes back on.

We were never an anything. Never had a label, never had a definition. The most I was able to stake claim in was stolen glances that I invented meanings for and the three feet of book piles in between us. I created somethings out of “hey you” text messages that came my way at 3 AM, pretended like I was the only person you were breathing into on Tuesday nights, grasped for some sort of sign out of the way you would kiss the back of my neck after you peeled my shirt off.

You asked me to not bullshit you and said you would never lie to me. I’m not sure if I have a right to be upset, because is not saying anything, the same as telling a lie? You never made me feel bad about being honest until it got a little too real and then you went off into the world without even telling me you were going. I was honest with you and now I’m going back to only being honest with my keyboard.

Each day that goes by where I don’t text you is like a little victory. I mark it on a calendar and collect imaginary chips for days I haven’t had you in my life. I’ve always been one of those people who was all or nothing and with you I was unapologetically all in. But I was playing alone and now I’m working on recollecting the pieces of myself I never should have expended and my dignity that I watched slip away when I cared about you in a way you never cared about me. Each day that goes by where I fight through to urge to admit “I miss you” is seen as a win in my book.

But regardless of me swallowing down the want and the need to try and force you into my life I can’t bear to delete that picture of you. You hadn’t gotten rid of your facial hair, had that ridiculously adorable look on your face that brought out your sparkle, and I liked to pretend that you told all of your buddies, “That’s the girl who gave me the scar on my arm from holding onto it.” Every now and then when I’m a half bottle of rum and coke deep and wishing that your legs were touching mine I scroll through and find it and remember how much I really liked having you in my life.

You were important to me. You changed me. You made me remember what it was like to be excited to see someone and what it was like to miss somebody. You made an impression on my heart that I still can’t quite define and I’m not sure if it’s ever going to go away.

So for now, the picture of you is going to suffice. The memories of you laughing and making fun of you are what I’m going to hold onto instead of grasping for someone who isn’t there. I’m getting to the point where thinking about you doesn’t make me want to throw myself into a place of desperation. I’m almost to the place where I want to talk to you again and knowing that you won’t kiss me after we yell at each other about work doesn’t make me feel abandoned.

But I’m not totally there. So for now, I’m not ready to see you. I’m only ready to think about you once a day and remember that until I’m ready to try and bring you back into my life in even the smallest of possible ways I have your picture and nothing to apologize for.