Dear 16-year-old me

Dear 16-year-old me,

Hey girl, how are you doing? I should tell you that I am in a great place right now, even though it is not the one you had sketched out for me. You were such a romantic and borderline foolish, God, I can still see it in my head. It is funny how we are both the same person yet I dissociate myself from you and view you as another entity.

 

I can’t begin to describe how selfish you were, always looking out for yourself and worrying about your fate. It’s crazy that we don’t even live in Dubai anymore because all the while we thought we would stay there forever by marrying a certain someone with a lot of wealth. It was all that you ever wanted, to drive around in a fancy car with “him” by your side and make everyone jealous of your fabulous life. Knock some sense into yourself because he is just a boy and he will never grow into the man you want to be with. Dream big and you will reach a point in life where you find some purpose, sort of. Don’t determine your worth by latching onto another person.

 Swear all you want, love, but it is the bitter truth. One piece of advice, never let anyone tell you that you are not good enough because you are yourself and that is all that you need to know. You have a long fight ahead of you and you will have to make choices that will rip your heart out. Watch out for the faux friends and their ridiculous smiles. But I can assure you that I am still obsessed with T.V shows because no one can take that kind of crazy away from us overnight! Make mistakes, though, only then will you realise your true passion.

 

Yours sincerely,
23-year-old you

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

Voice of Silence (#16 W.O.W)

Pretense,
filled the air.
Not a word,
Uttered.
Two hearts,
beat rhythmically.
Anger gushed,
through her body,
She yelled,
inside her head,
crushed a dozen bones,
and gouged out,
bleeding eyes.
He observed  from afar,
Choosing to remain,
silent.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Writer, coffee shop and a broken pencil (#14 W.O.W)

The centrum of the Simrishamn city was crowded today. I was hoping on getting some me time and not be troubled by the terrible music that filled the arena. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the Swedish singer’s moaning, but I had to get away. The jazz was slowly killing my buzz.

You may think that I am total moron for saying that, but I believe that a writer’s volcano of creativity erupts depending upon the setting and music. Sadly, my taste in music is fickle and I can never decide what I like the most.

I was determined to find the quietest coffee-shop that did not have an adjoining bar. Yes, that is what happens when you decide to drink coffee in Europe. There is always that bar that comes along with the deal. I am not a huge fan of bars or anything remotely related to it.

My legs were begging me to find that perfect spot in this amazingly cozy corner to start my new novel. Maybe God had different plans for me today and I had to cramp myself in the common table with an extremely hot guy one side and a potentially lesbian female on the other. Not that I am against gayness or anything, I am an uncomfortable person and I always love to stay away from people, generally.

I opened my brand new copy of the Maze Runner and smiled at the mere perfection of it. I rummaged through my knapsack to find my pouch and as I yanked the zip open, I found two blue gel pens and a broken pencil. Neither of which could be used to inscribe my name and the date of purchase on the front page. It was a trying day, indeed.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

The big move (#13 W.O.W)

She stood at the entrance of the unlit room, blood pumped through her rattled veins as the darkness engulfed her as its own. Her sweaty hands groping for the light switches as her heart thumped ridiculously in her chest.

Life surged into her as the room became ablaze with the few lamps that adorned the side-wall, she was not supposed to be there, especially not at this untimely hour.

She delved her hand into one of her deepest pockets and fished out a pen-drive device, sweat beads began decorating her forehead, what she was about to do could change the course of her future and the company’s too.

But she convinced herself that everyone makes rabid decisions when one’s career is at stake, this was her last shot at rising from the ashes and she wasn’t about chicken out in the last minute.

Meticulously, she plugged the device into Coulson’s Macbook, hacking into his computer was child’s play, his password turned out to be romylovescoulson after three obvious attempts! She couldn’t help but giggle when she scooted into the system and copied the files from the folder – Fury’s Cube.

  

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

This post is also for Three Word Wednesday & Five Sentence Fiction (Lillie McFerrin)

Just another number (#12 W.O.W)

I don’t believe in new beginnings, especially at the birth of a new year. Why should I change myself or list out resolutions once we shift from one year to another? The notion seems ridiculous to me. Although January was a special month for me as I count back an incident that happened years ago. (Now rejuvenated with the Hobbit Movies) It was when I was in my eighth grade and completely in love with Orlando Bloom. (He played the character of Legolas the Elf) That was the time when my friends and I were OBSESSED WITH THE LORD OF THE RINGS movie series. And obsessed does not even begin to encompass the insanity.

Coincidentally, Orlando’s birthday fell on January the thirteenth. We used to celebrate it with all the sweet goodies and a good old marathon of the LOTR trilogy. It surprises me when I recall that journey which used to be a crucial part of my life. Not that I don’t obsess over shows or movies now, but it was a whole other level back then.

And now I sit behind a laptop, clad in my comfy jeans, typing away this ludicrous episode, telling the world that I am not intimidated by the New Year. Nothing is going to stop what is about to come or what we are fated to face. Treat it like any other year, numbers should not matter anymore.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.