For we love personifying.

I was once asked what my blog would be like if it were a person. At the time, I must have laughed and mumbled something about my blog would obviously be like me in person. A few months have passed by since and I have diligently observed you, my dear blog.

The manner in which you encourage me to twist words. Perhaps only to add a slight poetic longing to them. Longing I had long forgotten about. The times when you refuse to let me write and script scathing posts that break more fragments of an ailing heart than they would have healed. The simplicity with which you take in every complaint, rant, fantasy and obsession I have thrown mercilessly at you.

You have been me, at some point in your existence, but that moment has passed. You, darling blog, are different. An entity that exists separate of me somehow. Perhaps it is a symbiotic life that we lead.

You would be tall. I get the feeling of a tall, lanky adolescent boy when I see you. The kinds who secretly wishes to play the Cello but decided to opt for a guitar instead. I see you walking down the street, childhood backpack and book in hand. You too, disdain change with the intensity that I do. It reflects in the ageing of your shoes, the manner in which you have yet not discarded your favourite childhood shirt. The yellow one, that is.

I get the feeling you have long hair. Not the kinds a rebel or a rocker would have. Just naturally long and flowly hair. They go well with your specs and aura of intellect. I wouldn't call you happy but then I wouldn't call you sad either. You've a marvellous ability to be content with the world. Some many even call you a star-child, one whom the fairy dust has been sprinkled upon. Yes, that would be it, for even your friends occasionally call you Peter Pan. You enchant them with your wicked eyes and sudden esoteric humour they have finally started to understand.

Tucked under your ability to get along with the world is another universe in itself. I suppose you hear home calling when you put an ear to the sea-shells. The sound of the sea is your siren call, I can see you travelling among steamers and ferrys. Aah Blog, you would make for a very curious person, I feel. You read. In fact, you devour books. Your love potion would probably smell like fresh ink and a newly opened book. That is where we meet. Somehow, you keep that single-minded worship of the written word a secret. The world has disappointed you on that more than once.

You prefer time to walk by slowly. Speed holds no thrills for you, for you will forever be that thin, lanky teenager who loves the shy girl across the street. And then there is your wild side. You drink, you party and you sing karaoke versions of songs like there never will be a tomorrow. And your smile. Your smile inspired a certain Anna Nalick to write: "But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles/Wanna hold him/Maybe I'll just sing about it."

And of course, you love Lemons. In all shapes and forms. The smell, the sour taste. If you would know how to cook those delectable mediterranean dishes you dream of, I suppose you would add lemon zest to everything. Yes, your dedication towards all things Lemon (including a certain Lemon Girl) is astounding. Perhaps more so than the fact that you've never heard the song that many believe inspired you.

That is the you I have shown the true me without restraints or fear. The adolescent boy that makes me remember days spent under the cotton tree and dreaming of Wonderland. That is you, Blog.

#Lesson for today: Just.


Of Loneliness

All said and done, life does move on. But it makes you lonely in ways you never quite could have expected.

It isn't the loneliness you know off. Nothing changes in your life and yet it isn't your life any more.

Loneliness is knowing that the metro doors will not open to reveal a face familiar and loved. Or even known, for that matter. It is the daily reminder that your favourite coffee shop no longer is the first choice to spend a leisurely afternoon at. Being lonely is not being able to walk right into the homes you considered almost your own, especially when you need them the most. It is the cold fact that there isn't someone a phone call away who'll stay up till 3 a.m. just because you told them to.

Loneliness is not having reason to celebrate even when you have every single reason to. When you are greeted warmly by a stranger when you get good news instead of people who would have wished most fervently for your happiness. It is quietly smiling to yourself over a plate of cold food while congratulating yourself just a little.

It is an endless cycle of reminding yourself that all your new discoveries are truly your own and you couldn't share them truly if you wanted to. Of noting events, people, places, ideas, feelings on a piece of paper to maybe chance upon weeks later.

It is the slight lump in your throat when you fake a little laughter now and then, while knowing what truly makes you laugh may not be there to cheer you up for a while. Loneliness is a broken conversation and lost threads with no way to preserve them till there is time enough to fix it all.

Loneliness is the heart wrenching paradox of life where you are alone even when you haven't lost the people you pine for. They don't leave you behind, and yet they do. Their memories keep you happy till you remember there won't be any new ones to keep. And it hurts. It can actually make you feel a heart breaking into smaller fragments every single time you get through another day.

Loneliness is harsh, it doesn't go away. Not when you're surrounded by people, not when you block the world out. It stays, it keeps hinting at its ability to make you walk by some of the best days of your life without reminiscing even once.

But before all of this and more than all else, loneliness is a reminder that all of it matters, for now, only to you.