I’m as messed up as this poem. This just might not make sense.

It’s a strange place
You never know where you’ll feel it.
Two arms and music inside a chest
Or four walls and family dinners
Or spin the bottle and hopeless friends
Or maybe just a city.
My mind is a crazy mess
My heart does not rhyme anymore
Everyone has a story
I’m living a story that
I just can’t put into words.
Nostalgia is a dirty liar.
But it’s my happy place.
You see,
When I write about love,
Words flow nonstop.
When I write about pain,
I don’t try to rhyme, it just fucking happens.
But when I write about home,
My poetry is a lost cause.
There’s a tsunami in my head.
A tsunami of words that don’t match,
And there’s no way to put them together.
I’ve been trying and trying to write
About home
About my time there
About my time here
About what I’ve felt in between
But words of no purpose pop into my head
And although they can be made
Into something beautiful
Like everything can
I’m just not the one to do it.
But I so badly want to.
I want to frame sentences,
And beautiful verses,
Phrases that make sense,
But here I am,
Going on and on
Not having a clue about what I’m writing.
I’m so sorry.
I just miss home.

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The Liebster Award.

Thank you Tejasvi Kashyap for nominating me for the award. You have a wonderful blog, Tejasvi. Kudos.

The Rules:
Here are the rules for all those who will be receiving this award.

  1.  Create a new post thanking the person who nominated you, link their blog. Include award graphic.
  2. Answer the questions provided.
  3. Make a new set of 10 questions for your nominees to answer.
  4. Nominate 10 recently followed bloggers and share your post with them so they see

Questions for me:

  • What would you say is your best quality?
    I don’t know, really. I hope to be good at putting into words what most people cannot, and I hope that will be my best quality someday.
  • What are your dreams and aspirations?
    I dream to do what not many of us do as often as we should. I dream to live my life they way I want to.
  • When did you first start writing?
    I think it was in ninth grade, I don’t remember very clearly. I have been reading for a long time, I guess it just happened, and I never noticed.
  • Do you have any favorite topics you like to write about? What are they?
    Well, as a writer, I am a big believer in love. And so I love writing about the thousand and one emotions associated with it.
  • What is your happiest memory?
    There are so many. Here is one just for the sake of answering the question.
    My eleventh birthday. Me, my sister and my friends had one of the best days of our lives. It was truly amazing.
  • What is your favorite animal and why?
    I love dogs. Simply, because they are the best.
  • Where are you from and what do you like most about that place?
    I am from Delhi (India), and I love the people over there. I’ve lived there for three, maybe four years and it was amazing. Also, the parties.
  • If you had any one superpower of your choice, what would it be?
    We humans, do have superpowers. We can fall in love. What else do you want?
    (I’d want to either fly or be able to read minds.)
  • What are your favorite things to do with other people?
    Introvert here, sorry. Although, maybe I’d love to sing and dance at a party, as long as no awkward moments follow.
  • What is your favorite song and what does it mean to you?
    I don’t have a single favorite song. It keeps changing according to my impulses. For now, it’ll be “Kiss Me – Ed Sheeran”. The lyrics are beautiful.

My Nominees:

It was very hard to narrow it down to ten people but I would like to nominate:
(These blogs are in no specific order)

Questions for my nominees:

  1. What inspires you to write?
  2. If any, which is your favorite TV show and why?
  3. If you could travel, which country would you go to first and why?
  4. The sun or the moon, and why?
  5. What makes you high?
  6. One of your favorite words.
  7. What breaks you?
  8. To read or to write?
  9. Who is your meme-tagging partner?
  10. Stay patient and trust your journey. Okay?

If anyone else wants to answer these questions, go ahead. I’d love to hear your answers too! Email it to me at : utsavraj3@gmail.com

All the best.
Adieu ∞

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This post is completely about me.

“Souls tend to go back to what feels like home.” – N.R. Hart

Home is the nicest word there is, insisted Laura Wilder.

Home isn’t always four painted walls and a cozy bed. And it isn’t always two warm arms and a beating heart. It can be anything.

I’ve been shifting from city to city all my life. Sometimes, even countries. And so I’ve made a home that has walls made with memories and painted with a tint of nostalgia. Michelle K said ‘Nostalgia is a dirty liar that insists things were better than they seemed’. I don’t mind lies anymore.  Here is a small and brief glimpse into my home.

  1. My family and I were walking back to my apartment, giggling and talking about songs as we licked on our ice-creams. The walk from Baskin Robbins wasn’t a long one. So, back in 2010-11, 10 year old me did not care about anything except the ice-cream that kept melting and dripping from the sides of my cone. As my parents walked behind me, and we were less than twenty steps from our building, I decided to try and stop the dripping by licking the cream. As I did, the scoop came right off the cone and fell down. I was left with an empty cone and a family that just could not stop laughing.
  2. Two years and a different country later, the first day of school in India really terrified me. Of course I had been here before, when I was in first grade, but a lot changes in six years. I took the bus to school, anticipating what the day could possibly be like, all the way to the school. I met my class teacher and she took me to my classroom where thirty students literally shout my name out when I entered. I remember the big smile on my face as I sat down next to someone. The same day, a few hours later, when almost everyone had left, I took out my lunch. A yellow lays. As soon as I opened it, a few students come and share it with me. I found one of my best friends that day.
  3. By the time I finished my first terms in grade eighth, me and my best friend had started having sleepovers every night. We basically lived at each others places. Surprising our mothers daily (Although, they weren’t), playing every possible sport, and doing any thing that could push us over the edge and into the category of clinically crazy.
  4. 2008 – we shifted. 2012 – we shifted. 2015 – we shifted. Aren’t these memories too?

Home for me was four colorful people and a lazy (also, crazy) day out. Home for me was a bunch of warm giggles and a throbbing rush of blood to our cheeks. Home for me was a constant blur of memories, and random pauses. I miss every place I have been to. Although I miss the last one the most.

Now I know all of this might mean nothing to you. But it does to me, and as I promised, I’d like you to know me for the person I am along with the words I write. This is part of the infinity I am. Find your home. Build the next curve of your infinity. And when you are done, don’t stop. We are the infinite spiral of space, with no end at all.

“If we were meant to stay in one place, we’d have roots instead of feet.” – Rachel Wolchin

Bless this home ∞

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