Discovering the Dark

A lot of people will probably agree when I say this, everyone’s personality is dominated by particular traits, prominently and clearly outlining how a person is, how he/she behaves and how their mindset is. But there are sides to everyone’s personalities, which remain dormant... waiting to be triggered by a word, a person, an incident, a situation. A calm and composed person will probably experience something which will force him/her to remove every bit of the built up anger and impatience, something unnatural to his/her usual self. Similarly, a happy-go-lucky person will go through a phase where he/she feels lonely and left out in spite of being surrounded by infinite known faces. People deep in depression learn how to rise from the ashes, the experience teaches them how to deal with the worse case scenarios life is capable of embracing. In my opinion, discovering and loving these sides lying in the dark, is critically important. Knowing yourself completely, finding out things which may disappoint or surprise you is something that makes you versatile, it’s only that when we spend time in the dark that we learn to respect the light.

My attempt at discovering the dark started one day with a simple conversation with a friend. She had just been reading the collection of my funny poems, when she asked me “Have you ever tried writing serious stuff?” I replied in the affirmative, saying I had tried hard but come up with very little stuff that made sense. Writing on personal experience was hard, things became repetitive and I sort of knew that only close friends would understand who or what I was talking about. Being spontaneous and nonsensically funny came easily to me, all I had to do was say the first thing that came to my mind. But her question forced me to re-consider, and I sat down to write something which would test my ability to be versatile, to write on something which would evoke the 1^st of the potent “3-L” emotions Love, Lust and Laughter.

I decided to try and transform a story into a tragedy, one which everyone could read and understand. There were many problems, something which took a whole lot of time to rectify. Capturing the protagonist’s accurate feelings was vital, I did not want to leave out any emotion, that would have been disrespectful to say the least .I wanted to keep it fairly simple, knowing that complicated words would mean too much was lost in translation. Writing something detailed and long, would probably make readers lose interest at a point.. 2 days of thinking and a lot of rewriting later, I came up with this-

I woke up that morning, just couldn't stop smiling,

“I'm gonna meet her today! The excitement was piling.”

This was the first time I'd see her, I'd only heard her on the phone

Endless conversations, girlish charm.. She'd had me fully blown.

"I'll see you tomorrow love.. Would 10 O'clock be fine?"

She said in a voice more intoxicating than wine.

I happily agreed.. I didn't sleep through the night

What will I say to her? Will everything be all right?

As the questions just went on, the night slowly faded

and as the clock ticked time, I felt increasingly elated.

I wore my best attire, stepped out into the sun's rays

So this was how it felt being in love.. I was totally dazed!

I reached the place we talked about, all that was left was the waiting

As I turned around, I saw her in the distance.. the one who I was dating.

She was on the other side of the street, exactly like the pictures I'd seen

She wasn't pretty or cute, but to my world she was the queen.

As her eyes finally met mine, I felt my heart was just struck

And as I blinked ever so slowly, I heard the horn of a truck.

The truck swerved out of control, it hit her body which bended

The echoes of her last scream, even today haven't ended.

I ran to where she lay destroyed, where her soul was so cruelly taken

I refused to believe she was gone,. Hoped that suddenly I'd awaken

I held her for the first time in my arm, knowing it would be the last time too

My hands were shaking, my feet were quaking, I just didn't know what to do

My eyes went numb, the tears wouldn't stop.. Her blood was on my skin

Half of me was too shocked to speak, half was ripped from within

The people started crowding around, A sea of insensitive whispers

All I needed was time alone with he, I prayed they would just disperse.

I closed her eyes, kissed her forehead, the cold skin froze my lips

They told me gently "It's no use now", and firmly tightened their grips.

I shouted and fought, like a savage beast.. every part of me grew wild

for a moment I was like a mother, separated from her infant child.

Her petite body lay on the red pavement.. not moving, ever so still

The sight of her so lifelessly limp, immediately snapped my will.

At that instant, I couldn't take no more, all I remember was falling

My mind went blank, knees gave away, my name people were calling

Later that night among all the grief.. I told myself I'd be brave

I picked my jacket, pulled it on.. then headed towards her grave

The light rain hid my tears, told me even the Gods were crying

She came and left so effortlessly, and now, even my soul was dying.

The seconds turned to minutes and then to hours..I just didn't want to leave

The fact that you were somewhere else now, was just too hard to believe.

I looked up at the sky, trying to find some...any kind of response from you

Trying to calm the urge to come to where you were, which ever so madly grew.

