the white strings in oranges.

 when i decided to start writing this blog, i did not really have a name in mind. it was only when the input data page, with the blinking text cursor arrived, i typed out 'collecting orange peels.' 

no, it does not have an underlying explanation, or something inherently expressive that will make you go, 'oh, how deep.'

 it isn't deep. in fact, if i pull on the string of thought- it probably traces back to an afternoon at didun's house. to a yellow plastic bowl with fruits embossed on it, with stringy orange pieces in it. to my didun bent upon peeling the oranges 'ful er moto kore' as an attempt to entice an eleven year old heeya.

i think that is why i find comfort in oblivion. which i agree, may sound very strange. but i stick to the fact that i work best unconsciously. 

for example, i remember staying up until the twelfth hour with my mother before a language examination with her saying - always plan out your essays.

she also made me plan out essays and write them in a hardcover notebook, and to not write a word until i had a stable skeleton of the entire piece. i cared little for the notebook of planned essays, and proceeded to put a fairly large sparkly rose sticker on the cover.

but just like the 'rebel without a cause' i was, i never did plan out anything i wrote. to which i agree, some traditionalist preparatory schoolteachers did not react positively. 

yet, i did well.

and most of my audience appreciated my nonchalance. 

-

i don't cry my own tears anymore.

i think you give up your tears the minute you start unwrapping minds like i do.

it's now the condensed amalgamation of thoughts that have crept into my unconscious.

a handpicked few amongst those belong to me.

but it's a sacrifice i have made, and somewhere in it, a selfish one at that.

-

as an irrational skeptic, fate is somewhat of a misunderstood concept for me. but i don't like how it laughs at me in the face. how it holds up a mirror and tells me

' and all the things she ran far away from, stuck to her like a shadow.'

six of swords.

ghosts of christmas past.

all in the same boat.

rowing far from every island i have set on fire.

what an inconsiderate girl.

-

i doze off for a second. a prominent clicking awakes me. it's not the clock, it's the hanger knocking against the wooden almirah.

i like the nights. it is quiet. and it is safe from all the people out to get me.

i can get delusional at times.

just like he said once.

delusional. suicidal. lonely.

and i look up at the audience, and watch their expressions morph as they realize i am my mother.

-

my writing has become disarrayed and i start forgetting things.

what was the name of your favourite actress before she was born ?

Her name was Heeya, from the day she lived in ideas. in dolls.

-

 

i want somebody to peel oranges for.