Prose before hos: my boy only breaks his favourite toys

I lit a candle for you

A big red candle, two thin pink candles and one medium-length powder pink candle— all worth rs 60, just to show I'm grateful.

I cried, not because you hadn't texted me in almost a day, or that we hadn't had another heart to heart exchange since our first, but because my Instagram feed is weighing down on, "have some self worth"

I didn't come to you; I didn't knock at your door twice.

You chose it. Maybe, it was a moment of weakness or irresistible pull to see if I still care and whether you still matter. You still do. But, I'm not an object to be played with.

Here's the thing, I should not have taken my pre-period feelings seriously. I should have been cerebral on Friday morning, and yesterday. Instead, watching back-to-back, "know your worth" and "have some self-respect" videos are gnawing at me.

I'm biting into the crumbs you're feeding me from the palm of your hand. Crumbs are over so now I'm licking your palm and you're getting the ick. I'm getting the ick. I can feel you flinch and withdraw. My heart feels weaker, I can't take another heartbreak with you. I cannot have you tell me to fuck off.

I want to tell you to not hurt me. I want to tell you to be real, gentle. If this is you being real then I want to understand, who was that man who lovingly showed up everyday, how is it that the care is gone? I miss our tender moments, I miss you being there for me in silence, I miss feeling you, your protection. Instead, I see a man who is not here for me. He's here to feed himself.

I feel like a liar. I'm walking, smiling, talking, and I feel broken. I can't tell anyone you reached out. More like, I don't want to tell anyone. I don't have the heart to listen to "well-wishers" and their sermons. I want you to call me out lovingly, like you once did, like you used to. I want to be able to call you by whatever names I thought. I want to be able to tell you all the things I couldn't. I got new earrings, I got new perfume, my work is sucking balls, I have bought outfits for the family wedding, I discovered new burger places, I know where to go the next time we meet, I want to be able to meet you without overthinking life.

I want to be grateful. I lit a candle for you. I think the purpose of this life is to be grateful and keep repeating until you die. I can't wait for life to cease to exist for me, for I'm grateful for you, even when you've come as a lesson I am failing to understand. I lit a candle for you. I want you to be happy, I want you to see through your fear. I won't hurt you. Just hold me softly. Don't let me go, you're going to be fine. I may or may not be fine but who cares for me. I'm a bad bitch, I'll see through it.

I lit a candle for you, when I could have lit one for me.

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, by Snobster

Paper Swans

Kelly Clarkson got nothing on me; that's how strong I am.

Or well, I had to be.

I am.

A friend reminded me that I couldn't go an hour without crying if I brought up the subject to discuss my break-up, and somehow, running into my ex during our respective run (walk?) was...monumental, if nothing else.

He thinks I've lost weight.

"You know nothing," weighed in the ex-colleague, "men know the ways to crawl back."

If that were the case, then he'd definitely reply to me and not leave the meme on reaction alone.

Of course, my ex-colleague went all, you-fucked-up-big-time, as did two other friends who've heard all about the said break-up. People love to give unsolicited opinions on break-ups and I love to hear their view, as long as it's not my life they're commenting on. If that's the case, then fuck right off.

Earlier last week, it had been over six months since our last date, and five months since our break-up; you can say four months of absence purely on a technicality cause the break-up timeline is hazy.

We caught up on our lives after this ~~meet-cute,~~ but it didn't feel heavy.
Strangely, it flowed, it felt like nothing had ever happened, no time had lost, except there were glaring gaps that we were filling in.

Gaps, which showed that a lot of time had passed, but nothing had really changed in terms of our personalities. I was still overthinking and worrying myself to death, and he was still juggling exhaustion and long hours. A match made in heaven, unlike us.

So, when the momentum died over text the next day, the status quo as "ex for a reason" was restored, I lived through the realisation that we're not together in any capacity, loud and clear. It was like taking five daggers through my body, extremely painful and very heavy throughout the day, and it even spilled into the weekend.

Thankfully, this time, the damage was only cleaning my room, packing my luggage, buying a saree, organising my closet and sorting my lingerie. Imagine, if I worked with my ex, the productivity would shoot through the roof.