Your voice on the phone, so mesmerising, always kept me breathing

Now all that was left was this huge hole inside.. leaving me lost and seething.

I'll never know how it would have felt, to hug, to hold, or kiss you

But there is one thing I'll never forget, is how it feels to miss you.

4 long hours later, I gently stood back up, on her grave I left a rose

Hoping that how much I'm going through, wherever she is she knows

I went home, fell on my bed.. read her messages so subtle and clever..

The only memories I have left of her, which I'd keep with me forever.

It's been years since that fateful day.. but the memories still haunt.

If I'd not told you to meet me that day, would things still be this gaunt?

All I can do is ask questions, whose answers will remain a mystery

And I remain, a broken man.. with a dark, unforgettable history..

The response I received was really good, people congratulated me for trying something different. The fact that I was able to dig deep and find inspiration was even more satisfying. Thats why it’s something I’ve come to firmly believe in- “If you can’t make your light side any better, then polish your dark side.”

Learning the Hard Way

Have you ever woken up one fine morning, feeling something was amiss? Like a feeling in your gut that things were going to go wrong... horrendously wrong?  I remember an incident where I got up from sleep with the exact same kind of clairvoyant feeling. Little did I know that ignoring it, would be like jumping head first into an empty swimming pool.

It was the 27^th of November I think. I woke up knowing I had an exam and as my usual efficient self, I had barely managed to push past the index page of my textbook.  I mean come on... Social studies? Like, seriously? How’s History going help me? Why should I remember stuff that happened 200 years before I was born? Geography too, I DON’T want to remember which country produces the most coconuts, or which region has the most number of chimpanzees (I swear I’ve seen enough already, not to mention I look at one when I stare into the mirror every day). The only reason I DO want to know where the deepest ocean is to know where I’d be able to safely drown my Hindi teacher without being traced...  that is not the aim of geography is it? Yeah and Civics too? A deeper understanding tells us Civics points to anything “civilised”. Do I look civilised from ANY angle? As my good friend Nalin puts it, “My hair looks like an upside down pineapple.” I don’t give a flying crap about being civilised. I don’t give a flying crap about Social Studies. Hell, I don’t give a flying crap about any kind of studies in general . Sadly, the education system prevails, and I had to bang my airtight head and force myself to read.

But exams are exams right? Sad thing, but true everywhere you go. So I took my school bag and dumped everything but books into my bag (to make it seem heavy to my Mom and teachers). Nonchalantly, I walked to school, trying to memorize all the dates and places which I never seemed to remember. As I reached the classroom and sat down, I noticed an odd thing. Everyone was sitting quietly, head bent over notebooks, furiously scribbling away. Feeling a little out of place, I asked a guy (he was in the different section) “What is it with people writing so much today?”

He looked towards me like I had dropped from Mars and said “How else would you practice Maths?”

Wait wait wait! MATHS? Did I miss something here?? Frantic like a man suffering from massive loose motion, I started to sweat. “We have MATHS today?” (I didn’t want to hear the answer.)

“Yeah man, why?” He gazed even more cautiously at me.

“Nothing, thanks man” I muttered.

 First thought which passed my mind- I’m dead. If there was one subject I always feared, it was Maths. It brought out the worse in me, I swear if I was a boxer and I imagined my opponent’s face to be my Maths textbook, I would smash even Mike Tyson’s face to Jupiter. I never understood Maths, and found it pretty illogical right from the beginning. (from my perspective) I mean when I was young, the teacher told me 1+6 was 7. Next day, she told me 2+5 was 7. Third day 3+4 was 7, I mean “WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM YOU CONFUSED WOMAN?! Can’t you make up your mind like every normal person??”

And here I was, sitting with my mouth open on my desk. I was going to face my worst nightmare and I wasn’t even ready. I looked up, and prayed that either of two possibilities would happen- 1) One of the peons would come to invigilate or 2) The paper was set by the Maths teacher’s two year old son. (Even then I doubted if I’d pass).

A minute later, a booming voice with a Haryanvi accent shouted “GET IN!” and a crown of people stormed in like someone was distributing free Plasma TVs. My worst fear was now confirmed, the invigilator was Mr Jeetinder, a tough, unmovable Chemistry teacher who was also in-charge of training all NCC Cadets *gulp*. The guy knew me well because I met him during school team practice every evening, but he was not giving me any favours in the exam hall, I was sure.

