My body is my journal and my tattoos are my story.

I’m not one to openly share my feelings with anyone but if the stories behind my tattoos could come alive at first glance they would bleed out a novel so heartbreaking.

There are many moments in life in which I’ve wanted to capture the essence of every single emotion that flooded into my brain and overtook my mind and they were moments so low that I said to myself, do not forget how much effort it took to let this moment pass. There were moments in life that deep in my soul, I knew something was going to radically change the path I was bound to take and I wanted those moments etched into my skin. I wanted them to live their own stories painted in other languages so they could tell the story a different way each time someone asked.

And when I knew that whatever was happening to me in that very moment was significant enough to scratch onto my skin, life seemed to change its course. So when someone asks, what does your tattoo say? What do your tattoos mean? It’s more complicated that a one-sentence answer or a simple explanation of a symbol. They mean in that very second in time the moment ink sunk into the skin and forever found its place on my body, I was becoming a new person and overcoming a dark time in which I only wanted myself to fully remember so I wouldn’t enter a time so painful again. Anyone who can read what these tattoos say can be fully assured that they know the darkest parts of my heart. But that is a place the world has yet to venture.

If you’re looking for a high quality, one-of-a-kind tattoo and want to get it done in a chill, judgment-free tattoo studio then The Skin Canvas Tattoo is definitely an artist and studio location worth considering. They use the  best equipment available in India and western countries, ranging from disposable kits, to all kinds of color and their compositions, also including inks, which are approved by the Food and Drug authority (FDA) of America. Our needles are specially imported from Korea and are disposable. The machines and all its parts are autoclaved (sterilized). Their equipment is top notch and privacy guaranteed to each client while they are getting tattooed. Okay, first of all I love the ambiance of the place. The excellence of the art of each and every person here is extravagant. I personally trust them with their experiences and the best part is I don’t have to explain much about what I want cause they always exceed my expectations. I’m personally very happy with the friendly atmosphere and the talent everyone has to offer will always surprises you and you can’t get enough of it. Thanks to The Skin Canvas and its team. I’m inked from them and I’m in love with all my tattoos and more to come up. Special thanks to Minal Goyari and Sanjay Varman who have inked the best tattoos ever. I will definitely get inked again.

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Book That You Can Never Read

You can read my words but you can’t really understand my sentences, you can’t understand why I paused after a certain sentence or why I ended a sentence with an exclamation mark rather than a full stop.

You can read my headlines but you won’t grasp what I’m trying to say, you won’t know if it’s a misleading headline or a headline that has nothing to do with what I’m truly trying to say. In other words, you can’t sum me up in one headline.

When I write about loving you, you’d think that I can’t sleep at night thinking about you, but the truth is, I write about a familiar feeling; a moment in time when life was wondrous and I was mesmerized. A feeling that struck me once before that I couldn’t forget.

I write about how you made me feel because I loved that feeling — not you.

When I write about missing you, I write about the person you used to be, the person you pretended you were or the person I thought you were. I write about whom I thought you were and the things you made me believe in. I miss the rush of emotions, the whopping smile on my face when I saw your name on my phone, the bright future that I painted in all my favorite colors and the moment I realized that I’m capable of loving unconditionally.

I write about missing everything about that phase but that doesn’t mean I want to call you or I want you back. Missing you serves as an inspiration not a final statement. You can translate my words into your language but it still won’t make sense because you and I speak in very different languages with totally different connotations. You can try to read between the lines but you’ll always find them blurry and murky because you interpret things according to how your mind operates and your mind is a maze.

My words are a reflection of me; they can be contradicting, they can be wise, they can be childish, they can be insane, they can be idealistic, they can be flawed, they can be harsh and they can be fragile. My words can be a lot of things but they will always be real. I’m an open book because I write about the finest details but you were never detail-oriented so you will never understand the depth of my words.

My book is open, you can flip through my pages or highlight my words but you will never be able to pin me down, because it takes more than reading from a distance to know me, it takes more than a few words to figure me out and it takes a lot more than reading to know my story but you never had the courage to finish the story till the end.

So you can read my book a thousand times but you still won’t be able to read me.

 

12 Days Seemed Like 12 Years.

It is one thing to have a best friend. It’s another to have that friend also be your room neighbor. You’re no longer just friends. You become something of a family. And when they have to leave after 12 days with you in the dwindling time you even have left together, it becomes a very sad sad day.

