Dear Blogger,

I think Blogger is the easiest way to really see what and who you've turned into from what you were. It's the easiest way of forgetting people you met here and meeting people you never knew.
I have been blogging for the last seven years. That's a big number for me because youth often underestimates the potentiality of big numbers. The concept of 'long run' is often not so long and sometimes arrogantly short sighted.

In the last seven years of blogging, I remember deleting just one post in 2009. Apart from that, whatever I wrote was as good as set on stone because irrespective of the horrible grammar and the strange SMS language that was a fad once, I had no regrets about the person I used to be. In fact, it used to be amusing and at some level comforting. I was a good kid, and I think I managed to grow into a decent-ish human being. But a few days back I did delete a whole lot of posts from the oldest of chests on this blog (2008). I reverted them back to drafts; not because I was embarrassed by what a ridiculously hyper, unabashedly emotional teenager I was. I deleted those posts because I couldn't relate to them anymore. Perhaps sudden minutes of retrospect dab figments of epiphanies in you. Perhaps it was like that one fine day you wake up and decide to quit your job because you forgot why you started working in the first place.
It just had to be done.

You see, back when I wrote them, Blogger was an entirely different world. My list of Followers and Followings were this intimate circle where we trusted absolute strangers with our potent feelings about everything. Back then it was 'milestones' like the first day of my higher secondary schooling, or the longest spell of crush on a boy. For others it was family, work, and much bigger milestones. Some of these people became the kinds of friends who till date keep in touch and genuinely matter. I remember being the baby of the blogger circle.
It was absolutely beautiful how a bunch of URLs could mean so much to people who perhaps lived in different cities/ countries and yet knew overwhelmingly enough about each other.

But eventually over the years, everyone got busy. People moved. People moved on, too. A lot of the blogs I used to religiously follow are now not accessible anymore because they've either turned private or the last time they were updated was two or three years back.
I sure do miss those guys. They were good people and I hope they're all in good health.

I've had years like 2011 when I'd write so often that drafts over drafts piled on my dashboard, waiting to be published. I've had years like 2013 where I had so much to write that words failed me, and all I could manage was crawl up to 13 posts in a year. I've zoned out and zoned in, I've had painful spells of writers block and even worse spells of sheer laziness. But I kept coming back here. Because somehow I knew that somebody would be listening. And if it was a lucky day, somebody would be waiting.

 I have to admit, Blogger still surprises me. In waves of blue moons, once in a while I see old blogger friends leave a comment on a post when I least expect it. Even today, I bump into wonderful blogs of people I want to know better because their words make a lot of sense, they hit home. I'm thankful for such people sustaining the art and the need of writing. Some times I come so close to deleting this blog, but I think I've seen myself and others grow too much in this space to give it all away. Like I said, seven years is a big number for me.

So to all of you who are still writing, to all of you who stopped writing, and most importantly to all of you who never stopped reading- this is a sincere white flag for all of you, to let you know that our boat is still sailing and the ocean still looks just as beautiful. The air is thick with salt, but the words don't fail to come out in sneezes. :)

Cheers, Blogger. You've been a good listener.

All my loving,
Nil. 

Musings of the last 31st.

Greetings, to the participants of the last day of 2013.

There you go, another year about to disappear into the winter sky and here I am, with my annual musings on the 365th day of the year.
And as usual, I'm frozen because I have nothing to write. That doesn't suspend the countless ups and downs that '13 went down with; it's my annual incapability to recall the year. All I can recall is a feeling. And it was perhaps.. not the most shiny year. But then again, my years have the principle of bipolarity that has to always be maintained. Thus, some the worst things along with the absolute best happened.

