Hibernation

If only humans could hibernate. I would take a couple of weeks off my life every month. Living in an overcrowded, chaotic, dirty, and smelly city like Mumbai makes me envious of the people who are geographically privileged. 

I'm realising how much my intolerance has increased towards noise, incessant chatting, gossip, and people hovering around. I'm struggling to make peace with the fact that these things are beyond my control. Why can't I be zen about it? WHY? 

I know it's a me-problem that I get so overwhelmed and anxious about these things that it simply shuts my brain down. I simply can't function and feel like sleeping forever to escape the world. I long for a silence that I know I would never get. I have always been surrounded by extroverted energies who, problematic enough for me, get charged by social interaction. Why are people so unaware of how loud they are or how their actions bother others? Why do people have to gossip so much? Why can't they mind their own fucking business? Why do they have to feel good when someone else is having a bad day? Why does their "compassion" feel performative and more like a nosy curiosity? Why are they always thinking and yapping about themselves so much that they are not considerate of bothering people in public spaces? 

Why is it so difficult to stay emotionally controlled all the time? Why? Sometimes, I wonder why I live in this city, which feels like a living hell sometimes.

What should I do about this increasing intolerance of mine? Die? Or maybe burst my eardrums so I go deaf? I really don't care if that turns out to be fatal. We are all going to turn into dust anyway. 

Are you okay

I woke up in the middle of the night yesterday with a horrible nightmare of someone watching over me. N saw that I woke up and went back to sleep. At that moment, I wanted him to hold me and ask a simple question: "Are you okay?" I would have maybe hugged him tightly and gone back to sleep. He was tired from his travel. I understand. He didn't ask me and went back to sleep. A wave of emotion I can't name now washed over me. Something heavy sat on my chest; I tossed around, got tired, and fell asleep.

Is there no one I can go to when I want to feel safe? That one space or person where I can simply say anything without being judged? The one space that takes care of me for a change, asks me, "Are you really okay?" or reads and understands the giant heaviness that's made home in my chest since I was a kid. That one space or person who will care enough to actually read my soul? I know it's a bit too much of an ask. But I can do it here. Who cares anyway.

I was asked in passing why I don't share what's going on in my mind... why I bottle up my feelings. I honestly had no answer to that. Or maybe I did, and I was unable to articulate it, and they thankfully didn't probe further.

That's what usually happens. People never probe further or truly wait to listen. It's understandable. Everyone is so busy with their own problems and their own life; who would care to truly, patiently listen if you are going through something? No one does, unless there's something in it for them. 

I sometimes think of my childhood and wonder if I should write it down here to process all the memories that still trouble me. They sneak in and catch me unawares and linger, adding weight to my already heavy chest. Sometimes I fear what if anyone who reads it thinks that I am romanticising my pain or self-victimising? But then, who cares to read and listen these days? No one. 

Maybe doing this will help me heal in any way? 

I think it is this quiet space of mine that will help me get rid of this chronic heaviness. Dunno... Let's see. 

 

intimacy

Speaking to that one person through your eyes and expressions, knowing that they will understand what you want to say and respond to you with a blink or a quick tilt of the head and a smile...

 

their eyes searching you when they don't see you, and the relief that washes over their face when your eyes meet... and you see a quiet assurance in their eyes that they are here... with you. 

or the longing to see them as you stare at their empty swivel chair and dark cabin... 

how you felt their eyes on you, as they understood your silence, even when they weren't looking directly at you... 

or in knowing that you both love the same things but are never able to talk about it...

their watchful gaze, making sure you are safe... 

or tucking a pillow under your neck for support as you sleep... 

that sharing of comfortable silences, knowing they aren't going anywhere... 

or sharing a cigarette or a joint, feeling the damp traces of their lips on the same filter... 

searching their eyes for approval of the colours you're wearing... 

or speaking to each other in a crowd with words only you both would understand...   

the luminescent electricity that courses through your body as their fingers trace your tatts all over... 

or the burning desire to know what their lips might taste like when yours are only an inch apart from theirs...

or the sensual rhythm your bodies sync into when the romantic tension releases... 

Isn't intimacy an underrated word?