With your absence, I lose a partner-in-crime, a drinking buddy, a Whatsapp best friend, series marathons, late night revelations, a telepathic partner, a confidante, a news source, a personal life and gym coach, a cuddy buddy, a souse-chef, a mother and so much more. However, this absence only reminds me what it means to have friend like you. It reminds me how special these bonds are and the importance of people like you in my life. Its friends like you that know me better than I know myself. It’s this kind of friend that reminds me that I deserve better when I need to hear it, and know when to keep their mouths shut when I need to figure it out for myself. It’s these friends who are by my side without ever having to ask. It’s these kinds of friend like you I know were meant to be more than just college roommates, but lifelong friends.

As you embark on this journey on your own, you understand that this is only the beginning. That soon enough, we will each begin our own path in pursuit of fulfilling our own unique desires and dreams. With your day of departure fast-approaching there is only one more time where we can spend entire night lying in bed watching series (Breaking Bad), talking endlessly about girls, discussing future wedding plans, contemplating our futures, while not giving a fuck or understanding how close the departure and future really is. But that future is the scary part. We’re being tossed into the world (and by world I mean moving back into our parents houses looking desperately for jobs) like a chicken with our heads cut off, not knowing what to do next. And not only will it be the first time in your life you may not be returning to institution, but it will be the first time in a very long time that this physical separation between you and me is more than just temporary. But again, it’s this kind of friend that I know were meant to be more than just college roommates. We are meant to be lifelong friends. So no, I’m no longer that sad you’re leaving, because I know it’s not the end, but only the beginning of what’s to come.

P.S. It hurts when you lose someone close to you on the very same date and month.

3 AM

It’s 3 am and the night still asks me about you and all I can do is ask the night to let me sleep and bring you in my dreams and maybe one of those nights my dream will come true and the night will stop asking me about you.

It’s at 3 am that the night hits me and asks me about you. It asks me how you’re doing and I still don’t have an answer. I like to believe that you’re fine but a part of me doesn’t really want you to be fine without me. The stars ask me if you still shine everywhere you go and if your smile still brightens up anyone’s day and I can’t help but say yes, because even if I haven’t seen you, I know that you’ll always shine even if it’s dark inside you. And sometimes the night and I wonder if you miss me and if you’re also looking out the window waiting for a miracle.

The moon asks me if I will ever forget you, and I can’t help but confess that I’ve learned to forget everything in the past but I couldn’t forget the way you made me feel, I tell the moon that I learned how to forget everyone who hurt me but I still haven’t learned how to forget you. And even the moon can’t forget you because it’s always full when I’m missing you. The skies ask me if I’ll ever reach out to you and I tell them that I’m scared of not getting a response but the truth is I’m scared more of getting a response, I’m scared of hearing your voice and I’m terrified of loving you again. And sometimes the skies make the night a little bit warmer when I think about you.

I wonder if the night will ever stop haunting me at 3 am to ask me about you. Sometimes I think the night is lonely and missing some company but then every time I bring someone else, the night gets colder and moon disappears.

I think I’m bound to spend my nights remembering you and there is nothing more I can do because the night was not made to be alone, the stars were not meant to shine above a broken heart and the moon was not meant to hide behind the clouds. The night craves love and intimacy, the night needs two souls bound together by its beauty, comforting each other from the troubles of the day.

And it’s the like the night conspired to keep me up until you’re back to me.

It’s 3 am and the night still asks me about you and all I can do is ask the night to let me sleep and bring you in my dreams and maybe one of those nights my dream will come true and the night will stop asking me about you.

To The One I Left Back Home.

But I want you to know that wherever this home may be, miles and miles away or a block away, I will always love you and you will forever be my favorite home and you will always be the reason why I will keep on fighting and I will try to win.

It’s been a hard journey but I’m finally heading somewhere, the road is still long and the destination is not crystal clear but I’ve finally learned how to drive in the storms and keep on driving until the sun shines again. I sometimes wish I could just go back home and not have to deal with any of these hurdles, but I feel like maybe something big is waiting for me at the end of the road; something told me that I need to go find myself away from the comfort of my bed and the warmth of your hugs. I had to leave so I can grow, so I can be the person you told me I was; the potential you saw in me that I couldn’t see in myself and the person you wanted me to be.