Although I'm usually swamped by a feeling of sadness when I end the year, this year however, I cannot wait for 2014 to get here already. And for the first time, I've decided on resolutions and I'm counting on my over competitive drive to maintain them.  (and kill me, eventually.)
The first one being, I've decided to write every day. Yes. Every single day. Even if it means 5 lines, so be it. But my black diary must be filled up by this date next year. I have realized that my horrible accounts of procrastination have made me regret the unproductive result of this year, and not having purpose is physically painful for me.
The second one being, to quit being the strangely reserved person that I've somehow managed to become over the past year. The reason for which being inexplicable. I have realized that I've surrendered to a nutshell as far as being thoroughly vocal about perhaps my feelings about the closest people in my life (which is ridiculous because that wasn't a practice I would ever consider in general.) And so, begins my resolution to start being a careless person again. I thoroughly miss it. I miss being absolutely maddening a person.


So there. I don't have much to say this year. I don't want to play around with emotional metaphors and similes, this new year post. I'd just like to take your leave now by wishing you a very happy new year. Tomorrow is a blank box with a teeny number on it, in the calender- do it right. :)

Much love and may y'all stay blessed.
-Nil. (:

P.S- and yes I want a cat. I REALLY WANT A CAT. 2014 ARE YOU LISTENING? or mom ?

Because you were sure.

Writing, sometimes, can be the most stifling feeling in the world. It robs you of all your privacy, and ruthlessly strips naked every bleak corner of your mind; your imagination, your hopes, your desires, your everything; printed in ink on an otherwise flimsy blank paper.
The stain of ink in coherent intelligible figures can humiliate you, and make reality ten times withal real. It can be the tightest slap you remember all your life, while the slaps in your childhood seem like sweet gestures of warnings by Mother to mend your twisted ways that ultimately lead to your fall; on such a blank paper.

I don't understand why we're so stubborn. Why we're constantly rushing to plunge into every possible scope of entanglement and openly wish, hope and pray we never find our way out and breathe again. We like gasping. I think we like this mess. I think we're so used to it, that fresh air feels wrong, now.
The mind enjoys being in a perpetual state of frustration, and our language seems to be that of constant sarcasm and cocky-ness that only earns some more of the two from the other end of every communication we indulge in.

And what's terrible, is that this is mistake we're ready to make one more time, and then another time, and the time after that. Because we're just so god damn scared of being free. Of having our own space. Because we think that would be the world's way of abandoning us.
It's ridiculous, loathsome, and repulsive; this constant urge to keep doing something. And when we try to clean some wax off our minds, and sit down to write about the happier things in life, all we pour out are our dark little revelations and regrets. Because you just goddamn can't lie to a goddamn paper. It's powerless; your mind thinks. Who will he tell? It'll just stay. It'll yellow around it's corners and age away, perhaps with ink blots and cigarette burns.

But that's the point; it stays.

And you can't do anything about it, because? You never used a pencil. 
You were just so sure about everything, remember?

-Nil. 

Eve of 19.

My 18th year was going to end with the end of this blog, because I firmly believed that all good things came to an end. And it was best that way, for it left you with the prime of every feeling, and not the remnants of those feelings fading away.
But a rather wise friend convinced me otherwise. And perhaps, she's right. Because I was holding on to this blog for the same reason, all this while; it's the one constant proof of my life to have never waited for all the happiness and chaos. It just went on, and you all saw, along with me. And perhaps, that's what gives us all hope to realize everything passes; every day, no matter how downtrodden or euphoric it may be... passes. And you live through it, don't you? In fact, you cherish most of it. You not only cherish, but you goddamn love most of it. And the bits that you'd rather not say... pass. And you grow, because each and every emotion, each and every thought, each and every blink, and each and every broken smile pealed another layer off you. It revealed some more of you, to the world, but most importantly; you saw yourself even clearer, you were just that much stronger, standing tall.

You ought to unfurl. You ought to wither away. Because only then, would you have gasped for some air, and only then.. would you have breathed.

