I didn’t want to write this…

… but, I have to.

Last night was a difficult one. I was out with friends and something happened with me. And that is there. But, I guess I have to give a little background so here’s how it went.

Afternoon, I got a panic attack because of seeing a guy messaging. it was weird, since, I really do not know what resentment I hold against the guy, except the fact that it exists and it is bad enough to give me instantaneous panic attacks so, yeah. Later in the day as I was recuperating, my friend asked me out to a university’s fest. I figured it was OK.

I thought I would smoke weed and get the panic out of the system and that didn’t happen, and since, I am trying to quit, that is kind of a relief so.

Surprisingly, there were school friends there. One who I hadn’t met for three years. And first time we saw each other he called me an asshole. Well, to be honest just waking up from a panic attack had meant that I so spaced out that I could not react well, and I went along with it. There was rum at least.

I think halfway onto the first peg he asked everyone to poke me, something which happens fairly often in college and I don’t mind all that much. But, then this other friend who does know me groped me instead, and it was a buzz kill. It was scary, I was silent, i could not react or interact with them.

It was just…

They were not bad people but, I felt like way and it was getting to me.

Then my friend who I had not seen for 3 years was drunk as fuck and there was a fight? I don’t know, I don’t remember doing much except getting smothered. He smelled nice I guess. But, that was it.

I was fucked up.

And I need to say this here, now.

I walked home feeling unclean, smoking as many cigarettes as I could, but, I couldn’t manage to get anything out of them. By the time I reached a crossing and called a Uber, i think I was exhausted enough to pass out.

I just…

There have been incidents in the past I have wanted to rub off, but, this one was terrible enough.

In other news I was messed up enough to says I liked this guy, and it didn’t pan out well, I don’t mind that really. It happened, and all things need to happen.

I just really needed to write this. So, yeah



A Confession…

Dearest world,

I am an bisexual, and hence, I am underrepresented in the society. I will not have movies made about myself, I would not get a whole lot of articles pertaining to my issues, and most people would just take me as a person who is either confused, or just faking it. So, according to that, I would have to discount the feeling and want I have felt towards the male peers to want to belong, and to appear less gay I would have to forcibly act their definition of straight because that is the only way that I do know right now. How many days has it been? I try to fake my sexuality by telling them that I am in a relationship so that they do not notice that I really do not notice the women around me as much as I notice the men. Because after some stuff, I really wish to be with men right now. They do not understand or realise that, and any reference I make to that is probably going to lose me my friends.
I won’t lie, I have tested the waters before. Some guys, they didn’t react violently but, I could see themselves create a distance. And one girl just said “Go away fake gay guy”. Maybe, it was a joke, but, that hurts. It hurts even when I try to push it out of my mind and try to see the world as a beautiful place.

Because the world isn’t really beautiful is it?
We’re the ashes of a burnt out place, and we’re sad.

I conform to the standards of the people in my hostel by cracking sexist jokes, and pretending to like that. How can you talk about sex with a girl you have just met who you cannot try and find attractive no matter how much I try. And sometimes I feel in place with them, walking alone while they discuss women, I wonder what they find so attractive sometimes, even though I have loved them before.
Then, I found her attractive because of her voice and this warmth she carried.

Now, in the girl that my hostel mate constantly talks about, I find the make up skills fascinating because she has nailed an eyeliner job.
Even when I was out for a Christmas celebrations, I must have seemed annoying as I talked a whole lot of time about make up with the girls.

But, then I dry up my tears and I walk into the twist of everything again.

I am a bisexual.
I will not have a book written about my experience tomorrow.
I would not be accepted by my gay peers and I would not hold them accountable.
I would be shunned by my straight peers and I’d love them all the same.
I’d laugh because watching a movie with an actor with a different sexuality than mine is very easy.
I would make jokes that leave me scarred with my hostel mates because I have to belong.
I would enjoy the silent moments of warmth when I can cling to someone’s arm.
I would probably get my first heartbreak from a straight guy.

Tell me world, can you still be proud, when all these things you accept leave you feeling inadequate? Tell me if you are going to be by my side when the world falls apart?



In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “To Be Resolved.”

I do not keep clear cut resolutions but, I do have hope as I start the new years. I have hopes for a better tomorrow and a few things that I always think that I would do.

This years, these goals were –

  • Polishing up my first novel
  • Losing weight
  • Becoming and keeping more happy

Let me get this out first, I did not actually revise the first novel fully. I did start out on it but, then the move came and I was stuck in a different space with no way to continue. Yet, that novel remains in the works.
I did lose a lot of weight leaving to my hostel (which coincidentally is the abandoned hospital in the title of my blog). The things turned up pretty well there, the world went about on its own axis, and we made it through.

However, the last one.
See, I feel ashamed to say this, but, I messed up on staying happy. Heck, I wouldn’t be alive right now if a little angel didn’t help me through those months. And I know that i should commend my own courage for getting out of being suicidal, but, I cannot praise myself after sitting before a cup of bleach and drinking through it, just because I had not made it through to a medical school.
I am
I was.. I was crappy, a very dark, person who was going on a train ride to the bottom of a cliff. And the whole metal body, my body was pulling me towards to ground.

