Pen pals and postcards.

For the first time in the last seven years did I skip an end-of-the-year post. Perhaps it's one of the first changes that 2015 decided to bring along, but hey, for those who are still listening- the happiest new year, my wonderful humans.
My old readers wouldn't be surprised to hear about my perpetual incapability of recalling the year that went by, but like each year- it left behind a feeling. 2014 was a year where I really brought my game on as far as competing with myself is concerned, it burned me out emotionally and physically but I feel like it straightened me out in ways that wouldn't have been possible in any other way. I had never realized the kind of distress love could bring, so there, that's one more thing I've seen- the realization that love has a side that could be immensely futile was perhaps the scariest realization of mine in the last 20 years, but I think I'm alright knowing that now.

2015 is going to be a year of aggressive amounts of getting work done. Yes, it's the year to be ridiculously productive. It's the year where I'm going to push myself to start laughing my ass off on nonsense again, of going on multiple breakfasts to my favorite cafe and read or doodle for hours. I think I sort of lost that 'spunk' somewhere. I think I lost it in trying to find it in other people, or even some times believing that others will induce that magic in me at some point. Mistakes. A whole lot of Berlin-Artparasites and long nights of Bukowski did me well, for they reminded me of the importance of being ridiculous. So basically this winter has too many solo escapades around the city as soon as my Uni applications are done (if I survive them, that is).

From the 2015 Letter Project :)

I've started this new project of sort for 2015. I've been typing letters on my typewriter and sending them out to people, just because. I feel like the lost art of letter writing is a horrible loss, and if sending out a letter to someone nudges them to start writing them once again- it's definitely worth the shot. So I have a long list of recipients and I'm terribly excited about this! If everything works out alright, I may even extend this project to you fantastic readers. I thrive for wonderful things like pen pals and postcards, so this year is about reviving those old habits.

How have you all been? Tell me about your year and plans that drive you. I wish you all the most wonderful year, go badshit crazy and make this the most memorable 12 months that change you, that make you grow and make you thrive. It's a wonderful life, and that's a cliche for a reason.

To those of you who emailed me wondering if I'm still alive- you guys are the best. I'll get back to you all real soon. Go make wonderful things happen for yourself, keep the happy vibes alright? :)

All my love,
Nil.

(P.s- fiction coming up, realy sooooooon.)

Exodus Entrada.

Dear City,

I've mostly been told letters are to be written to lovers, to the dying, and some times, to the dead.
Well, you've been a lover- perhaps the only man who's been worthy of an intimate relationship after the death of Christ. You're dying, too- all your allies, bridges, and red lights have been walked on.
And perhaps, you're dead- because nothing new fosters within you, anymore. It's the same grass that has now stopped looking greener on the other side along with yellow mornings and shifting sky colors from yellow to orange bitten with a tinge of pink which melts into a purple with a brilliant hue of navy blue that fades into the black with fictitious stars.
Thus, my writing to you is legitimized to the judiciary of my mind, and thus we may proceed.

So you've prided yourself a good deal with the million pairs of boots that hit the city roads every morning, the coordinated cattle of pedestals who zebra-cross the road with every red light, the green bills that make their way to the bagel cafes every morning for breakfast along with the overwhelming gray sky scrapers; in one of which a boy of fourteen sits on his piano and plays the piano every day at seven. You have to your credit every millionaire and the thousand or two migrants that make their way to your sheltered dome of dreams turned inside out reality. You have to your debit the invisible peddlers and those dreams turned inside out illusions. 

You're given a play by play of each and every self. A little side of you is ignited with every lighter that is lit, a certain avenue has a couple swinging to streetlamps, and every sixth cab has a story of life and death in process.
You're a busy boy, dear City. A genre of busy that I've seen and lived while thriving in you. The city lights are now unfocused and form vague patterns of bokeh. They're still gorgeous, but pointless. 
So there you go. Another immigrant of origin and an emigrant of compassion ; Nay, I have no hopes, desires, expectations or compassion for your gates and highways no more.
I've lived you, and you've aged while my toes reached higher on their tips to see beyond the Queen's necklace of your city lights. 


I hope for my absence to resonate within your territory which has no vacuum or extra space even for the citizens, let alone the goners. Nevertheless, I hope for you to at least let my hue run behind the trunk of my car, while I travel away to a new destination. A destination that would be the recipient of a similar letter, a few years from now.


