Pulse

Finally, I feel awesome! I know using the word awesome, being so overused and cliché and so… ‘normal’ somehow cuts down on my seemingly legitimate value. But what the hell, why does normalcy, or especially not being among the ones whose prime purpose is to run and run away from gelling in, and reaching where they are recognized as ‘unique’, such a bad thing? To be honest, I am tattered. I feel shit. I am making mistakes, more as of late, and am pretty clueless in my otherwise personally self organized life. And ironically, I am just fine. There is no magic to it. I’ve just learned to accept the many faces of life. I’ve learned to not know the outcomes, as life is as unpredictable as it gets. Still hold onto  being the one who tries, because life being unpredictable isn’t an excuse to lurk around and do nothing, but more of a challenge to get off our butts and try harder.  It’s just perspective I guess. I am also trying to realize that there are billions o...

Try living the life where you try to think of the other person, the other side, the opposing story... constantly. It's painful. But is it right? Whether with friends or foes, imagine yourself reasoning for their behavior, attitude and feelings, and more than often above your own. Just because you realize that there are sides,and there are stories, and that the other person is as human as you. He/She deserves as much a chance as you.  I believe , 'empathy' is what its called. But how much empathy is enough?  And on the expense of sounding selfish and insane, does constant empathy not ruin our own self esteem? As egocentric as this may seem, how do I find logic in losing my self in the process of understanding others. Just how... Can anyone out there tell  me the exact proportion of using 'I' as well as 'them', and in that maintaining individual sensibilities and the social etiquette necessary to run a better world? I am living in paradoxes, which lif...

Chapter 1: Casual killing Known for its year around cheerful spring-summer weather, it was an awfully dark and gloomy night for Hulksville. Massive grey clouds encircled close to the earth’s skin, engulfing the moon in and out of sight. It felt as though the moon was drowning over and over again, and even though one felt they could reach to touch the protruded tummy of the clouds, against the terror they welcomed, the moon was far from reach and shone merely as an example of what one assumes was a show of tyrannical public punishment.  Famous for its friendly crowd, functioning institutions and governmental competency, Hulksville was an ideal city of a few thousands. Surrounded by high peaks and low valleys, flowing rivers and evenly spread green pastures, it gave a reflection of a post-card perfect picture. Only today, contrary to its general nature, it was dark from the outside and it was on the inside. On Lane 26, house no. 13, home to Mr. and Mrs. Frank, a monster ...

Tears by Halmurzaev Edward. All rights to its respective owner.  We women, we lie. Sometimes to get a smile on his face, and sometimes to get a giggle out of our babies.  You may never tell how deceitful we can be, just how ruthlessly selfish our souls can get to stop the tears running down from our mothers cheeks. We are a lost cause of nature - weaker to male in material but arrogantly, prejudiced about our nursing instincts. What has hell got against us? Our pit of secrets is deeper than the darkest hole any hell of any religion possesses. The possibilities of the avatars just  one of us possess is beyond the magic, science and literature, of any world, anywhere, can unravel. Reveal to me myself as a woman, and I will discuss why you can never. Prick a pin in us, and just see how many emotions ooze out of us. You will have a hard time naming the colours mankind hasn't even discovered - the dark, the light, the faded, tattered, glittery, shimmerin...

Alone. Being alone is the worst feeling ever. But it does not necessarily mean that you have to feel lonely just because no one is around. You can be alone standing there in a bunch of people. No matter how many people are around you, you can still feel lonely. And that's what I've been feeling lately. Lonely. I have so many people around me to love me, to take care of me, to accompany me but it just isn't the same. I still can't shake this feeling away. Like there's something missing. Like there's some vital part of me that has gone missing. I've even trying to figure out what is this missing piece but all I've been coming up is with nothing. A big empty whole in my mind. Why can't I figure out what's missing? Why can't I answer myself? I should know myself better, no? One should be familiar with what they feel and why they feel like that. Then why is it that I find myself battling with my emotions? Why is that I can't seem to come...

Lost. Lost was all I was.  In the folds of my walnut brain The indistinguishable twigs and stems of my veins In the darkness that followed, In the pool of blood, On the skull space so hollow, As I quiver mid-air as if shocked by the air - Lost. Lost was all I was. _____________________________________________________________________  I knew deep down what direction was mine. What road had shone the brightest for me. What path was mine and what gave me more than what no money, power or status could ever amount into giving me -   Satisfaction . The pleasure of being satisfied.  But I also knew how hard it was going to be. How untraditional it was. That it will demand of me what no money, power or status could ever demand -   Honesty . The honesty of hard work. The uncorrupted involvement of each and every cell of my body. And the honest emotions that would reflect in the heat of my face and the beating of my heart every time...

23rd June, 2014. Dear Diary, Even though I have just invented you for this post, today you're going to be my close companion and listen to one of the most beautiful instances I've ever witnessed.  But before I start narrating, I need a name for my story. You'd be surprise that even though a name to a story is nothing, for the story is the meat; it often takes a lot more time to come up with one. Often more time than itself a story ever takes. At least to me, that has happened quite often. Nevertheless, after thinking well and hard, I finally decided on one. I’ll call my story:                                                                  ...