The room was perfectly silent as he started distributing the papers, and he flashed me a momentary smile of recognition before throwing my question paper on my desk.  I slowly turned the paper around and started browsing from the top. Question 1 to 10 were 1 mark ones, so were pretty easy. 10 marks confirmed, I sighed thankfully and moved on to the next page. THAT is where I almost pooped my pants. Question 11- “Nah”, Question 12- “No way”, Question 13- “is that even in the textbook?” Before I knew it, I ran out of questions. Maths... My downfall, yet again. Why do they have to set such stupid questions huh? Why? “From the figure above with given angles, prove the above figure is a triangle”. Well like duh! The figure has three sides, three angles and it DEFINITELY LOOKS like a triangle. Why should I prove it? WHY?

“Using a suitable identity, prove the following:” Suitable identity you say? What does that even mean? Would my school identity card do?? Huh?! I prayed for somebody to save me, before I got angry enough to swallow the question paper and die of choking. The questions seemed to be getting ridiculous. “Find the value of x”. After you break up, your ex has no value, hence x= 0. 3 Marks for that? Bravo Shamir Reuben... Bravo...

1 and a half hours later, my answer sheet was taken from me. It looked like C.T scan of my skull, it was mostly empty. Mr Jeetinder asked “So much of unused space on your paper? Any specific reason?”

“Yes Sir, I hope to score an extra 5 marks for neatness.”

As I got out of the exam hall, I felt betrayed. I stayed up all night... well, watching a movie. But I wasted 1 hour on studying Social Studies. One HOUR. All that effort down the drain. When the results came out, I leant an important lesson n Maths- Integers. My marks had forced my teacher to teach me the concept of negative numbers.

But life goes on. Since that day, I swear when I have a bad feeling... I puff out my chest and go outside, knowing whatever comes my way would be a test (and an entertaining read for anyone reading about it when I pen it down). Not to mention that I learn something from incidents like this, I ALWAYS write down the timetable now, and I do study maths, for hours... 1/4^th hours ½ hours... Whatever. HOURS is what matters. And I do make it a point to be lazy only on some days... days beginning only with the letter T. Tuesday, Thursday... Thaturday, Thunday, Today, Tomorrow. Can’t help it, inbuilt in my system. But jokes apart, I’m more attentive now. Worse things can always happen, and I swear I have had enough for one lifetime.

Perfecting the Bicycle Kick

Well, the following incident is something that I hold close to my heart, perhaps the only instance where my super laziness has been engulfed and consumed by a rare fire of perseverance. It happened just a few years back, and being a guy just into my teens, a rush of blood was all it took to pump an overdose of adrenaline into a brainless kid like me. A young teen aged guy is attracted to anything that catches the fancy of people around him, I was no different. I racked my brains to think of something that I could do which would atleast force heads to look my way. That was hard to come by as a guy in 10^th, I wasn’t a heart throb like Edward Cullen, and physique wise I looked more like a pregnant Shakira than compared to muscular guys like Bruce Lee or Cristiano Ronaldo. So tough situation, you see? But I was desperate.

Ronaldo: The Perfect Body

So one fine night, I was watching TV (no prizes for guessing what I was watching- Saturday night football). Simultaneously doing the only bit of exercise I ever did back then (when my hand used to stretch for the bowl of popcorn). I saw a Aston Villa player, (Gabriel Agbonlahor I think), perform a perfect bicycle kick. And THERE my mind instantly clicked. 

To people not used to football terminology, a bicycle kick is a special maneuver (also called an overhead kick) where the player does a half somersault and kicks the ball when it is in mid air (usually at a level near the player’s head). It requires a fair amount of flexibility, and an even commendable amount of guts, both which were fairly unknown to me. I was as flexible as an iron rod and except my intestines, nothing inside me came even close to be termed "guts".

I did play football, undoubtedly. But the fact was that I was a goalkeeper, who literally moved as much in one game as my grandmother does in one day. So I wasn't really fit… Oh come on! I can’t even lie when I’m typing! Ok I was fit, replace the “i” with the “a” and bingo, "fat" is the word (Amazing what difference one letter makes). So yeah, all this was daunting for a move generally performed by active players. But I was still determined to give it a good try.

Next morning, I set my alarm for 5:30. Naturally…  I woke up at 7. I grabbed the football lying under the table, put my football shoes and went out to the dining room to fill a bottle of water. BIG mistake. Dad was casually sipping a cup of tea and saw me up at 7 A.M with a FOOTBALL on a SUNDAY MORNING. Instantly he looked at me as if he saw the King of Spain building sand castles on the roadside.

“And WHERE sir are YOU off to?” he inquired.