You've been good to me,
A Traveller.

-Nil.

 

Dear Judie

Dear Judie,
I don't know where you are, I don't know if you exist. But tonight, I'm going to need you to listen, and you will, because you don't exist.
I've been in a void, my love. A void that seems pleasant and harsh at the same time. I feel free. Liberated. Exhilarated. Alone. But what seems to scare me is the consequences. The repercussions.
Tonight, I remember so many promises. Promises that seemed fatal, if broken back then. But today, today them seem hollow. So damn hollow.. Those promises are floating away to a silent song, leaving me at peace to stand calm and sober, not reaching out to them. Or rather not wanting to reach out to them. I stand alone, and I'm not scared.
Cause after a point of time, it ain't the same people, the same places and the same promises.. because everyone's walkin' honey. Everyone's walkin', and so are you.

I fell in love, Judie. I fell in love with the most amiable man on the face of the Earth. I loved with all my heart with passion lighting our fire. But alas, life happened. And so, the devils of change trickled through the vulnerable labyrinthine lanes of our hearts. Our love broke. And tonight, it feels like such a waste. And yet, my heart's still madly in love with that 18 year old boy who showed me half the world... Judie, I trust people because I believe a little too much in this tiny little 'faith' that resides in a shy corner within me. But it hurts when that faith is exploited, Judie. And that hurt turns into anger which morphs into hate. Isn't love such a paradox?
The strongest bond stone that suddenly grows so cold?
I do hope you've been head over heels about somebody, sometime too, jude.
It's beautiful.

It's midnight here, and I wonder what color the sky might be at your end? Does it rain much? That's another miracle that touches my soul ever so often.
There's something so divine in being a child, isn't it Judie? There's something so merry about scraped knees and muddy shoes. To be able to smile at a stranger without the slightest of fear...aaah, strangers.. we meet again.
Cause that's what we are, innit?
Strangers.

So as the moon outside my window seems just a little bigger tonight, I smile at you, my dear old friend, my old strange friend. Dear Judie, I don't know where you are, I don't know if you exist. But tonight, I'm going to need you to listen, and you will, because you don't exist.........

Yours faithfully,
the strange letter writer.

Passing thoughts and epiphanies.

Something I wrote on New year's night :

"As I see all those sky shooters shoot high up into what we liked to believe heaven was, the tiny motes of fire fly as high as their fate willed, burned with all its might and ferocity, tried to yell out to the world- stark naked of what lay dormant in them, and after the few seconds of lumiere, faded away and died prey to the domineering winds that blew its flame away into nothingness that once burned in the iris of a man standing arrogantly on the face of the earth, taking for granted that the fire will never die out to ashes and that time will always hang in the glamour of light.... on the surface"

Also, my blogger friend Fai has this thing on her blog called "Let it out Monday" where her readers can send her a letter on anything at all, and she'd publish it on a Monday. It can be named or anonymous. So I sent her a letter too, and I want you guys to read it and tell me what you think about it. Here goes! :-----

Dear Photograph,

you remind me of so much. So much that I might have forgotten coping with the cobwebs of city life, of other dreams that I'm chasing after, of broken chains that were meant to be only stronger with time, of myself. 

The delicate black and white of your skin holds my tiny finger like one of a baby's and leads me into a moment of my life that was frozen into mere parchement, that frozen moment was perhaps a mere second out of the scroll long years of my life, however that one frozen smile, tear, round eyes, freckle, frown tells and teaches me so much of who I am, what I might become or might have been.

When your skin smiled of warm colors- I could only feel the warmth of the sun again, the sounds of the honks nearby, the scream of the roadside wender, the bark of the angry dog, the whistle of the ticket collcetor... you take me back to yet another day of reality that makes me feel so alive and present again.

You have always had the strength to reduce me to my knees and pray again, pray for what only seemed like yesterday to come back. Pray for those people who've somehow let go or the ones who have held on so tight.. You have had the strength to show me the past as it was, without being biased or emotional.. as ironical as it sounds :)

May you capture me, many more of the sides that prevail and the ones that are hiding in somewhere, waiting for the time to step out.

For you let me make memories, and that is something that only completes the mosaic of my life with everything right, wrong, perfect and imperfect.

For you are a frozen me, that can never disappear and will live on forever, as simply as one can ever ask for.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Awaiting feedbacks!

Nil.