Here end the first 18 years of my life, and I'm breathing because I'm on my own, and I'm good.
Year 18, you were the longest and the most entwined road I could ever choose. But I'm glad you happened, because you spelled one thing out for me, for sure; that one phase of my life is over, and the one that's about to come will be that much crooked. And I better twist and turn along, to make myself exactly what I want to be made of. I'm glad you happened, because you spelled out disappointments in a way that no other year has ever, for which I'm ready to appreciate every bit of happiness that decides to show up.

It's important to be happy, it's important to be happier, and it's important to be happiest; but what is absolutely crucial, is to be happy. :)

Happy birthday, to me.
I hope I get a New York cheesecake.

-Nil. 

Beauty bereft.

(Photo by Vanta.)

They had been abandoned by the ankles of the woman who became the prayers of every beat resonating around the universe. The woman said they scraped her ankles and made them bleed of bruises. They were accused to have lost a bell here, or two there. Apparently, they didn’t sound as sweet as her dance looked. Just how was she to dance with them on?

And thus, abandoned, they were. Carelessly put away into the unabashedly ignored attic of the gigantic house; the one that they had won her, from His Majesty.

 Every evening, they’d be bitter kissed by another layer of dust... Flies and sly ants would walk past the intricate blue thread work and the gold of each bell which weren't as golden anymore. The edges of the table on which they sat withered with time, and the room would birth nascent cobwebs and the dirge of grey into which every element of the room camouflaged
.

Every element, but them. They sat on that very table like a bold mother, pregnant with a secret. The sheet of dust would only gather in the broken ends of each bell and accentuate the rest of the body which spoke of age and art. Of flawlessness, of music, of dance… of a kind of beauty that ceased to exist once they were taken off her ankle.

They sat on that very table, listening to the woman dance somewhere far away in the court of his majesty. They’d see her taking her first bow and her last; they knew every breath she’d inhale after every fourth beat. They knew every flaw in the continuation of her hurried steps, and yet those steps were birthed in the womb of those; the ones that sat cold in that old, trivial attic.

What a pity; thought an anonymous wise man. A wise man who existed in the motes of dust around the old room, who existed in the aroma of rose water at the majestic palace.

Her feet tremble now with the new pair of golden bells on her mended ankle. They tinkle after her feet hit the ground, not with them. They’re a proud pair of 500 bells, and yet they sound faint, shy, or rather… coward like. And the irony is, the woman knew.

Bereft from what completed her next step from the first, she tussled with her tenacity to dance like that celebrated figurant she’d become in that kingdom of his Majesty; the kingdom where people kissed their fingertips to her rhythm, to her graceful glide that progressed unobstructed on the marble floors of the court, like the breeze of the season of art.

And yet, the beauty of that figurant faded as she tried harder and harder… for the essence of her dance lay sitting on an old table; bold, aged, and yet gorgeous; in those blue and golden pair of ghungroos. Quiet, incomplete, and bitterly proud; bereft of those bruised ankles. 
________________________________________________________________________

First proper piece of the summer, written in a strange strange mood. There y'go. Awaiting your feedback :)
Much loving,
Nil. 

Paperplanes of May.

Every year has a particular month that changes how your life has been for a period of time; let's just say that has been the reason for my absence. I don't know how often will I be around now, this summer is going to be a little more of my-space-bubble oriented, but I'll try to keep you guys posted on the happenings of ole Nil's life.

My love for pictures and summer tones be back. The camera is travelling all around in my big white bag, despite the rude heat making life difficult. My fancy phone is away at the repair shop. Thanks to my perfectly normal clumsy self, the screen of that perfectly maintained phone is now shattered. I'm using a phone as good as rock, and as last season as calling glares; "goggles".
But that's fine. There are no facilities except calling and texting, so I'm good. It's done a brilliant job at keeping me away from the human population as such, and helped secrete some serious thought process and ideas from my lazy brain that was sleeping thinking it was still winter. So it's going to be a summer of 8tracks.com, pulling every mote of thought out of my head and working on a fiction project I've decided on, and a whole lot of ice tea and mojitos. Sounds like a plan my alter ego had been craving for. Little boxes of a lot of space is going to be the mood, for this summer. And a whole lot of summer-y pictures. So until the fiction project takes a stand on paper, I'll post them pictures here and keep you entertained.
No promises, though.