“Football practice, dad.” (I wanted to rush out, real bad)

“Oh that’s good you got your lazy bum off the bed for a change. Off you go then.”

Whew. Disaster averted. If he’d known I was going to try to do an acrobatic kick, he would have laughed like he inhaled a crate of laughing gas. Both of us knew it took me a few minutes to move my flabby thighs from point A to B, leave alone take a jump of at least 2 feet off the ground (pre-requisite and required for a bicycle kick).  But what the hell? I had nothing to lose.

I reached the football ground, and I was relieved to see no one there. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of hundreds, I’d rather die alone in a mishap and have my body found later. Grabbing the ball in my hand, it was time to start. Problem 1 had arrived. Where to start??

I decided to let fate lead the way, and decided to practice only the jump and the landing first. Keeping the ball aside, I took a deep breath and jumped. Mid-air my worse fears were realized, nothing about my jump was correct. I was barely half a foot off the ground, and the extra fat was NOT gonna make my landing soft. It was slow motion, super slow… and with a crack I landed on my back, the grass anything but comforting. My head had hit the ground like a coconut smashed on the ground by people during religious Hindu ceremonies. I could read the headlines in tomorrow’s papers “Fat teen kid’s bicycle landing creates 2 feet crater in football ground”, “People in Assam experience bomb scare as fat kid shows stupidity” and “6.5 Richter scale earthquakes all over India, source unknown and dangerous”. Damn that hurt.

Second and third tries were no better, try number 5 (first with the ball) took the cake. I threw the ball 2 feet up, and decided to go straight away for the kick. The timing was horrendous, I jumped 2 seconds before the ball reached the head level.  I landed flat on my back, and in pain… my back had almost cracked this time around. I looked up at the sky and noticed 3 things that chilled my spine.

1)      Ball was still in the air.

2)      It was 2 feet from me, right above my crotch.

3)      My legs were spread out in separate directions.

What happened next, I leave to the imagination. If there was ever a moment where I realized I was a fool, I can’t remember any better than this. How I walked back home, I don’t remember, but I did make it alive. 3 days it was before I could muster courage to start again, all the cuts and grass burns were little reminders of my childish foolishness. The next 2 weeks went in practicing hard, and you know what? Slowly, I saw myself getting better, my jumps getting higher, my timing growing immaculate. The injuries kept happening, I almost dislocated a shoulder, battered my elbows to a point where they would bleed a lot, but their extent of damage slowly reduced as I came to know what exactly I was doing wrong.

And then just one day, 2 and a half weeks of bum-cracking later- Voila!(Yup that's me, performing the bicycle kick).

Bicycle kick: All about having a  "ball"

I guess somethings really are worth waiting for. I’m not someone who works super hard with passion, but this was perhaps one of my fondest memories of trying ever so hard to achieve something I really wanted. It took time, and tested every bit of my childish immaturity and impatience, but in the end, everything comes together I guess. That is the power of human dedication, once the mind locks on to something, it goes to any lengths to get it. This is just something I personally went through, I can confidently tell you, I came out a stronger person.

Interviewing the Hidden Hero

Its often said that no one understands what they sign up for in life when the take a decision. Neither did I, when I chose to pursue my dream of being a journalist. But it wasn’t until that fateful day, that I really experienced a powerful instance of what the profession can offer you.

I was sitting on my bed, thinking about the reporting assignment handed to me and the rest of my batch, to go outside and report a news story... Something WORTH the effort and the reader’s time. That is when I got this idea. Call it impulsive or crazy... but I did something which made me feel different, a feeling which isn’t easy to describe. Most 17 year olds would shiver at the prospect of facing and talking to a sex worker, I was no different. The idea seemed so easy... Offer your professor a glimpse into the life of a person’s struggles, which would suffice in providing an impetus to for my work to be called commendable.

So I went roaming one Sunday morning, near the railway station to look in its dark nook and crannies. The beggars who stood outside were a pitiful sight and a story on them would have made a heart warming read by itself, but I was hell-bent on getting what I came for, I was NOT ready to settle for anything less. A few asks around later, I came to this shop, where 5 women were sitting in a circle. I walked up to them and approached the one nearest to me, addressing her in Hindi I asked her whether I could speak to her for a few minutes. Nodding slowly, but making her apprehensions no less clear, she moved outside. The conversation which followed, had been the most eye-opening one I’ve ever had...