I have tried to find people like you to make the road easier but it was hard to find anyone that could replace you but I learned that you will always be irreplaceable and it would be unfair to compare anyone I meet to you. I’ve met a lot of people who did not resemble me, who did not even speak my language but I found so much value in our differences and they trained me to find the balance in sticking to my roots while trying to understand them. I realized there’s so much more to explore outside the realm of our little jokes and our familiar conversations, outside the luxury of not having to explain myself or wonder if someone misunderstood me and outside the silence we never really feared, but here, silence makes you think, it makes you question, it could drive you crazy – silence is petrifying.

I often hear people complain about the distance or how much they missed home and I would always say well they should just go back, until I was repeatedly faced with the same feeling and I almost booked a one way ticket back home but I didn’t want this to be the end of my journey. I didn’t want to come home the same person that left and I didn’t want to come home without a fight, I didn’t want to come home when I haven’t battled anyone. I wanted to come back as a winner, a champion or a fighter, someone who fought till the end, someone who tried and someone who didn’t let you down.

Because it’s the fight that keeps you going, it’s the lonely days and the tearful nights, the disappointments and the heart breaks, the setbacks and the naysayers and it’s those who want to bring you down who keep you racing to the top. No one said it would be easy to start over and if I can’t handle the stones I encounter on the way then I don’t deserve the diamonds that I’m searching for. But I want you to know that you keep me going more than anyone, when everything is bleak, I remember the nights we spent laughing and singing randomly as we chat, I remember the nights we held each other tight whenever one of us was hurting and I remember all the crazy memories we had and the silly things we did and these memories make me feel alive. They remind me of how lucky I am that I have people like you to come home to, they remind me that no matter how far I wander, you’re still close to me – closer than ever.

And I want you to know that I will be okay; at times I may get lost and at times I may struggle to stay in touch with you but I will never completely disappear, I will never not know where I am or how to go back and I will never forget where I came from.

I want you to know that I didn’t leave because of you, I left because of me, because of the person I was becoming, because of the person I was turning into and because I started to feel like I didn’t belong but I learned that home doesn’t have to be one place, that you could have many homes in your lifetime but you’ll still have one special home you loved more, one special home you miss, one special home you had the best times in and I think I want to live in other homes for a while, I want to see what other homes will welcome me in and I want to have as many homes as possible before I decide to settle in one.

But I want you to know that wherever this home may be, miles and miles away or a block away, I will always love you and you will forever be my favorite home and you will always be the reason why I will keep on fighting and I will try to win.

I’ll Never Forget You

I’ll never forget you no matter how hard I try.

Missing you is a thing I have gotten used to. It’s a thing I’ve been forced to get used to. It’s a shame because it’s so easy to forget the people in your life who you knew never cared about you. But to forget those who used to love you? No. You can’t forget that. 

I don’t love you anymore.

At least, not in the way I used to. It used to be a 24/7, “till death do us part”, “you are going to have my kids” type of love. Now it’s a “sometimes I smell you in the air”, and “sometimes I miss the way you held me” type of love. It’s not filled with substance. Now, it’s just filled with silence, with old Facebook pictures and a “hey, how are you?” every few months. 

Isn’t it mind boggling to think that a few years ago I shared every single thought that popped in my head to someone that is now frankly, a stranger? How does that happen? At what day did it all change? Was it in the morning when you saw the sun and knew that I wasn’t yours anymore? Was it in the evening when you saw the moon and thought it was more beautiful than me? I guess I’ll never know.

I don’t have false hope about us anymore. I know it’s over. It’s done with. It is just footprints on the dirt that has been covered up by the seasons many rain falls. And guess what? Knowing that doesn’t make me bitter anymore. It makes me happy that at least once I got to experience something worthwhile. It makes me happy that my heart knows how to love. 

But I can’t forget you. Not now and not ever. I think a part of you is stapled onto my heart forever. Or maybe you’re painted on it. Permanent brush strokes that make me happy and sad at the same time. It’s weird how time can get you accustomed to missing someone. It’s almost like I’m content with it. Because I know I’m surviving and that my heart is still beating even with the paint brushed on it. And that’s all that matters. 

I am reminded of you only some days now as opposed to every second of every minute. It’s kind of nice. I see a kid with lanky legs and I smile because I see him in you. I see a couple kissing on the street and I laugh because I see us in them. It’s haunting. But, maybe it’s a nice ghost instead of a scary one.

