Family.

So every once in a while, I write something about my life in order to tell you what makes me an infinity, and to hear about what makes you an infinity. Tell me about your family!


“Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.” – Lilo and Stich

When god made man, or whosoever did, the man asked for someone who’d always be on his side. That’s when god (or whosoever) made more men and women, and called it a family. My family is a little bizarre, as probably all of ours are. Some of my best memories with my father, my mother and my sister are these. Here is a small and brief glimpse into my family.

  1.  It was a summer morning, about two months after I had given my Tenth grade finals. My results were up on the internet at about four in the morning, and I was sweating rivers as I checked. My result was pretty good, and so I let out a sigh of relief as I slowly went to my parents room to tell them the result. My dad was still asleep, and so I gently woke him up and told him that the results were here. He was still lying on the bed as he waited for me to tell him my score. When I did, he sat up and gave me one of the tightest and warmest hugs ever as he smiled.
  2. When you’ve lived with your mother was long enough, you’ll actually see everything falling apart if she goes away for a few days. Me, my sister and my father did. My mom had gone for a week to her parents place, and we caused chaos. We had oats and cornflakes for three consecutive meals almost every day. No school, so we made sure the house was a mess. When she did come back, it was the best thing ever. It was as if you’d come out of the water of the swimming pool after a long game of “Let’s see who can hold their breath for the longest.” It was like finding the name of the song that had you worried sick because you couldn’t remember the name.
  3. From hiding test papers, to walking down paths covered in broken twigs, golden leaves and possible dangers, my sister has been my partner-in-crime. I don’t have one favorite memory with her because I’ve been with her for almost eighteen years now and every day with her is still special. Here’s one though. When I was really young and hardly knew how to swim, me and my family went for swimming. Despite being on the shallow side of the pool, I lost my footing and thought I was drowning. My sister, who happened to see this, was laughing at me instead of helping me. That bitch.

You don’t get to choose your family, but I am glad to have the family that I have. Maybe someday I’ll talk about how crazy they are. Until then.

Bless this family. ∞
Adieu.


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Instagram handle: @myspirals

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Travel bird.

Instagram handle: @myspirals


Go to places,
Find mountains that remind you of people,
And seas that make you forget everything.
Discover old streets that whisper stories,
and broken buildings that look like broken bones.
Sleep out the day, learn to love the dark.
Sleep out the night, learn to love the light.
Close your eyes and feel the wind,
and rustle like a tree under the burning sun.
Giggle under the stars,
and among the ruins,
Just like the people who lived there
A long time ago,
probably did.
Paint your passports,
and cut in your bucket list,
instead of your wrists.


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Sober.

Give me prompts in the comments section below! Enjoy reading. Instagram handle: @myspirals


Despite being six vodka shots down,
I was sober as I called you.
It isn’t possible to drunk-dial you,
Because you are like a good night’s sleep.
Just the thought of you slows down my heart-beat,
and makes me feel at home.
I don’t need to be drunk around you,
as I tell you everything anyway.
I’m not afraid of blabbering on and on,
Like a tape on repeat,
Because you’ve said that I am your favorite song.
I do everything with you,
that I wouldn’t even dream of, unless drunk.
You are a glass of water,
for every shot that I have.
You’re salt and lime,
and my poetry’s rhyme.
If I am so alive with you,
How can liquor make drunk
as I call you?


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Life.

Life is a bright sun, but it is also a tornado. These are not real stories, but the problems are real. Also, these are two different stories. I hope we survive. Instagram handle: @myspirals


She was only eleven when this had happened. It was a sunny afternoon and she wanted to play with her friends in the park. While playing Hide and Seek, her friends hid here and there and she was alone in the park, skipping and hopping excitedly as she looked for her friends. It seemed to be a good day. While running towards a bush where she thought her friends were hiding, she tripped and scraped her knee. Tears wetted her cheeks as a few drops of blood trickled down her knee. A guy in about his thirties, saw her crying and walked up to her. He consoled her and took her to his house to see the injury.

He used a piece of cloth and rubbed her knee with it to remove the blood, and she gasped because of the pain. Slowly, he started rubbing her thighs and when she tried to back away, he held her leg tightly in place “Let me take care of you.”. He touched her inner thighs and smiled as he moved closer to her area and her eyes dilated with fear. This wasn’t right. She screamed but he used the piece of cloth to tie her mouth. His fingers touched her in places that she now refers to as scars.


He was twenty-one. Life seemed to be a frolic in the park, happy and delightful. He had a mother and two sisters, and he loved them to death. They lived in a small part of the city. He went out to buy food for his family, when out of nowhere, something blew a hundred kilometers away. Almost in succession, there was two more blasts a little to the east of it. He had no idea what was happening, but he ran anyway. Not away from the blasts, though. Towards them. That’s where his house was and that’s where his family was. After running for ten minutes at full pace, he opened the door to his house as his heavy breathing slowed a bit. They were safe.

He took hold of their hands and asked them to hurry as they ran away from the monstrous blasts. They hurried towards the sea where a lot of people seemed to be headed. He saw boats and sighed in relief. They got on the boat and saw their home turn to smoke and dust as they moved away from the catastrophe. Refugees. Where were the refugees headed? Towards lonely hearts and no home.


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Empty hearts.

So I tried something new in which I had to write the poetry in exactly a hundred words. Do read it and leave anything you’d like to say in the comments. Instagram handle: @myspirals


“So, what does it feel like to be empty?”

“Everyone is made of poetries,
and to have that inside of you
but no voice or walls for it to echo,
it can be hard to describe,
if not impossible.

It feels like a sinking Titanic,
that is too cold to realize,
that its life is etching away.
It feels like a long stretch of silence,
that screams out stories
and unheard rants.
It feels like a mirage
that you’ve somehow reached,
and you live the illusion.

I don’t know, really.
It feels like a nothing in a something.
Numb. Empty.”


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Previous post: Addictions and lies.
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