Thank you SO much for all the support in the last post. This safe haven of mine breathes because of you guys, who save it from soiling away. So stay tuned. Nil can never really shut up, can she?
And a humongous Thank You to the lovely bloggers who thought of my blog being worthy of awards. I've added them to my hall of cyber fame- y'all are so kind. (:

Until I catch them paper planes of May, open them up, write on the papers and send them back to you, enjoy the obnoxiously immodest heat. Summer is bringing it on.

Muchos of love and all that jazz,
-Nil. 

Sunday enthusiasts.

Sitting in straight lines of disorderly sequence,
they fit next to one another,
a feather long gamut between each.
A different flock, each day
and Sunday seemed their favorite of the lot.

One would fly away,
only to circle around and settle next to another.
Another would clumsily flap in protest,
though the order of the makeshift lines were taken much solemnly.

One or three would ash away,
the criminal phenomena of electricity was common a knowledge,
they'd complain of its ruthless deeds,
and yet settle on those black wires, indubitably.

Perhaps it was how the rest of us looked from above,
tiny, black and feeble stick figures;
running around doing things that were humorous to them,
they all fancy a good laugh,
our kind was a curious one to theirs.

They weren't wanton sadists,
neither were they reckless optimists.
They were fond of the sky that was intimate,
and Sundays, that favored clear skies.

So sit, they did,
and watched over us.
Flew away once in a while,
however absconded, rarely.

And so finally, the poetry block is over :) Hoorah.
-Nil.

A tall glass of water.

She spoke much fondly of bees, she often cackled to the buzz and drew yellow and black ones on her palms. Uninterrupted would be the curled strand of lock that played high and low tides on the left side of her face, while her long legs escorted wild thoughts with the pace she sauntered at, in and around the world.
Her bifocals were just as much a part of her face as her arched eyebrows; as sure as the tip of her illustrated nose; which always reached a destination a second before the rest of her chassis.
She often let daylight lick her like a cone of strawberry and vanilla. One would oft see her sitting unusually away from most people; soaking the dissonant sun with her long legs stretched and her face separated from the sun by the blinds of her eyes. She peeked with an eye open, once in a while.

To every one who raised an eyebrow at her vicissitude way of life, she'd say "Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side." in Lou Reed's deep voice, and leave just the way she entered; like a whirlwind.
Apart from the 3 fingers on each hand with questionable rings, the other two would mostly be drawn on by neon highlighters. Her obsession with patterns left an impression not only on her apparels but on the bellies she wore which some times had little metallic balls  filed lines or curly circles doodled on them. Every mote of her existence had an ethereal and evanescent element on its toes, and yet she was as real as her loud Aztec leggings or the little ball of silver on the right side of her nose.

She was a strange girl in a stranger world. Everything bizarre was another route to happiness, every print on a cloth was something she'd have to doodle on her wrist that very afternoon and every page of a book was a paper plane with a lot of words on it. Interesting, she thought.
Interesting, she thought. She stopped the world in her head, stretched her long legs on the floor and spoke to the sun.

- Nil. 

Oh the unspeakable things.

"Oh if you knew what it meant to me,

Anywhere but here."

Hello, World.

It's already the 12th day of the year and not only has everything been racing its pace but I've been running along. College has been immodestly demanding of my time, starting 8:40 am morning classes to theater and Acapella rehearsals after college. By the time I'm home, I'm dead. I have no will or energy to argue or agree. I just like to retire to my space; a quiet dimly lit room, some good music and my laptop.

