Prose before hos

Honesty is telling yourself you suck so you can cut some slack to your inner critic whose first response after watching you burn three months' salary on jewellery was—"Bitch, why?"

On one hand, I'm telling my therapist I can't wait to quit and run and on the other side I'm ensuring financial ruin so I'll be forced to work for at least a year before I can take a brain. Just fucking wow. 

I've been wondering lately, where are my friends? Not like in life but more like we don't hang out, we don't even talk, it's not like they're busy with their kids (most of them are in healthy relationships, with/without marriage) so really, if it's not their toddlers, then what is preventing us to have ragers?

I've spent more time at home and at the airport than I have spent with my friends and that's not a monthly average but more like a year's worth of quota—took more flights than met my friends or vice versa. 

Maybe my friends hate but I do definitely hate them so what do I even say. It's okay to let them go and if they don't come back, likely that you (in this case—me) are an asshole. Yippiekayay. 

I bought my first fucking piece of gold, diamond, platinum all at once 2 days ago. While platinum was on the list, I felt fucking greedy around the other more, like some weird form of FOMO when I don't even wear this stuff. I think partly it's just coming to terms with what my life is looking like—no man, no marriage, nothing of the serious adult kind so might as well fake a reverie. Bought gold and diamonds for myself so nobody's crusty son can ever be the first to say he bought me my first ice. At the same time, to feel like you don't fucking need to produce someone's sons to be able to buy yourself those. I don't even care that much for these things and yet it felt like the time was right. 

Something in my heart screamed wanting to do it because I wanted it and I didn't fucking want anyone else to satisfy that urge, scratch that itch for me. Nobody does it like you do it for yourself. 

I read this quote earlier today that when I find a boyfriend, my boyfriend is gonna know what he missed and I never resonated more to a line. But again, I've gone from a "ahaha" person to "grief is upon us" in 14 hours of work and 3 hours of sleep. Life feels fucking hard. The only person who truly wants me to show up daily is my corn on cob guy, "Aap itna late kyun aate ho?"

Fuck even my boyfriend doesn't care for me as much, and none of my friends have asked me about my well-being or whereabouts, although I can confirm I've been a missed call in their list at least twice in June, if not more. 

The other day I burnt some sage and while blowing to extinguish, I accidentally burnt my hand. The embers lit my right hand and for the last two days it's been hurting like a bitch. Never thought demon resides so close to me. 

Anyway, I'm in a flop circle. No job, no friends, no salary, no respite, no love, no time from the man, no validation, nothing. Everyone is still continuing to suck so I don't know where that promised glow up is stuck. 

It's almost done. Winter's done another round and nearly out of my way for the foreseeable future. 

I'm amazed at people, including myself, who can plan ahead. A few years ago, I couldn't look at an hour later into my life and today I'm accounting for plans over the Summer, or lack thereof. I don't know what I'm doing over the Summer so I should do it now. 

It's surreal how I'm focused on one area of my life, and in my experience, that's when shit blows up in my face in the most grand fashion ever. Last year, this time, I was thrilled to be dating, thrilled to be writing for a living and keeping my chin up. This year, I don't know if i'm going to have a job in the next six months and what will the nature of the job be, obviously know zilch about dating anyone and doing nothing about changing the status quo. 

Sometimes I wish I were running a vintage thrift store (not the kind you're thinking) but a curio store with beige interiors, minimal with accessories and posters as a part of the collection and a fat, sleepy cat snoring by the glass counter, against which I've stashed my most prized possession, button badges. I am so far away from that dream that it sounds like a lie even when I write about it. 

Lately, I've been seeing those posts a lot—you have what you were chasing five years ago, and true, I do. A diagnosed history of living with PTSD, a heart that's been broken so many times that I could be an influencer running that Japanese art of gold-filling broken pieces and selling you gold jewellery made from the pieces of my heart alone, a salary that is roughly the same that I was drawing (what a shame) five years ago and an overwhelming desire to change my whole existence, which is currently at an all-time high. 

