Storming


There’s a delicious storm outside.

the sky is red
the rain falls in torrents
and the wind comes in gusts against the window panes.

if only storms at this hour meant

you could stay up to watch them
forehead pressed against cool glass
untamed rivulets separated from your fingertips by centimeters

when that becomes temptation too much
perhaps even go outside for the full taste
being in the heart of magnificence
feeling pelting drops of water on your skin and in your hair and eyes
getting soaked and chilled to the bone

and not go to work tomorrow.

Instead, I shut my windows tight
so that nothing gets wet.
close my curtains
so I can’t see the lightning.
The thunder is muffled and far away.

and be thankful, I suppose, I can shut out the storm
turn out the lights
snuggle under the covers
warm, dry and oblivious in my modern cave
and try to go to sleep.

Two sides of a city


The night.
Its cover of darkness, the comfort of a well worn duvet.
Its quite stillness and calm, a welcome to respite to the heat and bustle of the day.

I want to sit, in the moment; walk, alone with thoughts; smile, with the wind; and just be.

Instead, because it is late, I head for the train. I want to linger, but I should just go home.

Too bright, too hard, too shiny, too plastic and too choke full of people. Garish. It repulsed me so much, but I stepped into the crush anyway.

Which is reality, and can’t I choose?

Nope, still addicted


Let me put this idea to you:

All that anyone in the whole world throughout all of history ever does… is chase emotions.

We may do it in countless different ways, we may do it with the help of rationalizing and intellect, but at the end of the day, are we not all struggling to find out exactly what will bring us that sense of… happiness? of contentment? of satisfaction? of meaning? of peace?

Chasing emotions.

In secondary school, we studied 12th night for literature and our teacher told us that Orisino was more in love with love than with anyone. He’d put his object of affection up on a pedestal and worshiped it from there. That image and idea struck me and stuck with me, and often I would see myself in a similar light; at that age, I loved getting into crushes. It didn’t matter how improbable my crushes were, how little I actually knew about them or how little interaction I had with them. I enjoyed admiring them from afar and I immensely enjoyed the emotional highs (and lows) that took place only in my own head and heart.

In love with love. To be even more specific– in love with the emotional highs associated with love? Love is a drug, an addiction.

When fans go crazy over their idols, when fandom obsesses over characters and pairings… If you’re not a part of it, it may look crazy to you. But it’s the same for everyone– you have your own method of chasing that emotional high, I’m sure you do. Be it through a sport, a art, your career, shopping, clubbing, alcohol… Intellectually, you may think your method is superior– more meaningful?– but emotionally its similar, is it not?

When I say I’m addicted to escapism, part of it comes from needing that high, and not finding it in real life, and so you run elsewhere in search of it.

When I had my first super-serious crush, my first infatuation, my first ‘love’, when I moved beyond being happy with fangirl-ing people from afar to genuinely wanting more, I think that upped the ante of emotional high enough to end all frivolous crushes.

When I had my first relationship… well. That emotional high, that fulfillment, felt like all I would ever need. As much as the intellectual side of me cringes and rolls its eyes at this naivety and superficiality… being in love made my world realer than real, it gave my days meaning and added colour everywhere.

To me, being able to share my life with someone else and share their world in turn compound the joy of everything beauty in life and made every pain bearable.

To me, a relationship is something I can pour my heart and soul into, make a deep emotional investment and get back exponentially high returns.

I got home today badly craving another shot of escapism.

What I really want is to have something really mesmerizing, something really captivating. A really good story (or something, anything) that will pull me in, and consume my world, at least for a while. Something touching, something moving, something that will tug on all your heartstrings and make you go awwww!!!<333 ;_; something that makes the world feel more real, more saturated, have more kick.

I search for that high in stories because there is nothing in real life right now, nothing that I can go awwww<333 over.

But stories, in whatever form they take, can no longer deliver the high I crave…
They just can’t. I just can’t. I can’t get emotionally invested enough. Stories don’t cut it anymore. How could they? You need a higher and higher dosage each time…

Even so, I still can’t stop chasing the little highs, just for a taste, a drop…

It’s been almost two years. I stare at the date and realize with a start that our anniversary date, which was yesterday, has faded in my mind and replaced with our break-up date, which I had been unconsciously counting down towards.

It’s truly amazing how time passes; I can’t believe it’s been this long. I still think of her just about everyday. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I think of a time, of a feeling, of an emotional high.

Everyday I miss it, and most days I seem to chase after it in all the wrong places for lack of knowing what else to do…

Hi, my name is ____ and I am an escapeholic.


Okay, I admit it: I have a problem. It’s gotten pretty bad, and I don’t know how to solve it.

I know acknowledging the problem is always touted as the all-important first step– hey, you recognize you have a problem, that’s great! Now you can do something about it!

Yes, but what? I’ve always known I’ve had this problem– what’s step two, please?!

I’m getting ahead of myself.