2013 is going to be the torch bearer of interesting events. The first two weeks have already proven my theory and thus, turned facts it is. But anyhoo, music has been keeping me sane. Lots and lots of music which I listen to, which makes sense and I keep all that sense bottled up inside me and try my best to not blurt it out to the world. Cause it'll only make sense as long as it stays with me. Most things turns unnecessary, as soon as they're peeled by the world, eh?

Book I'm currently binging on- My Friend Leonard.

Random winter-y picture from this week.

So the next few weeks are going to be crazy busy. The next ten days have lunatic hours of society practices, followed by the Lit Fest which I hope to head for this year, for sure. And then we have Comic Con coming up, for which, might I add, yours truly shall be volunteering. Should be fun. Free comics, goodies and friends to run around with. Works fine for me, for now. (OH, and free fruit beer. Jussayiiin'.)










 I'm currently obsessing over this song. It makes so much sense that it's pretty much overwhelming, to say the least. It's just the kind of mood I've been in, and it's just what's been in my head. It's almost like I spelled out everything I couldn't figure out to someone, and she made the song for me. Just like that. There y'go.
So yes, I've been shaking my head all evening and will continue doing so for the rest of the night about how a song can make so much sense. At the oddest time and in the oddest way. But then again, that's what songs do. They make you sing along, and I'm singing along, alright. Give it a shot, it may make sense to you, too.

(Courtesy: Vanta.)

So hopefully, there's going to be some fiction coming our way. I've been slightly stuck with a godzillion stories in my head and yet having a brain freeze when I get down to typing it out. Hopefully with it being Sunday today and me catching up on what I compromise on such nocturnal hours, I'll be able to come up with some more fiction labels. But first; sleep.

Good night, or good morning.
Much loving,
ole Nil. 

Thank you for not making sense.

A pandemonium inside your bony skull and within your heart that's the size of your mere fist can some times, absolutely paralyze you and hold you still in the middle of a hot, working and busy day. The kind of day when even your subconscious mind should ideally turn dumb, deaf and blind; to ensure no manifestation of mindful disasters. Mindful, mind you; not mindless. 

Such a pandemonium usually means a lot of noise which only gets louder once you plug in your earphones, and every song almost sounds satiric, mocking to your misunderstood misery. 

But say thank you, for not making sense. After every file of obviousness that's been neatly stacked into your mind, and every little box tightly packed away into quiet corners of that coffer throbbing inside your chest.. after such achieved order, we often trash away the not so obvious which wasn't highlighted with a neon marker in the rationality of your mind or consideration of your heart. But often, those little eightysixed details end up actually being the full stops to years worth of bemusement. 

What happens when all those file are scattered on the floors of your mind which is used to being in an apple -pie order? What happens when all those little boxes are blown off their lids and all the four walls fall apart with everything inside meanders out?

Beautiful happens. 

Because all of a sudden, every orderly detail stands next to the ones that are not. And like trifling chipped ends of blue tiles, you connect the dots you thought that were already connected, only to form a completely new pattern, and you witness the same story you thought was over; from the same pair of eyes, except this time, with a sensible mind. 

Yes, I said sensible mind. For in all the chaos of nonsensical shenanigans in your head, all they did was form a nebula of affairs; from your mind, and from your heart. 

It gave you a chance to make sense, once again. 

- A much tranced out,
Nil. 

See You Soon.

"But don't answer that In a bullet-prove vest, 
With the windows all closed I'll be doing my best and I'll see you soon."

It's been a while, I've been a little aloof, and the fictions were dreamy too, yes. But perhaps University exams do that to you, or maybe it was my annual pre winters blue. But hey, I'm back now only to be gone again. Elaboration being; my end sem exams are done with and I have literally nothing to do for the next month and a half except dance in two big fat family weddings, read lots of books, go all out with jams and chill with my favourite human beings AND write some serious fiction. Which is fine, it's the one thought that I'd been binging on all this while that my exams were on. 
I was in Bombay, a week back. I'm in Calcutta now. I'll be in Delhi in four days. I'll be in Pune in about two weeks.
Needless to say, I'm going to be all over the place and as much as I promise writing like a lover all of December, I can't promise if they'll be typed beyond the pages of my big fat leather diary. Simply because the whole month of December is going to be so fly. But I'll try, for sure. Otherwise... Bonne chance with the Fiction/ Poetry OD in January!

