Story: Feelingless

It’s not a writer’s block – it’s a state of “feelingless”.

Those days when he stared at the screen wondering why he once had a fountain of ideas, and suddenly it was dry as the Sahara. When he once felt deep love and immense sorrows, where life was once a wonderful dream of hopes and inspirations, and when he had believed that the future was something worth looking forward to.

All of a sudden, there was none of those.

And all of a sudden, there was nothing more to write.

When he could no longer feel, he could no longer write – and he longed to feel again. But after countless whiskeys and forgotten nights; after endless bleeding fists and broken ribs; after floods of tears and hoarse throats from silent screams — still, he felt nothing.

He was at his wits’ end, seeking help from nowhere, no-one. He didn’t know how to say it, who to say it to, and worse of it all, he didn’t even know how to write it once more.

Story: Do you know what sadness is?

“Do you know what sadness is?” she asked.
He couldn’t answer, no matter how hard he tried. A gush of air unforgivingly swelled in his chest, blocking out any sound he tried to make. It was almost painful to move, like he was suffocating in his own breath.

“It’s not describable, is it?” she asked again, oblivious to her companion.
He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t agree, yet he couldn’t disagree. He could feel his throat burning and his eyes puffed, and a sour taste turn on his nose. He feigned a little smile, but he was sure she wouldn’t have seen it.

“I guess we’ll never know,” she thought aloud, and turned to speak with her new-found lover.

And all of a sudden, the little pieces in his chest imploded, and the shrapnels stuck deep within his veins on every surface of his body. An uncomfortable tingle on his eyes and a frustrating trickle went down his throat. His fists were clenched, yet weak and numb. His toes gripped one another and his knees soft as a jiggle. He was raging with anger yet lifeless as a rag-doll. He was so close to tears and emotionless as the walls. He raised his hands to cover his face, but he could not feel the iciness of his skin.

Still, they would think he didn’t know what sadness was.

It had to happen…

It was bound to happen.
I’d known there was no escape.
At some point it would all come to an end.
Such was life.

It had to happen, but I had hoped it hadn’t been so soon.
Yet time and time again, the fragility of life rears its ugly head.
It was only three weeks ago that the mind started to rake up people who lived in its memories.
It is three weeks later that we shall speak of them in past tense – now and ever after.

The unexpected turns, the unpredictable occurrences.
They repeat themselves, over and over.
Each time it hits, it takes away one more that you cared for.
You fear, as the time draws near, so slowly it comes, yet so quickly it claims away those you prayed would never leave.

Why is it easy to go to the extremes of obsessions and disregard?
Do we learn to cherish?
Do we learn to care?
And do we care enough to learn?

It had to happen. I had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.
Losses in life, of life… they always come too soon.
I don’t want to it take those I care for away.
I could say I fear what will happen; but have I done enough to accept without regret?

Have you?



Story: “You’re Depressed,” she said

“You’re depressed,” she said.
Only, I was sure, I wasn’t.

“You’re not listening anymore. You’re keeping everyone at bay. You’re ignoring your friends. You’re rejecting my help,” she lamented.
I wasn’t sure if I’d let out a snigger. What friends; what help? She probably hadn’t realised the times I had been brushed off when I’d begged for help, short of getting on my knees.

“You’re probably thinking no-one is there for you. But you’ve never said you needed help! You’ve always been settling all of it on your own!”
Funny situation, how I would’ve known they needed something fixed; but no-one else cared to ask or listen to the unspoken cries.

Such was a circular, useless argument that could go on for hours.

I finally broke my silence, and said, “I’m not ok. I’ve been asking for help but everyone is just too busy with their own business. Not a single person can fix my problems for me, while I’ve continued to solve all of your issues.

As she turned away to answer the phone, she conveyed the message to a friend, “Yes, he says he is ok and everyone should be busy with their own business. Not a single problem has not been fixed by him, and he can continue to help us solve our issues. All is good!”

Not a depressing situation, I guess..

What’s left to write?

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve logged in.

I have lost heart in writing – my brains have dried.
I have lost faith in life – my hands are tied.

Type. Delete. Type. Delete.

I felt a need to express my thoughts and let my stories tell themselves; but each time I read the words, I felt compelled to erase them off the screen.

A new life? A new environment?

Perhaps, perhaps; I’m in need of a new mind.