For all appearances, you would be excused from thinking that my problem is that…I have an addiction to my computer, my phone or more generally, the internet. It’s the first thing I turn to when I wake up, it’s the last thing I look at before I fall asleep. As long as I’m not officially occupied at work, I will be seated infront of my computer. I surf the net when I’m eating, when I’m commuting. My hand reaches for my phone every couple of minutes regardless of what I’m doing, regardless of whether there are any new messages or calls. I spend hours every single day in front of the computer. My smart phone (and accompanying addiction) is relatively new, but internet surfing is not.

However, if you look beneath the surface, the computer, phone and internet are just the mediums, I believe, for my addiction to escapism and procrastination.

When I reach for my phone only to discover no new messages, I don’t just put it down again. Sometimes I stare at the screen blankly, swipe from page to page, back and forth. I click to facebook (nothing new in the last 2 mintes), click to twitter, click to the one or two games I play regularly. Scroll through my whatassp chats. Up and down, back and forth, open the apps, close the apps. I just want something to read, something to occupy myself, distract myself.

When I open up my laptop, I always go through my ritual before I can even think of doing anything else; check facebook and read everything in the newsfeed, opening any interesting links in new tabs. Check my blogs, check my emails, check my friends blog, check the handful of webcomics I follow. When I have nothing left to check, nothing left to read, I can easily spend the next couple of hours trying (desperately) to find more things to check, more things to read.

However, it’s not the internet that I’m yearning for, chasing for when I pick up my phone or open up facebook or a friend’s blog for the umpteen time. It’s two other things: distraction and connection.

It’s gotten so bad that it’s become extremely difficult for me to get work done; even if I manage to physically get myself away from my computer and phone, I can’t concentrate at all. I want to think about my work but my brain is just constantly throwing a tantrum, saying ‘not now, not now…’ and wants to be distracted, doesn’t want to think.

That part of the brain thinks of this (vegging out in front of the computer reading stuff) as enjoyment, as relaxation. The rest of me feels trapped. This breeds extreme frustration and stress, and zero satisfaction to know I’ve just wasted more hours of my life doing nothing.

I don’t know if this comes from the break up, but I think the break up (or my methods of coping with the break up) definitely worsened it. That how I got past my depression: distraction. The addiction and hunger of escapism and distraction may in itself be bourn of a deeper problem that comes as a direct result of the break up: Loneliness and a general discontentment with my life. I miss having that deep connection with another person so much, and the happiness that I derive from it, that I desperately try to find something to replace it, but nothing does, leaving me watching funny youtube video after youtube video, chasing that high and contentment that never comes.

I’ve been trying to talk to people more, start more chats with people, connect with friends more, make more new friends, but that just leaves me staring at the dead whatsapp chat or stalking their blogs or facebook page, wishing for a much deeper connection and not getting it.

This isn’t very well written because I’m just writing it quickly at one shot, without thinking or editing. I know blogging has also become just another means of procrastination and distraction to me, and I really want to get away from this screen as soon as possible.

Any suggestions on how to get my brain and focus back in order would be nice.
I have the attention space of a goldfish right now.

:(

A Bubble Floating Through Emptiness


To reality hop.
Can I hop through different realities, please?
I really don’t want to be here.

Be in an anime, or a movie, a fantasy world. To come and go and leave and as you please.
Put me under, into the dream world, go down the rabbit hole, escape.

When I think about you, the world flips inside out and nothing makes sense. I want to run away.
In to psychedelic colours, grunge textures and linkin park songs. I lose touch with reality– this can’t be real, what is real? This is not my reality, I reject it. I don’t want to be here.

There must be somewhere else I can go. How can this be all there is? How can this be my life? It’s not mine, I reject it. I want to go back to there– that felt real, that’s where I want to be. No, that’s where I am. Who closed the door, the door to narnia, to nivarna, to bliss, to home? Why am I stuck in this place, in this shell, in this meaninglessness, in this emptiness?

I feel no attachment to this world, this realm, this reality– it’s not reality. No attachment, no bond, no relation, no investment. It’s not so much that I don’t want to be here as how much I want to be somewhere else– I’m lost. There’s a taste of reality, a taste of home– no, Home– a taste of heaven, I remember. I’ve been there before. Why did it go, where did it go? Who stole my keys and shut me out, threw me out?

How do I get back to reality?
How do I get back home?

Must I stay here, in this prison without walls, bidding my time, and waiting, hoping hopelessly that one day I will escape, one day I will be home again, and reality will be real?

Which is the reality? Is the reality I crave but a dream, a drug, an escapist’s delusion? Am I binded and intoxicated by a dreamy haze? How can things be so contrary– why does my definition of reality differ from yours, is reality relative?

Seeing you, meeting you turns my world (what world?) topsy turvey.

I don’t understand that, but I don’t understand anything.

I am a bubble, floating through emptiness, waiting desperately to

pop.