I've not worked out in almost 5-6 days and I know I can feel better, just a bit, but I also know restarting sugar after 40 days has done a number. I'm already dreading the bloat and fat (and at this point, it's a fair assumption to say I'm probably on an ED-spectrum). What was once a theory is now a fact— I've lost my friends to my lifestyle—shutting inwards, quitting alcohol and being a recluse, which I know, doesn't show up but it also does. I'd rather run to a stranger's apartment to see a spare bedroom on 21st floor than check-in with a close friend and tell him I miss him. Instead, I find people have moved on, as always, all without me and I've made my peace with it. One Amazon book order at a time, one Nykaa nail paint at a time. 

There's this thing, that I have heard all my life from friends' parents and then from mine (but never directly uttered to me) on how people seem to move on past a certain point in your life and you're left to your own devices, and this is where marriage and a partner can save you. 

It's also not as if I have a lot of pressure (or any) to address this. I've never once been asked to see someone for the sake of it or think of it, it's just assumed I'm not fit for it, and there's really nothing to fight there. It's cool, it's fair, we get it. 

All these past years, it's been rather easy. I've seen people around me get married, have babies, buy houses and all that and be unfazed in my presence. Maybe, this is where bar drinking comes in and I have never felt like I left the cool train or whatever it is, but going out and seeing people, doing things, pursuing hobbies, all that really aided. 

And yet, one year and a few months into this fuckfest of a global shitshow pandemic, and I now feel FOMO about this life I don't have (and possibly won't). 

People around me are moving on; I don't know whether this is an absolute urgency or a moment of reconciliation with the situation around us, but I found myself knee-deep in confusion planning bachelorette for two different friends from a group of four of us. That is to say, 50% of my circle is getting married in the next few months and I'm supposed to hide and plan these surprises without the brides knowing about their respective parties. For a group of people where half of them are getting married and the other quarter is in a foreign country, it is an awful lot of stress to bear. 

That's the fun part, my stress is a privilege to count on. I am not moving houses in between the predicted third wave, nor am I looking out for ways to discuss how I don't want certain rituals in my inter-caste wedding, and I'm definitely not worried about letting my friends know that they're not invited for the wedding lunch. I'm fairly simple. I watch a sport, I eat food, I watch TV and I write about it. I have no bigger ilks to think about, including what furniture can I take from one home to the other and what can I drop. 

That for me is where my FOMO begins. It's perhaps the first time in the entirety of my existence, I have questioned whether choosing to opt for the person I am and the life I have is a bad deal or if it is really fine and I am just nervous about not being able to find people on my level. 

I don't expect anyone to empathize with my life or the problems that surround it, "I ordered too many fries and I didn't know what to do with them." I was told it's a nice problem to have, and it truly is, no two ways about it. 

This is where things get real- when you talk to your friends and they no longer care to want to get shit faced with fancy domestic gin or do whiskey shots to celebrate your biggest win or want to hang out for a meal. They want to build their life, with their partner, build a house, grow their career, look after the baby they've had after many problems with conceptions. Their life and your life no longer align and you find yourself bang in the middle of the words, "People will get married and move on and you'll be where you are."

Moving on, dear readers, is very fucking real and very fucking traumatizing. 

I think we can safely celebrate and specially mention two other kinds of moving on— where once a man who threw himself at me, and continued with that for months, is back with his ex-wife (or did he ever leave?) and another who told me things are not working out in his life with his wife and their relationship and sought me as a crutch to move on has a 4-year-old baby who started school this year. Life's really funny, people move on without you and you're reminded of the hike from a school trip years ago, where you and three other losers chose to get sick and stayed back at the hotel, empty stomach while the rest of the clowns went hiking, get this, in a car. 

Somehow, I found worth in getting sick and choosing to opt-out there, even after all these years. It's not something that I had to do but I did. Maybe, I will find peace in my choices of being stationary and letting the world move around and move on. 

Maybe, the 30s are all about uniting with others like you and starting afresh with a different road where you're no longer the central character in a sequin dress at a pub, on a date with the hottest guy in town, but instead, cosying up to other freaks like you halfway across the world cause they see you for who you are. Until then, we can hope they don't celebrate their wedding anniversary anytime soon. 

I'm truly exhausted from feigning any form of interest in catching up and making further plans to meet people. 

People who I once considered friends, thicker than blood (wait, is it thicker than oil?)