Just standing in front of a person who was struggling to sustain herself and her family, burdened by the glaring fact that I was well dressed and looked well off,  made me feel extremely guilty. The 10 minute conversation was something that I wish some of my friends could hear, it would make the most egoistic of heads rip apart in shame. I was talking to a 30 year old, who had lost her husband to a roadside brawl 7 years back... with a baby infant to take of. Selling your body was a chilling prospect, convincing your soul to do it took an entirely different perspective of logic. She told me about how it was humiliating to be treated with utter disrespect by heartless “customers” and how the dismayed feeling amplified when money-hungry cops demanded a cut for letting them sit out on the streets.

My hand was shaking constantly as I wrote, the beads of sweat would randomly drop under the crisp summer sun onto my notebook, but I knew nervousness caused it more than the dry heat. After a little more time, I thanked her for giving me more than my reporting assignment. She had taught me, in 10 short minutes, what millions of kids around the world will learn 10 years later when seeds of maturity would bloom into flowers of empathy. When I finished writing the news article, trying to edit and re-edit the article to justify the immensely brave person I was writing it on, I got a few raised eyebrows, a few unconvinced glances. I didn’t mind, knowing it was something I was glad could get a glimpse into. In the end, I got a lot of praises too... one of the few instances where I actually felt proud of what I chose to do.

 http://journalismcultureinindia.blogspot.com/2010/10/memoirs-of-indian-geisha-retold.html 

Growing Up

Most of my friends who know me from a few years back, would agree to the fact that at one point, I was one hell of a different person. It wasn't until 16-17 when I realised that experiences mold you as a person, irrespective of the person you want to be. Back then, I was this cold hearted, girl-hating jerk. The only thing I ever loved was football, and the phase of being a bad mouthed rebellious teen had made me quite a pain in the backside. I had my own special set of friends who I chose very carefully, considering the fact that these were the only people I would trust and who I knew would accept me the way I was. That included my nonchalant ability to be extremely rude, the fact that I paid no attention to girls (The feeling was very mutual) and that I was a smooth liar.


There were good things too I guess, that to the people close to me, I was fiercely loyal, and I would readily take a punch for anyone who I though was worth standing up for. Then there was this natural ability to be funny, in a sarcastic, cheesy way plus the fact that I was fat and shaped like a round bottomed flask only accentuated the fact. But now, things are different. One or two incidents transform you to a person so different... that those earlier hidden qualities, which lay buried inside by the fear of being called a sissy (believe me, every teenage guy's nightmare) come to the fore, bringing out a more subtle, understanding person.
 I guess that is what happened to me after my grandfather passed away and my first relationship tormented me to bits. In both cases I felt utterly cheated... In the first case, when no one told me that until I reached grandpa's house it had been 3 days since he passed away (and that he had already been cremated) left a permanent gash inside. In the second case, when I was being double dated inspite of being serious to an extent I never knew I could be capable of had left me so badly hurt, frustrated and angry that I was scared of letting it out, knowing I could lash out at literally anybody near me. The phase that followed tested my every little and big effort to endure and swallow my pride and pain. 


Thats when a need to form stronger relationships with everyone became a realistic option, I wanted to prove to myself that I wouldn't let anyone close to me go through what I had to face. I chose not to change because consequences told me to, but because I felt I hadn't been giving my friends what they deserved from me. Thats the time I started writing poetry, to keep my thoughts from muddling up. I knew it was random bullshit, but it made me feel better and that is what counted the most for me. So yeah today, I'm going to share the very first poem I EVER wrote. It was the very first time, I let the "macho" image that every guy desired, go to crap, and decided to just let go. Taking into perspective that I was an idiot of the highest quality, I would call the first poem a decent shot. 


Ever seen the beautiful birds, up in the sky?

The stronger they are, the longer they fly.
Forgetting everything, they ride the breeze,
The stronger it is, the greater the ease.

Why lose track of things, in the hunger for speed?
To crave everything, stoking the fire of greed?
When emotions are high, you push till you break,
Every muscle tweaks, every bone starts to ache.

But no blow is complete, until it’s one on the heart,
It sucks up character, it rips you apart.
How will you notice? You’re too blind to see,
How much it tears up, every single part of me.

But I understand this pain, and a thousand deaths I’ll die
Before I even consider hurting you, before I make you cry.
Even though it hurts, I’ve learnt something from you,
To give up the old me, to try and be someone new.

To love everyone dearly, to give up my fears,
For people like you, not to waste all my tears.
I’ve learnt how to care, I’ve learnt how to grip,
I’ve learnt how to smile, everytime you make me slip.