When, the results came back, I was staring out at the railway lines and if my mother had not called right at the moment, I would have probably walked towards it.

I tell this to N a lot, I tell her that I shouldn’t be alive, and that isn’t a good thing to say to a person you respect. But, I am telling the truth. A whole bunch of Paracetamols taken one night on an impulse the thoughts of death driving it home.

So, yes, that is what I carry forward. This year is ending on a higher note, am happier, and I ought to be more happy next year. I would lose more weight, and perhaps, publish that one novel.

Raising a smoke to the skies

When I was younger I would hide the cigarettes that my father smoked in a desperate attempt to make him stop. He didn’t.
Till date he smokes with glee whenever he feels the need. He smokes a variety of brands and hasn’t got a choice, he just loves the tobacco in his lungs.

When I was in class 8, I met my uncle who used to chain smoke. His heart had gone bad and finally after two bypass surgeries, he had stopped.

Last month I met a guy who was beginning to fall into a spiral of addiction with smoking. Every time he didn’t have a smoke, he would go intro irritation and anger, and he would blame everyone around him. I burnt a Classic in front of him, and he has finally, truly let go.

Last day, I smoked my last cigarette.
In fact it was probably my tenth last cigarette in a week, or twentieth, I lost count. Even though all of my friends probably still firmly believe I have quit the habit, that I have finally kicked it to the curb, I was there, smoking just because I was back home and I couldn’t help it.
Heck, I can’t even inhale anymore because my lungs were getting used to the fresh air, and I coughed the first time I tried that after the period of abstaining.
And yet, I smoked.

There is this allure of smoking that hangs over my hometown, everyone seems to have smoked sometime or the other. We do not drink, we do not get high, we do not do the thousand other things that we would do in this age; but, we smoke. The heritage is there. There are shops that sell expensive foreign brands, and there are people who enjoy them.

I believe that my city is a burning cigarette and often we are the ashes.

Yet, some days I introspect. I despise smoking, and often the association I make with the the smoke is death and not life. Often, I wish to leave it all behind, but, the wrap remains and the Marlboro is lit with glee as the evening closes in.
And I get aboard the Metro train with my mouth smelling of poison.

And the next day I promise to quit again, now with more hope of succeeding.
I guess I must try harder now, but, I am afraid.

This is my city and it pulls me, and I have lesser control on what I feel.

This brings me to a musician I like, Frank Turner, this guy smokes even after being a professional singer. He is trying to quit but, can’t, and somehow that is more painful that anything else.

Then again, am sorry towards N, and myself. Perhaps more so towards myself than anybody else. I ought to have gotten out of this mood now, but, I cannot. And maybe, this guilt means that this time I really do quit, once and for all.

Kids, and a tinge of sadness

One of my friends is having a baby, and it is supposed to be a happy occasion.
However, yesterday, having a conversation with someone I should henceforth call N, we revisited the topic of kids and it became a bit sad again.

See, there are two things you feel very deeply once you realize you prefer men, there is the feeling of fear as you see prosecution, and there is this paranoia about what the future is to bring.
Cut back to 2012, I was talking with a teacher that changed my life then, and he told me that he wanted a child. However, he was gay, and adoption laws there had not created that window for him. He wished and wished that somehow he’d get through, somehow he’d have this little bundle of joy who would call him “Papa”, but, it was not to be.
I lost contact with him after that, and after having a tumultuous few years, here I am blogging.

You see, we are not equipped to have children. And there is a fair chance that these dreams of having a child of my own will never come to fruition. Sure, N might see this post and tell me to be hopeful, because she is exactly that kind of a girl, but, then I am a skeptic at heart.

You know what I felt when I heard that my friend was having  a baby?

I felt jealous.

And I felt sorry for myself.

I know that is not a social behavior but, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to have a child and a partner by the time I was 30, I wanted to have a small flat where I could just play and teach her things and raise her up better.

You see, there is this compulsion we carry, of being better parents, being more inclusive parents and teaching our children better than we have been taught. And that is something I have within me. Heck, I had quit smoking because I didn’t want to turn out like my pops who is forever covered by a blanket of smoke over his features.
But, this is it then, having a child was something that I really wished for.

God, can you imagine the little hand closing in on your finger, those half spoken sentences and those whispers you can’t make a sense of? I do that with my nephew now, and whenever I keep playing with him my cousins tell me something crass like “He is not your girlfriend man”


But, that’s not the point. He’s a kid. With him I do not have to meet this obligatory social regulations. He does not care if my elbows are on the table when I eat, he certainly does not care if I speak to myself at the end of the day. He is just, well, a little bundle of joy (except when he hits me hard with the pillow because that does hurt).

But, there is this deal.

I make my want of children into a joke, I joke about how I would be a terrible dad, because am a terrible person. I joke about about the fetus is going to gestate in a box, and I am scared about surrogacy.

But, I want to be a father, not because I claim to be mature, and certainly not because I somehow am capable. But, because for once, I want to be with someone who is innocent, someone who has dreams in their eyes, and I want to give them a world that accepts those dreams instead of turning them away, and I know it’s not going to happen soon but, I wish it would.

Current Listen – Bon Jovi