You get the drift. 

I can't help myself but roll my eyes when I get a text and find myself accidentally opening it and going all, "SHIT FUCK THIS PERSON IS ONLINE FUCK REPLY NOW." On occasions when I don't, the person usually has the nerve to bring it up 2 days or 3 days later and/or bring it up while responding to another thing, again, uncalled for. 

Although, to be totally fair, if you are able to reach out to me at all between my spurts of switching off my phone and catching up with me in any way, congratulations to you. You have cracked the code and belong to one or more of the categories below:

have a whiskey flavoured dick.

you are a member of the family and live with me. 

i don't actually hate you whatsoever (congratulations cause I can count the number of the people on my left hand who qualify here)

I think the declarations I make here and have previously made here have all happened in the sheer vulnerability of being emotional and not having seen people in so long, that the bare minimum counted as effort. 

It took a serious event in my life to open my eyes to the lack of support I had and thus, I withdrew all of mine. It's only fair, I can't keep giving myself more than I get, and for a while, that had been the case. I stretched myself too thin and well, it wasn't worth it.

If you're not here and for whatever reason now are/will be in the future/have been since and we've been in touch, consider yourself lucky cause you could have very well been out and just lucked out by your physical no-show. You're also on thin ice so if I were you, I'd be sensitive to my situation and either give me all the space in the world to come to you or approach the situation delicately and diffuse it before approaching. Bringing up *this* piece or any other or talking about my writing to me in person IRL does not help and is not akin to diffusing the situation. You'd much rather stay back and not talk. 

I'm physically and mentally exhausted, deep-fried from all the texting and emotionally holding out people going through shit and reaching out to check on them when I've not had anyone—and really—I'm not complaining. I don't want anyone doing my emotional labour or washing my dirty laundry listening to me cry, but also, don't take your pile of shit and dump on me or IDK, reach out with dumb shit to say or dumb stuff to ask/tell and fill me with the information I've not solicited or have the audacity to say, "I was waiting for you to get better to reach out." You weren't. You're a piece of shit who would rather demand gifts and attention than be there for someone. The same applies to those who didn't bother reaching out at all and will feign a, "I care for you deeply and you mean the world to me. I just didn't know what to say." If you are over 18 years of age and are allowed to vote and drink and shag someone and have a baby, I don't know, you're more than capable of talking to someone who's just told you they've lost someone. It's not that fucking hard, you know. It's a fucking statement, you're sorry for their loss (and that applies even when you're not) and offer condolences to their family. It's as simple as "happy birthday" or "happy new year". It's a no-brainer. 

You can't fucking send someone images from shoots or your morning jogs or random "how are you bubs" or a whole essay on how sad you are that your fuckall relationship didn't work when you weren't as much there, on a phone call (fuck physically being there because clearly, they can only be there if it's Sunder Nursery but not otherwise). 

Yeah, I'm fucking angry. 

Also, if you think this post is about you and in any which way you are feeling things are remotely hitting you home, then take it and go. Do not text me an essay or attempt to reach out in any capacity to catch up. It's time you know you fucked up. 

The thing about writing this shit individually is that so many people fucked up so royally that even a WhatsApp broadcast would be annoying and hence this giant turd of a blaster in everyone's face to explode. 

I really hope you step on a piece of stinking elephant shit and break your face for all the shitty things you've said/done/be to me. 

 There's a very good reason, I'm writing this when I'm writing—at 7 minutes past 5 am— a whole day and a few hours since I actually slept. I'm running on serotonin and some other stuff (is that adrenaline?) and honestly, it doesn't quite matter, these details, cause in the next few minutes you'll know why. 

I've not had the easiest or the best year. Hands down, this has been one of the more difficult ones. I have had to do the task of living with the idea of doing "nothing" and making "something" out of it, without my consent whatsoever. It didn't help that we're all going through a global pandemic and somehow, everyone sort of went cuckoo around the same time. 

I've been in therapy for close to 40 days and while I was reluctant to give that a try, it's been a ride. I've learned more about myself than I ever did. I learned what broke me earlier this year and then over the years and then some more about the patterns I've been falling prey to. This is not to say it won't happen again, the troubles and the situations I've been in with loved ones and acquaintances but more to say, I acknowledge yes, and now, onwards growth. That growth is not linear, I'm told. For now, we are good but maybe in time to come we won't. Hence, I'm accounting for it right now.