I don't know how and when the pain subsides because the yearning sure did; infact I was recounting the same to the friend minutes before the run-in. The dull ache though? That goes on. It shows up in the middle of a joyous occasion, a moment after lunch when I'm wondering who do I rant about my work-performance reward, a memory when I'm in the car; none of it stops ever. You learn to live with the pain but it's unfair how it continues to be there.

Obviously, the event was detrimental to the yearning in control. I spiralled back into a lunatic for the first 48 hours, went completely batshit at picking my skin (it's swollen, palms have hives, rash on thighs), ate more than I should have, ate breakfast, just went ham at my life. Not to forget, added more walks in my schedule, but in a different park. Didn't bother arguing or convincing my friend who I go out with to go to the same venue where we ran into each other.

The reason I write about this is not because it's the only monumental thing that happened to me, but it certainly did affect me more than my sister's engagement, the appraisal (that sucked), planning a whole engagement party and an after party, dealing with disgruntled family. None of it broke me like this blip did. I have been speaking to my therapist on the regular, I feel I'm working harder than ever and yet, none of it had any effect, not the way this episode did.

It's been a month of way too many things going down, a lot of emotions running wild. A lot of me splattered into corners where I've no business being around. He made me feel the same, "what are you doing here at 7 am?" I couldn't gather anything except "hey" when I wanted to say, "it's 7:51 am, what does it look like I'm doing from my outfit and sweat and is this hard that I can't do it?" Instead, I just froze and smiled.

I spent a lot of time with family, friends, extended family over this weekend. A lot of camaraderie to distract, spaces which offered me a respite from this constant badgering of what was the purpose of this episode, and times when I could disappear and nobody would say anything. Yet, the only thing that mattered was, how I came undone at a simple question from him, "something on your mind?"

I fucking love boomers aka folks born in the 80s, cause they got their hatred for the "reaction" right. If not for that, I'd be simping on the man in this post. Thank god for no-reaction because the way that reigned me in should be studied.

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, by Snobster

In break up, breaking heart

I wonder

If you tell your friends that you miss me

Or that if they ask you to stop and focus on your work, your job

—wait, that's why you called it off, right? You were finding it hard to focus a night before

I wonder if you remember my quirks. The Oscars are tomorrow

I will watch all the films I possibly can, and complain that people in the theatre lack etiquette

Will you remember that the two Award functions last year and one this year were fucked?

I remember your level of interest. You followed up more

than my boss and me combined on what caused it— I wish I could go back in time and bottle that concern

I'd unpack the care, the curiosity and the interest on a night like this

I don't suppose you wonder if I miss you

It's easier to convince oneself that the other person is a villain because you are tired of waiting for a sign,

a relic that breathes life into your dead relationship, other than wonderment

Then why do I sit every hour, between get together, engagement parties, long car rides and catch-ups with friends and cousins alike

Why do I ponder if you ever found the peace you were craving or the answers you were seeking

What broke it and what was it?

I wonder if you have palpitations when you get sick,

I keep thinking that there's some other pain other than the matters of the heart and that despite struggling to breathe, this is easier to get through

I don't have to remember you not being there when I was sick last,

or you pushing me away when you were sick last

I wonder whether you've already forgotten everything and me;

Did you cage the memories or pack them and stored away like everything that makes you uncomfortable

I wonder if you perceive me differently now? How did you perceive me? Is that negotiable? If so, I'd like to be remembered as someone who tried with all her heart and might

I wonder if you think of me and wish for things to go back, on a plucked eyelash

The grapes under the table were treacherous this year— it's been a sinking, losing downward battle in every way

I wonder if you were always intending to run away and it was your curiosity about me that kept you here

I wonder if you know this is about you. Everything has been about you, how we started and how we parted

I don't suppose we'll cross roads again, but if we do, I hope we think of each other as fondly as we once did on that cold winter night when I thought to myself, he's nothing like anyone I've ever met

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, by Snobster

In Bumpin That, corporate hos

Last minute rush

A few weeks ago, I (thought) I'd disabled this page and the last entry was in the same vein. Of course, women in stem had a late realisation that not only is this page active but that very embarrassing last post is fucking public.

