Sunday, September 30, 2012

You Start Dying Slowly..


You start dying slowly
if you do not travel,
if you do not read,
If you do not listen to the sounds of life,
If you do not appreciate yourself.

You start dying slowly
When you kill your self-esteem;
When you do not let others help you.

You start dying slowly
If you become a slave of your habits,
Walking everyday on the same paths…
If you do not change your routine,
If you do not wear different colours
Or you do not speak to those you don’t know.

You start dying slowly
If you avoid to feel passion
And their turbulent emotions;
Those which make your eyes glisten
And your heart beat fast.

You start dying slowly
If you do not change your life when you are not satisfied with your job, or with your love,
If you do not risk what is safe for the uncertain,
If you do not go after a dream,
If you do not allow yourself,
At least once in your lifetime,
To run away from sensible advice…

- Pablo Neruda

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Sad Goodbyes

Despite the endearing nicknames and the heartfelt promises of keeping in touch over bbm somehow it still feels like a dreadful goodbye. One that I dont want to say.

Life takes me through these twists where I often do what I dont want to but have to because thats what I have wanted all along. Its too bad that I started loving the journey more than the destination. Its too bad I let go of people I ll miss forever.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012


Tuesday, September 20, 2011


I have had my chances. I have tried and tried. I have stitched life into me like a rare organ- Sylvia Plath

I sometimes get very scared that I find myself identifying so strongly with early twentieth century mild to strong female feminist authors who ended up killing themselves. Virginia Woolf walked into the sea with stones in her pocket. Sylvia Plath pushed her head into the oven. Her children were asleep in the very next room. And I am not talking about identifying with the common intention of committing suicide. It’s the suicide of a bright promising mind rather than the mundane destruction of a life.

Is being an intelligent aware woman a left handed compliment by God? You might be good enough, but destined to go through life unappreciated. It irks me when I read about aspiring women authors in the early twentieth century who sent their works to publishers under a masculine pseudonym to avoid discrimination of their works because of their gender. What really saddens me is even today I find many women not confident enough to accept their sex and whatever comes with it. The name ‘JK Rowling’ doesn’t sound like she is a woman, does it ?

I have many friends, both guys and girls alike who think girls cant be friends amongst themselves. One of them was a girl I was on very good terms with. Listening to her, I felt like a metaphorical Sylvia Plath on her way to the oven in the kitchen. If I cant prove by example, I wonder what other method is convincing enough.

Answers, anyone?

Thursday, September 15, 2011

How to be happy..


Be sad. Grieve the bad things that happen to you. Allow yourself to feel terrible because it’s the only way you can ever really feel good again. Don’t say “I’m fine!” when you’re actually not because it’s only going to make you feel worse. There’s no shame in spending an afternoon in bed feeling sorry for yourself. There’s no shame in giving someone an honest answer when they ask how you’re doing. It’ll feel liberating actually. Saying “I feel like crap!” is the fastest ticket to “I feel great!”

Have healthy amounts of sex. Treat it like it’s a vitamin. Have you taken yours today? It’s essential that you feel desired and connected to another person. Have sex with someone on a Tuesday and watch it tide you over for the next few weeks. Feel complete and fulfilled, like you’ve just crossed something important off of your to-do list. Go up to your next partner and tell them, “Hello. Something is missing from my life and I believe it’s your penis or vagina. Would you mind having sex with me so I can be restored back to health? Thanks so much. You’re such a good person.”

Realize that being happy is a conscious decision. You could be one of the lucky ones who has happiness come easily to them, but most people need to make a concentrated effort to feel good. This doesn’t make you weak or a phony. It just means that you’re a person who knows how bad life can get.

Delete the toxic people in your life. They can include The Friend Who Makes Me Feel Bad About Myself, The Friend Who Will Only Hang Out With Me Behind Closed Doors, And The Friend I Can’t Depend On For Anything. This an ongoing project. Toxic people don’t go away overnight but it’s important to recognize who they are and begin to cut the fat. If you’re unsure if a friend is toxic or not, just ask yourself the question, “How often do I find myself pissed or upset at this friend’s behavior?” If the answer is “OMG, like a lot!”, you got some trimming to do.