I’ve stopped thinking about you, lying on my bed,
There was one day I found out, I had no tears to shed.
You said you loved me, now I know you’re a liar,
If you try and fool me again, I’ll retaliate with fire.

You won’t realize now, how much you betray,
But I’m not sad anymore, cause there will be a day.
When you realize, that my love was like threads,
Without their support, you’ll be ripped into shreds.

When you see no one trusts you, they give you no rights,
No one will take the blame, like I did in our fights.
No one will stay awake, all through your pain,
No one can love you like I did, ever again.

When will you learn,” I love you” isn’t a lie?
That’s it’s a strong bond, which you eternally tie?
You’ve kicked me, hurt me, dragged me through hell,
But look at me now, I’m always getting well.

You regret your decision, you want me back?
I’ll remember your words” You’re idiotic, you’re slack”
Why should I care, when you tossed my love around?
I’m not coming back now, so YOU can stare at the ground.

During all of this suffering I learnt how to strive,

Standing in tears and rain, I learnt how to thrive.
It’s your turn to shout now, your turn to moan,
when you realize no one can hear you, you’re all alone.

But you know what.. I always hate it, when the gun’s in my hand
I don’t want to use it like you did, I don’t feel so grand.
I am nowhere as cruel, like all the times you’ve been,
I don’t want you to suffer, cause I’ve felt it and seen.

When someone’s lying hurt, I can’t rub my hands with glee,
Unlike you I’d ask for forgiveness, if the reason is me.
So when its YOUR turn to fall , I’ll throw you a rope
Inspite of all that you did, I’ll be the only hope.

I know that people who don't know me personally will find it tough to relate, but people who have gone through similar stuff will understand what I'm talking about. I guess I'm actually grateful to my ex, for forcing me to discover something i thought I never had.

The First Post

Well lets just say there are things which happen in everyone's lives which are pretty much inevitable or inexplicable..  Why the sudden urge to start a blog, is just one of those things in mine. The idea of using the net as a medium to make my life an open book, was never really a justified means to vent my feelings. But I guess I'm just looking to share my views with strangers who might be able to relate with what I've gone through, or as a writer I'm just looking to get better, trying to look around for valuable feedback and opinions.

Let me just update you on who I am. I'm this very ordinary 18 year old who lives in India. No particular place where I'm settled, Dad being in the Indian Air Force, I pretty much lead a nomadic life like so many others in my vicinity. So basically every 2 years I move to a different place, new friends, new school, new teachers, and getting into a relationship needs long and hard thinking.. I love reading, writing (obsessed with it, even though I'm nowhere as good at it like some of my friends), playing sports especially football (which is my first love, and religion) and of course music. I'm very outgoing, and I love socialising with anyone that I can find, so naturally I have a good friends circle. Essentially, it makes me an ordinary guy with extraordinary friends and I love life because of it. Loyalty, belief and practicality are the rules of my game. The rest, I leave to you to form your opinion. Please do not judge me from my writing, I'm trying to learn to add new dimensions which will keep people glued to my writing, or at the most put my point forward more convincingly.

Other than what I wrote above, I'm a calm person, nice and fun to be with, but really sentimental and touchy. My sense of humour is as good as the Pope's, lame to the point of getting death threats from my friends. When I'm not doing my work or when I'm not out with friends, I love roaming around in the dark at 2-3 in the morning, listening to music or writing poetry, 3 of the strongest factors respnsible for my remaining sanity. 

Music, most would agree, is a solution for most problems. I vent my anger by listening to music.. it calms me down enough to help me think with a clear mind (a more simple and uncomplicated solution than alcohol or drugs). Its almost like it understands what you need for the moment, it gives you an outlet of silent expression.

The same case with poetry and writing in general.. It is gratifying to know that whatever I write, is for my eyes only. That way no one really questions my integrity, or criticises what I choose to stand for. Its an unhindered form of expression, like other art forms like dance or painting.. I can channel my emotions into poetry even when I know its not really that good. I write solely form myself, not because I'm out to prove a point, to make anyone happy OR to gain sympathy. If I could, I would ask everyone to write, thoughts are unique and vary from person to person and reading memoirs from a tormented or experienced mind show you a glimpse into a world yet unknown to us.

I know its a pretty lame intro, but as I said, I'm just quenching my thirst to write and express. I promise I'll be more direct next time, I'm just not too confident writing freely considering it's my first time. I've got a lot more to share, I'm hoping to find people who see things from my perspective.. I MIGHT sound more convincing through my poetry, but that, until the next time.