Since then I've had a few life-altering things go down, including, but not limited to—

Seeing Dua Lipa live. I might swing the other way if she's an option

Hating carpeted hotel rooms. I don't know but it's finally happened

Pav Bhaji. Don't understand the fuss (anymore)

Embracing obesity. It's not bad when you accept you'll never fit in your hot clothes again

Accepting passive behaviour in relationships, it is what it is sorta thing

Baking cake(s) once every week, to have some semblance of control over my life, that nothing else seems to give besides baking

Cutting friends loose. Long incoming, so long

Smoking up with vertigo is a terrible idea

Getting stuck in a corset in a trial room is a worse idea

Understanding that promotion has nothing to do with your desire, effort, hard work, and capability. Everything boils down to circumstances, how liked you vs the other person and the budget allocation

It's not personal until your boss feels it is personal

Mad Men has aged well but is still a heartbreaking show to re-watch. 10/10 recommended while moaning and whimpering about the Winter rains in the city

Texting someone you once dated isn't the worst idea, as long as you keep it to non-verbal meme exchange

Wondering if I can truly be just friends with someone I once loved or still do. It's a difficult prospect but life doesn't always (or ever) swing the way you want and losing some people is harder than losing others

Watching your parents grow old is an uncontrollable, deeply upsetting and isolating thing that no one should have to go through alone but some of us have to

Accepting that there will be days you'll be sick in hospital alone and nobody will come rescue you because you chose your cards that way

Astrologers are always a bad fucking idea. Spend money on green

Some people moved from Olivia Rodrigo to Sabrina Carpenter while I moved from Sabrina Carpenter to Taylor Swift to Charli XCX to Billie Eilish and it is okay to guess the colour of underwear

F1 stops being fun when your favourite driver is thrown out mid-season

You feel like a child of divorce when you watch your other favourite driver and favourite team part

To more shitty realisations, next year.

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, by Snobster

In break up, my boy only breaks his favourite toys

Things that I would tell you, if we spoke like usual

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, by Snobster

In my boy only breaks his favourite toys,

Lifeboat

Days get presumably shorter after my birthday. It's the one event that marks the end of Summer and usually the romance it brings. I could have been looking out for my Winter cuff but I'm well-fed, or so I thought.

"What does he mean when he says this?"

"It just means you need to look out for yourself and this isn't good news."

I cried uncontrollably. My whole body felt like it was going to break. There was a cake interruption. "Your sister is in town so we should do your birthday together" seemed like a novel idea till I realised I looked like I'm at my funeral in the cake-cutting photographs post. "How was your weekend?" Just spent in emotionally regulating myself, how about you? How else does one explain this eclipse season.

The journal saw a return, the support system was invoked. "Man, I'm so sorry to call you at this hour" interspersed with snots and sobs, friends' "We are giving it another shot" was marked with my interruption of, "I think he's calling things off."

At some point I found myself getting short, "If you want to call things off, just go ahead and do it. Don't go around in circles." Cold brew is a lie, I slept for 8 hours straight and woke up feeling spent, like I'd pulled an all nighter. He slept like a log, I'm grateful for that. He once told me that he can't get much sleep and it's rare for him to sleep through the night. "Must be the biscuits," he remarked. Has to be me, bitch. I fell for that one, right there.

A few years ago, a man had said same things to me which led to our long-incoming break-up; not the biscuits but whatever else was said.

I was surprised at my response when I revisited that conversation in the light of what happened between us. In a way, I had been cruel, but not without cause. This time around I was measured; emotional reactiveness low and emotional support high. I wish I could do the same for me. Instead, I slathered my legs with Almond Shower Oil and threw in the most expensive perfume with a t-shirt and nothing else. Not about to wear expensive make-up if I'm going to be broken up with, lessons from my 20s I carry within me. Despite that, felt like he's almost glad to see me disheveled. Perhaps, I wasn't as proud of my choice when I saw two Brat summer chicks walking past me in fancy af outfit. A lot for coffee, if I'd done but not so much to show that I still got it. Another day, another slay.

It was strange to hear the question that had been going in my head. One that I had cried answering earlier that evening, "because I don't think I could have done everything this year the way I did, without him," and when I heard that again, it took all the courage to not have my voice break. "Why do you look angry?" I don't know. I shouldn't have napped. I shouldn't have journalled so hard.