It only got worse when I went off. I called spade a spade, lost very close friends. Friends who I thought had my back and wouldn't betray my trust. There were those who intentionally chose to hurt me in ways unimaginable and those who were insensitive. Between these spectrums, I brutally slashed each and everyone out and really felt light as a feather. It's been a heck of a ride around the sun and I have to say, quite a mental adventure. 

Anyway, today, I think I spoke to close to 100 people over texts, voice and video calls. It was something. I don't think I've spoken to so many people in a year, not even last year, when I was prancing around town. To each and everyone who called, attempted to reach out, drop a text and just dropped a wish, thank you. I may have replied in a rush and I may have overlooked at the time but believe me, it means a lot, especially in the light of everything I have written above. 

I met my best friend Sinner for the first time this year since February. She and her partner (who is better friends with me than our other friends, yay!) surprised me last night with a home-baked cake in one of my favourite dessert flavours. More than anything, just seeing her show up out of nowhere and drive all the way from across another city was overwhelming. I can't explain what it feels like to hug someone you've shared so much of your life with when you've been deprived of contact. We've not exactly had the easiest year with each other and for her to keep up with me and being there for me, I'm going to be eternally grateful. I told her last night how she has a thing for assholes, in the light of one of her favourite motorsport drivers and me and she agreed. 

My family has had to deal with a handful with me. Especially this year, from my mental and physical health both, they've kept up with everything and had my back, even when I believed they did not. I don't think words can do justice to what I owe them, to be here and writing this and doing this. It means the world. For everything today, yesterday and all these years, I can't thank them enough. I'm too proud to admit I love people but I'll make an exception here. I love them, each of them to bits, even when I say I don't. 

My friends who I haven't listed here—Ud, Mad, AJ, Kneeps, Pal, T-Dogg, Sloth, Mia K, SSA, US, AGN, Nyk, Pup,—have kept up with my erratic behaviour this past year. You have seen me through so much that ideally if things were okay (aka non-Covid) I would be completely embarrassed to resurface, but here we are. I have no shame whatsoever in owning to up the wild, wild cycle I've had with many breakdowns, nights of staying up and crying, and sometimes even talking to one or more than one of you and letting you in on my deepest, darkest demons. It's been a heck of a journey together and while it's not been easy, I'm forever at awe of each of you. Thank you for having me in your life and taking my shit, whether it's the frosting of the cake-related essay or ranting about the man I like who won't like me back (aka all of them, ever). 

I am superstitious about writing about people and giving whole dedications so like this entire piece cancels itself out but if I'm risking it, I have to thank May. It's not easy to have me as your best friend and deal with my birthday tantrums. From literally coaxing me for days to talk about cake flavour to taking my F1 memes and hearing me talk shit 16 hours a day, she should be awarded a lifetime achievement already. However, we have a long way to go so maybe we'll talk awards posthumously. But really, for someone who's so painfully introverted and positively hating on birthdays of one and all, May goes out above and beyond to make me feel otherwise, whether I want it or not. She's sorta tied all my rhizomatic group of friends together and honestly, as social as I am, I would never tag my friends' other friends (especially those who I personally dislike and do not approve) but she went ahead, did that. There are other unmentionables that will be discussed on another, perhaps a more private platform. However, for now, I am out of words to thank May and tell her how much I miss her. I only hope she knows that. It's been the hardest setback about the year (yet).

Here's hoping to be a better sister, daughter, friend, date, student, colleague, and maybe even a girlfriend to people in my life, Whether you've been named here or not, you know who you are and how you've been instrumental in my life. You all deserve a better version of me.

It's quarter past six in the morning and I've cried a fair bit writing this. That's the thing about love. It hits you, unlike any other thing. Thank you for showing me how much you love me in acts, words, gestures, and in edibles. Here's looking forward to tying the last loose end of the 20s in a tight ribbon with all of you (if the universe grants us all that). 

Birthday photographs, cake images and all the rest of it will follow soon over personal messages.