Writing Prompt: Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

October 18:
You get some incredibly, amazingly, wonderfully fantastic news. What’s the first thing you do?

I looked at my phone. Who shall I write to now?
Maybe, maybe her.
Oh, right. She no longer uses that number.

I scrolled down the “Friends List”, flicked through the “Favourites” tab, and still found nobody to share this news with.
Maybe, maybe her.
Oh, right. She no longer has a phone.

Everyone around me was cheering with euphoria. I nodded and shook hands with them like I was expected to. I felt a need to tell someone how I felt – not just shout and holler.
Maybe, maybe her.
Oh, right. She is no longer around.

They say, when there is a will, there is a way. For how else would I have had this achievement?
I figured they were right.
I shall go home to say a prayer by the window tonight.
Right. This time she shall hear me even from the Heavens above.

Writing Prompt: Childlike

October 15:
Explain your biggest regret — as though to a small child.

Dear child, for each time you whine, “I want to play!” – know that you have put yourself before others who would one day not be able to spend another second with you.

Dear child, for each time you throw a tantrum, “But I’m tired!” – know that life has merely started for you and there is simply no way you could even comprehend the meaning of “tired”.

Dear child, for each time you think, “I can do that tomorrow” – know that you may have a tomorrow, but not everyone else.

Dear child, we have all grown up too late. If I had learnt sooner, I would have been different. Now, since you know, I pray you shall not have to repeat these lines to someone else another day.

Writing Prompt: Eat, drink and be merry…

1 Nov
…for tomorrow we die. The world is ending tomorrow! Tell us about your last dinner – the food, your dining companion, the setting, the conversation.

“They say the world shall end when the sun rises tomorrow.
Finally. It’s been too long.”

The moon looked just like we used to see it. Buildings have sprouted from the ground, blocking some of the view that we used to enjoy. Such is life; everything changes beyond your expectations.

“The wine’s gotta go. The water crackers and cheese too.
I should have brought some other snacks that would suit your tastes too.
How careless of me, still. Even when the world is going to end.”

The winds rattled the railings of the palace-house’s balcony; atop a hill, the world was silent – so quiet, so tranquil. Sipping the wine, I felt the crisp air of the night kiss my face. It was cold, like invisible frost.

I took my seat, wondering how it shall come to an end, sleep creeping up on me as I settle into the steel-framed sling-back chair.

“I guess it’s time. If I fall asleep and miss it, at least I know that this time the dream shall become a reality. I’ll be there, with you, soon.” I whispered at the photo, capturing the last moment we had together, tightly in my chest; and for the first time in years, let out a smile.

digital addiction is becoming a major problem

Didn’t think anyone could be addicted to digital? Think again.

The general population is hooked on their phones. It’s almost like a typical extension from their wrists, stuck on the palms, with the thumb swiping up and down, up and down.
The self-obsessed nature of Man results in his eyes naturally fixating itself on their high-tech hands, those big, brown eyes darting up and down, up and down.
And they don’t realise that you might be asking to pass through that narrow corridor on a train; or that you might be yelling out your lungs because they’ve got their foot on yours.

Can’t leave the table without your phone?
Can’t walk to the washroom without your mobile?
There’s always worse.

There’s always those who compulsively check for emails and text messages, even at the loo.
There are those who make so many friends online, only to feel more depressed when they are alone.
That’s internet addiction.

I sometimes wonder if we remember those days when we grew up without Wikipedia – when ‘research’ truly meant walking into a library and begging to borrow more than the limit; when we bought countless lined notebooks to make summaries of our findings. I also wonder if we recall those days when taking the public transport meant staring out of the rain-spotted windows, thinking of how to waddle through the puddles; or painstakingly trying to read under the weak lighting of the bus.

I wish I could walk away from that wretched smartphone – that two wretched smartphones – and the laptop; ok, that three laptops. Maybe I’ll try to break that wifi connection later. But that might drive me to anxiety…

dreams, you damned things

Dreams, you damned things.

How you twist reality from desires.
Those who have passed on, appear strong and happy, conversing and relating to our daily lives in those illusions.
Those who harm us, vanish from sight and disappear in that state.

Yet when you wake, tears fall to soak the pillows.
Those who are gone, are gone forever.
Sadness prevails.

Dreams, you damned things.