I guess this is called acceptance. I am finally accepting all of it. I’m accepting that I will never forget you. And that trying to forget you would just rub salt on my wound. I’ll always share a crack of my heart with you. And I think that crack is painted “Red” because it’s the album we listened to all the time together.

And it’s nice. You’re always with me even though you never will be. It’s nice to know, I’ll never forget you no matter how hard I try.

 

P.S. I know that’s how you feel now, don’t you? 🙂

Depression.

It’s making plans and not being able to fulfill them. It’s calling a friend and pretending you’re fine for an hour, only to collapse on the floor crying afterwards – they’re going back to their life, imperfect, stressful, complicated, as it may be. You on the other hand, are just back to your non-life – or had you ever left it?

People speak to you and you can hear the words and you can feel the pain of the people around you. You hear them scream, cry, argue with each other because they don’t know what to do about you anymore and you don’t even manage to care for them. You feel detached. Or so you think, as the guilty feeling that arose when you realized you were the factor to your own destruction sinks a little bit deeper; you know they’re hurting because of you. Yet another thing you’re destroying. You lie in bed gathering the necessary energy to make this day a good one, and as soon as you’ve stepped out of your room the only thing you want is to get back to bed – in there no one can hurt you and you cannot hurt anyone. This is not true of course, you hurt the same anywhere, but at least in here you can be who you truly are: the shadow of the person you once were, locked up in your own pain and despair.

You feel foolish when asked the reason of your illness, surely something big happened to you. You were well fed, had a loving family, pursuing brilliant studies, you are twenty and there’s so much you could do in your life. There must have been an awful reason that justifies your current state. But there’s not. And even if there were a reason people could relate to, it wouldn’t mean they would understand what you’re going through. You avoid the pain as much as you can. Depression is insidious; when it first starts you avoid it by performing your daily activities, ignoring your demons that are eager to resurface. Until you cannot any more. Until you cannot pretend that you’re fine. Until the pain creeps through every one of your activities. You look for other ones, actions that will help you numb it. Not get over it, or get better, just shut the pain. For a minute, or an hour, even for days. Just ignore it for a while until only a few things can make you forget (reading? Watching tv? Doing crosswords? – All those useless and unproductive activities that will lead you nowhere but at least keep the suffering out of your mind for a moment). You fight the pain, stress, anxiety that sinks a little deeper everyday. You fight it until you’re out of breath, until it’s so big you cannot hide from it anymore. You fight it until it takes over and you’re left with nothing but your sorrow.

You can’t fall asleep and often cry yourself to sleep. You don’t want to wake up, only go back to bed, for it is in your sleep that your brain tricks the pain the best. You try and fall back asleep hoping that if you sleep long and often enough, it will make it go away. Confronted with the incomprehension and skepticism, you sometimes, selfishly and foolishly, wish that you had a “real” illness. A tangible one. Something people could see, could relate to. Something that would make what you’re going through real, make you feel like less of freak and more of a person.

But it is real. Depression is an illness. It doesn’t need reasons good enough for other people, or even rational ones. All it needs is for these reasons to be good enough for you. Is it written somewhere that because you’re not starving to death, or because you’re smart and have a loving family you have to be happy? Does this mean everyone who doesn’t have those things should be unhappy? The pain is real. It’s not laziness, it’s not procrastination, it’s not a caprice. Just like after a hard fall, you’re unable to move. Only, no one can tell you how long exactly it will take for the injuries to be fixed and for you to move on with your life.

However dark the place you’re in may be, never forget that so many people suffer from the same illness. Depression is real, your pain is real, and it was never said anywhere that you were not allowed to be unhappy. Lastly, depression is not who you are. It is an uncontrollable wave of emotions, a disease that is hard to fight and sometimes makes you wonder if you are made for life, or if there is something profoundly different between you and the people around you who are not suffering from it. It is hurtful, and violent, and destructive. But it is not who you are. If you feel like you’ve lost yourself, you will find it again. If you don’t recognize yourself in your looks, or your actions, it is not because you’re becoming someone else, or nobody at all, it is because depression has taken over all the space.

I try to remember those things every day. My disease does not define me. But it is a disease. I need to stay hopeful that things will get better. I need to work at it. No matter how bad I feel, the only way I can really fail, is if I don’t even try.

You And I Are Each Other’s Star.