There were other questions, ones I wasn't prepared for. It's like going to school and finding out you have a surprise test, an oral recitation and you're grossly underprepared. I hadn't felt a lot of feelings nor had a chance to prepare a well-rounded answer. He was mindful to catch that within seconds, "getting fidgety, are we?" I could have hugged him in that second if I wasn't caught red-handed in my nervousness about not knowing an answer. Either way, seeing someone call me out and perhaps catch me unaware was refreshing.

Yet, there's a nagging feeling. I woke up feeling heavy. It shouldn't have been that way. I felt angry. If he knew he wasn't doing right by me then why was he still doing it? Was this a reminder that I deserve better or an acknowledgement that he hasn't stepped up yet? I should sleep. There was no cold-brew and I'm sleepier than usual. Maybe I'll wake up with another perspective, one that shapes this piece into the lack of editing and forming coherent dialogues and maybe I'll feel better soon.

Don't take things for granted, kids. One day someone's gonna come and take your lifeboat of hope away and you'll be floating with a unicorn float all alone in an ocean full of muck and dirt without anyone to save you.

Welcome to 33, you have no metabolism, no energy to give and no fucks left in you.

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, by Snobster

In anger, catharsis

Long-pending resentment

A friend of mine had warned me, "one day resentment for this guy will show up and it'll be hard for you to handle."

Dear reader, I think that day has come.

To be fair to you, the resentment has been wildly public. It showed up in intermittent conversations and check-ins. My therapist knows nothing of the lad so it also explains hiding, and keeping it away means I'm locking up a part of my life that is very clearly bothering me.

He said some hurtful shit last night. The kind that made me sick the same minute. My mum thinks it's the mall aircon and he thinks it's seasonal viral. I think it's him but I had been sneezing all day yesterday.

I don't know, I didn't think there would be an onset of resentment but showing irritation with my life and calling the stack of cards I've been dealt with "unbearable" was rude. There have been countless times I've asked consent before laying it out, it took me months to open up and reach out to him when I could just be myself, without trying to be on my toes around, and that's when he lost his shit.

Of course, he thinks I was lashing out at him and didn't think he did anything wrong. The thing is, he never would. I don't think he understands what's it like facing failure repeatedly. He doesn't get that I have fought very hard and fallen on my face hundreds of times and that I am tired, I'm exhausted. He doesn't see how I'm still trying to keep it together and being my best self. According to him, I'm not claiming what's mine and walking out. He doesn't get that I've done that and paid a price in the past. A price I'm paying to this date in the form of accepting lesser than what I deserve.

He thinks I should take it up and walk out, a lesser than ever offer, just so I could be out of this mess. The mess many before him tried to comment on and walked out when they realised I'll choose the puddle over them. For once, I won't, and I don't want to, but he's compelling me to be selfish enough and cut myself out.

Someone recently told me (three drinks down, in full conviction), never write anything when you're angry. Always sleep on it and even if you wake up angry, don't write it down. Never put any anger on record. By that logic. years of documentation here should be hidden, archived and eliminated.

In a way, I have cut myself out from my anger. I've cut the bleeding organ and kept no parts of it as memory. My effort, resilience, anger all washed away and all I am left with is grief, vacuum, and the courage to make peace with it. It comes with nothing but god it's an exciting space to be brave and bold and idiotic. I can't write anymore, I don't read anymore, I don't have a single valuable insight but I'm fucking free. I can be myself, wholly cringe and unacceptable, basic as hell and fat as fuck.

Someone asked me today it doesn't sound like I'm excited about him. It's untrue. He's the only thing I've been excited about in the past year. I know it doesn't sound remotely cheerful, but it's kept me going in whatever twisted fucking way one can think about. While I was narrating all about his lashing out last night, I hadn't thought that we are both sick of each other. Only, he's doing the honours of laying it out to me and I'm writing an angry journal here.

Sorry ma'am, I can't do any better.

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, by Snobster

Pages

Prose before hos

I lit a candle for you

Paper Swans

I wonder

Last minute rush

Things that I would tell you, if we spoke like usual

Lifeboat

Long-pending resentment

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