But Calcutta has made me write some. Like always. It's the one place I've always been inspired to come up with some tale out of some crooked thought. I have a feeling this month of December is going to give me a lot to write for, it's a good feeling. It's been a while since I wrote my heart out, I miss that feeling of fulfilment when I am able to pen down exactly what's in my head and put it to paper. So here's hoping that feeling comes home soon, and here's a picture from today. 

Piyushsterr & Nilsterrr meet in another city. 

I don't feel like talking much today, so I think I'll get back to my book now. I'll try to be around, but if I'm not, see you soon. :)

-Much love,
Nil. 

Untitled, for once.

Have you ever had that one stretch of uncounted hours when your mind shuts off to all the sense in the world, and you find yourself in a boat; a boat, in the middle of your mind. You can see the walls of your mind but all they ring of being cold air. The seams of the white in your eye have a tinge of red, your throat is chocked but you're biting your lip as hard as you can to not cry. You're a strong girl, strong girls don't cry. That's not what the world said, no. That's what you told yourself.
The little lamp of white light next to you gives you no comfort. If at all, it reminds you every minute that there is not a single door present in the valves of your mind, there are only walls; which do not even listen. No matter how much you speak aloud, you'll just bite your lips harder when your words ring back to you.

You don't understand this. You don't understand this confinement, you don't understand your mind. And you know; this too, shall pass; though this one sure is doing everything it can to make you ridicule a hopeful belief, such.

You're a strong girl, though. You're not going to cry.
Tell yourself that, just one more time. 


-Nil

Ledz bee productive?

Too much socializing has happened over the past month, and now I'm panting for some breathing space and alone time. Which is perfect timing because I have my end sem exams starting this 21st, and I really should be studying (now.)
I realized I like my course; as in the content in it. Obviously that doesn't stop me from harassing it with some serious bitch rants before every internals... but feeling calm and sober right now, I admit I quite like the stuff I'm studying. Specially Marxism (yep, I know you hate me for saying this, Vanta) and Functionalism.
So basically, I plan to utilize the next two weeks studying like a crazy person, re-writing my notes with a handwriting that any literate soul can comprehend, and the one the University wouldn't give a straight fail to.
This feeling is nice, it feels like the Boards all over again when all I had was a focus, I kept to myself and nothing could distract me. I miss that focus. Somewhere I know that this whole college rush has made me forget that feeling, I've forgotten how to study with passion and feel good about knowing my subject. And no, believe me, I'm not a nerd. I just like accomplishing priorities. So because of college and the zillion activities around it, I've been juggling with my priorities which is never a good idea, by the end of it I'm really irritated with myself and I snap at people. =/

Thus, the next two weeks will be spent sitting with mugs of black coffee, neatly highlighting important sections from the reader with my lovely neon highlighter, and perhaps and hopefully quite a bit of blogging during my breaks. I want to feel productive again, not just extra-curricular-wise/ socially but academically.
Mission starts tonight, people. Tonight.


-Nil. 

Still alive who you love.

Origin of this post: 

It began with a quiet hum, almost like a silent conversation in the back of my mind. The hum was low and melodious, though abrupt and began out of nowhere, not a single origin was in sight. As the hum grew vociferous, a beat caught up, and some sense began to unwind from its slumber. As soon as I began understanding today, tomorrow ran in; as I tried to understand tomorrow, day after tapped its foot impatiently. So I decided to unlearn what I realized, and I decided to listen hard to the music which made no sense to me, at all. Though that music felt like a part of my world, and even though the melody grew into something stronger, that faint hum of abruptness didn't leave me. For that hum, was my discovery. 

