Scared

She  was scared that the world will know.
She was scared that she will always be emotionally vulnerable.
She was scared that she will be rejected.
She was scared that he won't love her.
She was scared about the fact that she was scared all the time. 

To-do list

How often are you asked this question – What is the one crazy thing you have done in your life? And if you took a pause of five minutes to think about the answer, well, you and I are on the same boat. I’m 23 and my answer always is, I still have a long way to go. The truth is, I’m 23, and I should be out doing crazy things right now. And no, before you think that I’m going to take a sabbatical and that I’m going to turn up in hippie clothes proclaiming that my life is “cool”, I’m not going to do that.

This is just a promise I make to myself and put it out there in the cyberspace to hope that before I’m 25, I hopefully must have ticked most, if not all of these mentioned ideas. And well, I could always add more (which is why the blank pointer in the end).

•           Quit my first job
•          Go on a solo trip to any place, could be 25 kms away from the city I’m currently living in or the other end of the country.
•           Try something new, take a salsa lesson or learn a new language or learn a musical instrument
•           Go on my first trip abroad.
•           Go on a really fancy date with the guy I like and pay for the date.
•         Instead of being the “watchguard” amongst friends, get drunk at a party and just be crazy.
•          Do something I’m afraid of.
•           Get an actual fashion blog shoot done.
•            

Because you are no more 22 :D

This photo because I miss going to new restaurants in the city with you

Living away from home, I would always boast that I’m this really independent person who can easily walk into an unknown city and make that home too. (But, the lights have to be switched on throughout the night in my room, because you know, devils). I can proudly say that in 5 years, there has not been one moment when I have been homesick (Mummy, I still love you).

But the truth is, there have been people that I have met who made me not miss home, who became family. And Miss Paul was my one-woman-army. I mean family.

Why am I writing this today? Because it’s her birthday. And I was late in wishing her, also because like a needy puppy she messaged me saying, “Do I have to ask for a post now?”. Well, that’s after she messaged me at 1 pm IST, when I was a few drinks down and listening to blaring Yo Yo Honey Singh songs while trying to hold a friend who whispered into my ear *hold me I will fall*, “Hi, it’s my birthday”.

Even though we are miles away, there has not been a day that has gone by when I haven’t spoken to her. Be it her confusion about attending a play or a talk by two authors, both happening at the same time, or her skyping with me to show how amazing a burger looks there or when she became my Christina Yang to tell me "he's not the sun, you are", well, we have managed to keep each other entertained, even now.

But, if there’s one person I miss more than words could ever put together, it’s Miss Paul. But keeping aside my selfish want of hoping that she was still in the city, I feel like a proud mother every time I talk to someone about how she just spent 57 pounds buying some amazing clothes or even one someone says something as awkward and sweet as “you’ve got a book in you, Amrita”.

Because you do Miss Paul.  You do.

Losing

It's usually not difficult for me to write or talk to people. My computer, Ms Word, Times New Roman, point size 12 and the words start flowing.

But, everytime I think about what I feel for you I fall short of words. The way you make me feel, when we are on the dance floor, like there's no one else around. Or the way you catch a glimpse of me when no one's looking.

You make me forget the times you didn't hold my hand, the times when you didn't call or the times when you chose not to spend time with me. When you are here in front of me, I lose control.

But that's what scares me. I forget about the nights I have spent hoping you would come back, hoping that you would call or that you would stay. I forget about the times you were unfair or the times you didn't care about me.

Because really, that's all it takes. One glance from you and I know I can be there for you. But would you do the same?

It's been a long time since we have been playing this game and I see myself losing. Losing myself to you but losing against myself. 

To Anonymous

There were times I would furiously write down what was on my mind and wonder who’s reading this anyway. I would shout into the void and wonder if there’s someone waiting to hear what I have to say. I would sob silently and hope that there was someone who understood.

*pop* Notification: Anonymous comment.

Not once or twice but Anonymous would be back with his words every time I wrote. Cheering me up when I was low, helping me up when I was down, Anonymous was always there.

There were times I would write and wait, why has there been no comment. No Anonymous notification, dropping down a few wise words. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, nothing. And then suddenly out of nowhere, Anonymous would be back, sometimes, back with a smile.

Just the other day, I was thinking I will write for Anonymous one day.

And then, my phone rang. You called. We laughed, we shouted at each other, we spoke till we ran out of words and right when I was on a rant about how you had forgotten me, you said, “So who do you think reads your blog every time.”

It was you. It has been you all along. And just like that, you make me realise that we may drift apart, we may not talk anymore but when the days are bad and the times are tough, we can always go back to those seven days, those few months and smile.

We were never bound by the shackles of a name, we were and will always be just two people, falling in love, just a little, oh a little bit every day with someone new.

But

I have been waiting for far too long now.

I have been warned, asked to stay away.

I have been told that I don’t deserve it.

But,

You said you’ll be there soon.

You paved way for something new.

You said you’ll make it worth it.

I’ll be waiting. 

Missing Miss Paul

We had a ritual, Miss Paul and me. Every time the either of us came back from a holiday, the other one had to be there, waiting downstairs to help with the luggage. Even if it was just a three-day vacation with a tiny luggage bag, we would find our way up through those wretched steps, laughing or complaining about spending days alone in the hostel (more often than not with her saying "tu kitna luggage leti hain re").

This time, I couldn't call her for she had already left for home before she starts a new chapter at the Newcastle University.

There's a new mat in front of her room and trust me when I say this, that room has never been this clean. While the room and its walls must be thanking their stars, the entire essence of Miss Paul has gone.

And where is it found now you ask? The very unkempt way in which she has left my room. And for once, I'm not complaining. It's found in the letter she has left for me and the weird books she has left for me because she couldn't carry them back.

She is miles away now yet is the first person to be there for me when I'm stupidly crying in my room because as luck would have it, in my two years in Hyderabad, it's maybe the first time I got fever.

I miss her when I think about those walks we took around the streets of Marredpally, talking about the phase of my life which I'm still stuck in. Now, she gives me her anecdotes over text messages.

I miss her when I turn around and see someone else sitting at her desk.

I miss her when there's no one to trouble or tease.

But I miss her the most when I come back home to an empty corridor and enter my room closing the door behind me, shutting out the room that was once hers.