Don’t feel guilty about doing something you knew would hurt you. Don’t beat yourself up about sleeping with the boy who makes you feel like crap the second you orgasm, or a night in which you got too drunk because it doesn’t do you any good. You just shame spiral about it, which makes you more inclined to do it again. You have to be like, “Yikes! I shouldn’t have done that again because I know it makes me feel bad but, oh well, I did so let’s move on and hopefully learn from my mistakes.” Understand that you’re going to be doing a lot of stupid things in your life so you can’t fixate on every single one.

Do more of the things that make you happy and less of the things that don’t. This might sound simple and obvious but, hi, it’s not. Sometimes you don’t even know something is making you unhappy until you actually take a step back from it.

Try to do things that terrify you because it will make you feel like a strong evolved person. You’ll scream, “I’m a person who conquers fears. Yay!” You might even be able to join some sort of club, or at the very least, get a gold star.

Be honest with yourself and other people. In this day and age, there are so many opportunities for BS. Don’t be afraid of #realtalk.


*The original article can be found on this awesome website:-

Sunday, September 4, 2011


I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue."

- Pablo Neruda

Monday, August 1, 2011

From "The Vagina Monologues" - Eve Ensler

It is not an invitation
a provocation
an indication
that I want it
or give it
or that I hook.

My short skirt
is not begging for it
it does not want you
to rip it off me
or pull it down.

My short skirt
is not a legal reason
for raping me
although it has been before
it will not hold up
in the new court.

My short skirt, believe it or not
has nothing to do with you.

My short skirt
is about discovering
the power of my lower calves
about cool autumn air traveling
up my inner thighs
about allowing everything I see
or pass or feel to live inside.

My short skirt is not proof
that I am stupid
or undecided
or a malleable little girl.

My short skirt is my defiance
I will not let you make me afraid
My short skirt is not showing off
this is who I am
before you made me cover it
or tone it down.
Get used to it.

My short skirt is happiness
I can feel myself on the ground.
I am here. I am hot.

My short skirt is a liberation
flag in the women's army
I declare these streets, any streets
my vagina's country.

My short skirt
is turquoise water
with swimming colored fish
a summer festival
in the starry dark
a bird calling
a train arriving in a foreign town
my short skirt is a wild spin
a full breath
a tango dip
my short skirt is

But mainly my short skirt
and everything under it
is Mine.

Friday, July 22, 2011

The Archipelago Of Kisses by Jeffrey McDaniel

We live in a modern society.

Husbands and wives don't grow on trees, like in the old days.

So where does one find love?

When you're sixteen it's easy,

like being unleashed with a credit card

in a department store of kisses.

There's the first kiss.

The sloppy kiss. The peck.

The sympathy kiss.

The backseat smooch.

The 'we shouldn't be doing this' kiss.

The 'but your lips taste so good' kiss.

The 'bury me in an avalanche of tingles' kiss.

The 'I wish you'd quit smoking' kiss.

The 'I accept your apology, but you make me really mad

sometimes kiss'.

The 'I know your tongue like the back of my hand' kiss.

As you get older, kisses become scarce.

You'll be driving home and

see a damaged kiss on the side of the road,

with its purple thumb out.

If you were younger,

you'd pull over, slide open the mouth's

red door just to see how it fits.

Oh, where does one find love?

If you rub two glances, you get a smile.

Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.

Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss.

Now what?

Don't invite the kiss over

and answer the door in your underwear.

It'll get suspicious and stare at your toes.

Don't water the kiss with whiskey.

It'll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters,

but in the morning it'll be ashamed and sneak out of

your body without saying good-bye,

and you'll remember that kiss forever

by all the little cuts it left

on the inside of your mouth.

You must nurture the kiss.

Turn out the lights.

Notice how it illuminates the room.

Hold it to your chest

and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses

comes from a special beach.

Place it on the tongue's pillow,

then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath

a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B.C.

But one kiss levitates above all the others.

The intersection of function and desire.

The 'I do' kiss.

The 'I'll love you through a brick wall' kiss.

Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth,

like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Isn’t it ironic how we sometimes associate freedom with a place? Nowhere on Earth will I ever feel as hopeful as I feel here.

Sadly, this euphoria is not without its disadvantages. They don’t have AC/Heater here for the extreme temperatures. Not as small price to pay as many might think.

Friday, March 4, 2011

I used to think that you were mine

And I knew I could tell you 

              … how I felt.

You were my soul

Part of my whole

My anchor and My being.

But then I had to go

You see, I have to have

A life of my own.

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