The hum became an epiphany, it became a dream that should have been seen before, it became a possession  it became a performance... it became a masterpiece.
The song was never staged, though. It resonated much too often along the veins of my body which helped more revelations travel, than fluids. A feeling was the perpetual invader of my existence, irrespective of which one, but there always lived a feeling.

And perhaps, that is why a faint hum eventually turned into a marched progression of a sense of strangeness, though a strangeness with a twisted smile, the one that looks beautiful on a face.
And while I live on along with this strangeness and a constant hum that feels abrupt in all its glorious continuum,  my existence will resonate nothing but blessedness, for the beauty of discovery is such that the unfamiliar becomes and acquaintance, crony, and some strange day I shall realize; it's become a part of me, and its existence is seen, felt, and heard every time I sit alone on a quiet afternoon, feelin' blue..

For that hum was my discovery,
and for me, that hum was you. 


-A happy feelin'
Nil. 

Has it ever happened to you?

Has it ever happened to you, that the sky outside is a clichéd purple along with the concrete jungle around blushing to a light crimson, while you're hovering in a parallel world of Pink Floyd playing to the Dark Side Of the Moon.
Has it ever happened to you, that despite the unanswered texts in your phone hiding a bunch of plans, you wish to ignore the entire civilization and keep quiet and be on your own. Just indulge in music, and photographs of faces that speak a language through the grains of each and every print.
Has it ever happened to you, that you give yourself company at laughing on the foul things we kids run around after, that scream and yell their importance but stand so hollow once they're caught between our inexperienced, unwise, imbecile,bony fingers.
Has it ever happened to you, that in a ten minute long track, you understand the basic problem revolving around your life and the basic answer of pluck it out and throw it away like a weightless  weed altogether, for it to never return again.
Has it ever happened to you, all of this, in a span of twenty minutes in a single evening.

I wasn't asking, the question was rhetorical.

 


Please listen.
-Nil.

Volcano-Damien Rice.

"You give me miles and miles of mountains
And I'll ask for the sea"


At times,a song is all you need to feel different, distinguished,independent.. So many things,that we carve spellings of in our minds, but realize the feelings a little less than we should. 
Was listening to a song called Volcano by Damien Rice.. The funny part is, the song might not leave a message of the feeling you end up with, but nevertheless helps with the tune..The melody.
What I feel now, is like I'm a 15 year old individual, a girl who can take risks and not blame another for it,someone who's strong,capable,and happy. Tad bits of sadness,that just increase the reality of the elated feeling. And all this is a result of the tune,just the tune and harmony of the song. No,not the lyrics, few lines to an extent..Like the one I mentioned in the beginning of the post.. 


I feel like I'm back to myself a year back. So many things were different. I was so different. I've changed..beyond my own recognition. Some things,changed in me for the best, but to bring out that best,I've had to let go of things I loved about myself. I miss those habits. I miss my carefree-self. I miss not caring a damn about anything,and just doing it. And then smile wildly at myself and go "Yeah!!!" .
I'm still a kid, 15 years is younngg. I know. I still am carefree, I still do things on whims,but I've sobered down. A lot. I'm not reckless. I'm patient in things that I never dreamt off. Some of the best things happened to me in the past year. And no matter how contradicting I sound to myself, but the best things come with a price you pay. 


Exactly now, that I'm writing this post, I sound so different and alien to myself  when I compare with who I was a year back. 
But I guess,only thing that's constant is change. 


I miss my old self,but I like myself now,too. 
So I guess,I'll walk right ahead. And maybe bring back a bit of my older self, cause abandoning it seems unfair. I'll adventure,again. Break some rules,again, to smile at myself wildly and day "Yeah!!" and never regret it. Cause I think I've forgotten my own philosophy lately.. To break free ;)


You guys, go get some fun and adventure. 
Screw office/collage/school for a day. Go have fun, be a stupid kid :)

All my love,
Nil.