I like the way you make me feel. The way our bodies seem to know each other, the static that transfers in your touch, or the rush I get when I stare into your eyes. We’re connected like that, in strange and terrifying ways we can’t even explain. But we know. Somehow we just know.

When I was little boy, I believed in that human bodies were like stars, floating in this expanse of sky. Directionless. Bright. I believed that our lights would burn and burn and burn until we’d find the one whose brightness matched ours. And then we would set on fire and shoot across the sky together.

Sometimes I still believe that—that our souls are bigger than they seem, burning thousands of miles away from this ground we walk on. That we’re shining bright and beautiful, waiting for our fates to align, our bodies to crash into one another. Waiting for an explosion. And then we’d know it was love. We’d know.

I like that idea, that love is something we cannot define, but inherently understand. Like how our hearts subconsciously pump blood to the entirety of our bodies. Or how we breathe without thinking. You and I, we are like stars who crossed paths somewhere in this incredible expanse of galaxy. We’re burning, melting into one another. Growing bigger, brighter. We are filling the world with our light, getting ready to explode and flash across the sky in all our glory and grandeur. I’m ready for it.

Perhaps the path we orbit on will eventually change, perhaps we will shift to brighten other planets. But I can feel your warmth inside my heart, traveling like electricity through my cells.

I cannot find the right string of words to explain how I’m feeling, what this is, or who we are.

But it’s love.
I just know.

To The One Who Will Never Read This

She whispers.
Her breath renders a gentle breeze,
brushing over baby hairs and making colors crisper.
Her words take me captive like a malignant disease.

Her lips graze upon my cheek
their gentle touch nestled in the hallow of my cheek.
Her potent love, healing the wounds of the weak.
She makes the chaos of living, simple.

Her brown eyes fall to meet my own,
hardly revealing, but so much to know.
At her fault my heart is prone.
In the gentle light her freckles show.

Soon her eyes abandon mine
to wander, and to roam.
And as they land upon another, I know I should let go.
If home is where the heart is,
I will never be her home.

Signs You’re On The Wrong Path.

Some may say that there is no such thing as the “wrong” path, and that every path is the right path.  But is this true?  Are we really being honest with ourselves when we say this?  From personal experience, I know what it feels like to be on the “wrong path”.  By “wrong”, I am referring to a path that does not suit you, serve you, or bring your soul alive.  You know in your heart, soul, and mind that there is something bigger and better out there for you.

These paths only serve the purpose of redirecting us to a more ideal path, and they provide us insight into what we don’t want out from life.  When we pay attention to the little feelings that bubble up in our soul, we can live a life that is guided by our intuition.  A life guided by your intuition is never the wrong path.

  • You feel empty and unfulfilled inside.

You aren’t excited to wake up in the morning, and you feel like you will be unhappy for the rest of your life if things continue on the same way as they do.

If you feel like your current life is unsustainable for the rest of your life, and that if things don’t change you will go through your whole life miserable, then something has to change. This is your souls way of communicating to you to go deep, look inside yourself, and find listen to where your intuition is trying to lead you.

  • You feel like you are wasting your time.

You feel like you are wasting your time on earth. Life is short, and you feel as though your life here needs to be spent in a way that is more fulfilling to you. If you feel like you are wasting your time, there is probably a good reason why. Not everyone can have their dream job, but everyone has a longing to leave their creative mark on the world. The truth is, if you aren’t creating, serving, and growing spiritually, you will always feel like you are wasting your time.

  • You try to fill the void.

You spend a great deal of your time trying to fill the void inside yourself.  Addictions, partying, and Netflix are used to distract you from deep internal feeling of need to change paths in life. You often search for material possessions as a way to supplement your lack of purpose and meaning in life. The “void” you are experiencing is your souls desire to come alive through your lifestyle. Don’t fill it or ignore, allow it to direct you to a better path for you. The point of this article is not to encourage self-condemnation, guilt, or sadness. It is to inspire us to look inside of ourselves, be honest, and see if we are truly on the path that we KNOW we should be on. Maybe we aren’t spending enough time with our family and friends. Maybe we are having our gifts suppressed by the jobs we work, or we on a self-destructive path of addiction, self-hate, and self-denial.

Whatever it may be, it’s important to listen to your intuition and follow the wisdom of your heart. If you know in your soul that something needs to change, either your soul is mistaken, or something needs to change.