Clues.

Quite often, it’s that one word you’re looking for. That one word you can start with. Much like the touch of your finger on a delicately placed ceramic. That once touched, has nothing to save it from falling, crashing on the floor, its pieces strewn all around. You stand there, watching. Knowing there’s nothing you can do, could have done. You saw the broken pieces, even before they were broken. Even before it happened. You let it happen. You let it take its course. You let it be. Because sometimes, it’s like that one word you were looking for. That one word that led to another. And then another. And just like that, you had words forming sentences, making stories. Quite often, life’s like that. You think you’re in control. That you started it. That you’ll take it where you want to. And when you turn around, trying to look at where it all started, you’ll find yourself searching for that one word. That one fleeting thought. That one nod or shake of the head. You wander into the crowd of your past. Between memories that were made and then forgotten. Amidst moments that you wished never passed, then let go off. You dive deep into the ocean of your own mistakes. And smile, as you think of how you stand where you stand now, stronger, older, alive. Not remembering how you got here, but happy that you did. And as you do, you stumble upon a new word. That’ll lead to a new story. One that you think you’re writing. But the words of which have already been found. Because your story, has already been written.

Stranger.

He walked into her cabin to find someone else sitting in her place. She smiled at him like she was expecting him. So he smiled back, half a smile, at the stranger who seemed to know him pretty well. He said hi, and fumbled for the next set of words. She responded with a chirpy giggle, followed by an update on her weekend. He found an uncanny resemblance. She sounded like her. The giggles, the pauses, the raise of the eyebrows. And yet, it wasn’t her. Creepy, he thought. And then, her phone rang. “Hey Bob!” she answered. Bob, his senior, was never great with newcomers. Forget calling them on their first day, many a time he’d pass by them and behave like they never existed. For months together. And then this. She has a 3-minute long conversation with him on a project that’s been on for the past 3 weeks. She’s been here for what, 3 hours? WTF! Somewhere in between, she caught him stare at her. ‘Are you alright Tim?” Startled, he looked away, mumbled ‘yup Im ok’ and then fixed his eyes back on her. She noticed that something was wrong. But left it at that. She walked out with a file in her hands and his eyes following her. Outside, Joanna sipped on her coffee near the vending machine. Sarah walked by and Joanna smiled her flashiest smile seeing her. ‘You got a haircut!!!’ She squealed! Sarah, overwhelmed at first, soon calmed down. And with a frown replied, “And Tim doesn’t seem to like it.”

We.

What is it that makes it so difficult for us to accept rejection? Why do we constantly try and justify ourselves or convince ourselves that we are never wrong? How long does it take for us to let go off our egos and accept criticism with a smile?

We are super humans. Each and every one of us. Or so we think, no matter how much we deny it. No matter how weak we seem or behave, it takes a lot for us to nod to rejection. We are so strong-headed that we give no right to another, to tell us that we are no good.  That’s how highly we think of ourselves. That’s how superior we think of us as beings. That’s how powerful we are.

We are rebels. Even the most silent among us, is. It’s almost instinctive of us to react to a No. Maybe not physically, but mentally for sure. ‘Let me think about it. Yea, maybe. Really, you think so? But , don’t you think?’  Never, ever a ‘yes, you’re right’ at the first negative. We take time. We’re taught to take time. Time to think, to brood, to sulk. And then, we react. We disagree.

We are selfish. We love our ideas. We love ourselves. Nobody can take that feeling away from us. Nobody dare take it. Because we believe that we’re perfect. We know it. We’re better than them. We’re smarter. We’re stronger. And we’re funnier than them. Those who think otherwise, just don’t know yet.

We believe only in ourselves.  No matter what the world thinks of us, we don’t really care. If they think they have point, we don’t think so. Because their point is way different from ours. And If we don’t think so then they cannot be right.

If we’re wrong, we need to feel so. We need to realise it. No extra efforts taken. If it dawns upon us, good for them. Good for us. Till then, they’re wrong and we’re right. We deny. We disagree. We agree only if we think so. Nobody can change that. And till we realise it, we live on. As super humans, as rebels as selfish human beings who cannot accept rejection. Our ego, as much as they may hate it, and as much we’re unaware of it, continues to be the emotion that controls us. 

Insecurity

Everyone’s got a little bit of insecurity

The dancer wears it in her heels

The singer hides it in the lowest note

The artist adds an extra stroke.

The writer reads between her lines

The popular boy revs up his bike.

The “hot chick” goes for the darkest red.

The funny guy laughs at his own jokes.

The nerd tries and cracks a new joke.

The new guy in office rounds his Rs

The old guy acts anti-social, for the first few hours.

 The boss acts bossy, the client acts pally.

The junior comes early and leaves only last.

Everyone’s got a little bit of insecurity

Numb.

It wasn’t the first time she was thinking about it. It had crossed her mind several times before and perhaps 4-5 times on that particular day. She woke up to a message from her sweetheart. It had a smiley and read I love you. That’s all. Nothing fancy. But given that it was after a massive fight they had last night, it probably deserved a little more. She smiled, half a smile, and went back to sleep. In her dreams, she saw a woman screaming at a kid, women talking behind corridors and a man smoking a cigar. What they meant, nobody knows. She woke up 2 hours later. She read the message again, but didn’t smile this time. Inside the bathroom, as she splashed water on her face, she woke up. And it crossed her mind for the first time that day. She turned her wrist and found that it hadn’t healed entirely. The cut had made a funny shape exactly where she’d wanted a tattoo. She sighed at the coincidence. But it didn’t seem to bother her. She pressed it to see if it hurt, but nothing happened. She dried her face and walked out, with the towel still in her hands. There was another message waiting. And two calls she had missed. She read the message first. Missing you, it said. As she read it, she wondered what to have for breakfast. She called him on her way to the kitchen. She smiled through the ten minutes they spoke. She spoke like a kid, argued like one and fiddled with a strand of hair, as she did. After hanging up, she poured the coffee into her cup. Too bitter, she thought. Nothing about their conversation. She decided to have it anyway. As she sipped on it, she let her mind wander into the busy road outside. The loud honks, that normally pierced through her ears, weaved another story in her mind. Of wars and battleships and death. She shrugged. As the sugar that had settled at the bottom of the cup made its way to her mouth. She knew what it was. She’d been there too long. Done that, way too many times. She was tucked in between them and had got used to everything around. With every block that she passed, every pit that she dodged, she felt a Déjà vu. She followed the silvery grey road. Ready with an answer at every turn. If she rammed into someone on the way, she’d brush her hair from her eyes and walk away like it could happen to anyone. Nasty comments at work made her yawn, sometimes just frown. She’d sit on her chair all day and let her fingers dance on the keys. They’d sometimes do an ‘lol’ or form dots with a curve. Her lips, however, refused to bend. When the cute guys smiled, she’d smile right back and forget it right then. While it did help her in several other ways, she knew it wasn’t quite what she had wanted. While they crossed her mind several times a day, it hardly ever went any deeper than that. There was nothing anymore that could pinch her awake or weaken her knees. There was never a moment that she could call a moment anymore. Her phone beeped. One Déjà vu led to another. She got onto her bed, cuddled herself and continued feeling numb.