Despair

Sometimes, there is nothing but
Emptiness in your heart.
Sometimes, you feel so clueless,
You just don't know where to start.
And you look into your heart, hoping to find answers,
But all you find is despair.
And you look around in all directions,
Looking for anyone who'd care...
Sometimes, you're feeling so low,
But you think the feeling won't last long.
Sometimes, you feel like holding on
To the last straw, to the last song.
And you look into your heart, hoping to find answers,
But all you find is despair.
And you look around in all directions,
Looking for anyone who'd care...
Sometimes, you feel so lonely,
You wish the world will somehow end.
Sometimes, you do not need anyone
Except for a true friend.
And you look into your heart, hoping to find answers,
But all you find is despair.
And you look around in all directions,
Looking for anyone who'd care...
Sometimes, you know you've tried your best,
But it doesn't seem to be enough.
Sometimes, you spend all your nights,
Thinking about heartbreaks and other stuff.
And you look into your heart, hoping to find answers,
But all you find is despair.
And you look around in all directions,
Looking for anyone who'd care...
Sometimes, you begin to give up on
What you know you will eventually lose.
Between a life of guilt or of strife,
It becomes hard to choose.

You.

It's you.
You, who stole my heart the very first time I laid eyes on you.
You, who has conquered my emotions for five years now.
You, whom I think about every moment of the day.
You, who gives me butterflies every time I hear your voice.

Oh, it's you, my best friend in this universe. You make me want to laugh out loud, and you make me want to cry my heart out.
Oh, it's you, my selfish, self-obsessed, annoying, intolerable and adorable companion- I can't get enough of you.

You, whose expressions speak volumes about what you're feeling.
You, whose sarcastic tone is unmistakeably humorous.
You, who will never admit that you cannot survive without me.
You, who knows that I can't survive without you.

I love you, much more than I want to, and much more than I should.
But I can't help it.
I will never admit it.
Because you're my best friend, and if I tell you how much you mean to me, I'm afraid I'll lose you forever.

I'm getting a Lock-and-key diary. AGAIN. Oh, joy.

I was six years old and vacationing in Kolkata and my grandmother took me to this shop called Pantaloons. It was a huge store, and everything- EVERYTHING was available in that shop. She told me to roam around and pick out anything that I wanted, as a present from her. I looked for about half an hour, but I couldn't find anything worth buying.
Then I came across this shelf full of diaries. And right in front of that shelf, on the floor, lay a cute little pink thing which looked a lot like a book.
I picked it up and tried to make something of it. Then I realised it was a diary. I tried to open it, but I couldn't, because it was locked. On the cover was a picture of a girl with long auburn hair and round blue eyes. The diary said that her name was 'Coke girl'. I fell in love with it instantly. I ran up to my grandmother and told her that I wanted to buy it.
She stared at the diary, then stared at me, frowned, and finally gave in. The counter guy smiled sweetly at me and handed me the keys to open it up.
I came back to Delhi, put the diary somewhere in between the pile of books on my desk, and forgot about it.

A few years later, when we moved house, I was sorting my things out. Out came that diary from the huge pile of books- brand new, untouched, unused and still as appealing to me as it was years ago. That's when I decided to start using it.
So that's what I did. I used to make entries in it whenever I found the time. But I didn't write much. I didn't have much to write. I found myself forgetting about it every month. Pretty soon, it got buried under another pile of books that I had read and was never going to look at again.
Two years ago, when I was twelve, I found it again while rearranging my bookshelves. At that time, I felt an odd sense of relief at the sight of the diary. Since then, I started using it again. I used to put it in my schoolbag sometimes, or under my pillow at night, and when I knew nobody was around, I'd unlock it and write about my life and my problems the way I never could discuss them with anybody else. 'Coke girl' became my best friend.

Last year, I was forced to part with it. It ran out of pages. It was a grieving moment for me. I carefully locked it up and put in in a safe place. I knew my parents might find it one day, but it wouldn't matter because only I had the key. I didn't expect life to be any different after that.
But I realised I was wrong. I realised that I was more dependent on the diary than I had ever been on anybody else. I was getting tired of locking up all my feelings inside me, never being able to share my problems with anybody, never being able to cry my heart out even in my own home, never having a chance to let it all out- all the hurt, the anger, the hatred, the pain.
Then I lost my best friend. he stopped talking to me. And it started killing me. So I stopped talking to everybody else. Without any rhyme or reason, I started shutting everybody out. They didn't make me happy; nothing made me happy anymore. What was I to do? I changed so much. I started hating my old friends, I stopped caring about anybody else, I became mean. And they all started hating me.
I didn't mind. I didn't care what they thought of me anymore- it wasn't their place to decide whether I was a nice person or not. Who were they kidding? They didn't even know me. They still don't.
But I didn't have a lock-and-key diary to express any of that. I could NOT use anything else, because I do NOT trust my parents. I am a suspicious person. I can't help it.
So I started an online diary. And in that, I wrote everything I would've written in my personal diary. I was brutally honest. Only, I told one person about it and trusted her to keep it a secret. Obviously, she told her friends. And everybody could read it. I had written a lot about people in my life. And this one bitch who thinks the world of herself took it personally, went on to pick a fight with me in public, went up to her friends and showed EVERYBODY (even those who had not seen it before) the blog, saying that I 'wanted to make her sound like a villain.'
Dude, grow up. My world doesn't revolve around you. I have better things to do than make you sound like a villain in front of the whole world.
The result of which was that I had to delete it. And it started eating me up again inside. I wasn't able to convince my parents about ordering a diary off Flipkart. I looked in every single store in Delhi and whatever other city I went to. I couldn't find a notebook with a lock.
SO yesterday, I went ahead and did it on my own. I ordered a Lock and key diary off Flipkart. I gave them MY mobile number and MY email address. I confirmed the order. When it finally gets delivered to my doorstep in 14-21 days, I will use MY own savings to pay them off. (Yes, it's expensive.)
But hey, I am in a desperate situation and I needed to do something about it before it killed me. So there.
I'm getting another lock-and-key diary in less than thirty days. To hell with the rest of the world. It's my turn to be selfish now.

2012... So Far, Not So Good.

I'm trying to keep a straight face. I'm trying very hard not to cry. I ball my hands into fists against my waist, fighting the urge to shout back, because I know that if I fight, she would scream even more. That's what she is like, my mother. Short-tempered and melodramatic.
Silently, I stare at the open book lying on the bed; The Iron Knight is one of the best post-apocalyptic books I've come across in 2011. I don't feel like letting go of the book, but I have no choice. My parents are yelling at me just because I have been reading continuously throughout the day.

Is that it?
Of course not.

I have been reading continuously for the last three days, and ever since my winter vacation started (Friday, the thirtieth of December), I have not touched my schoolbooks so far. Moreover, I'm not reading classics. I've been reading about Faeries. That's unacceptable, isn't it?

Hesitantly, I shut the book and hand it over to my mother. She opens it and rips a page out from the book. She does it because that book is not my possession. I borrowed it from a friend.
I am shocked, but only for a fraction of a second.
Then she starts slapping me. Two slaps on my left cheek. Three on the other. One more on left cheek.
It hurts, but not that much. I realise I can't feel anything else. I look at her face in front of me. She is angry. She's still yelling.
But I can't hear anything.

The next thing I know, I'm being dragged outside the house by her. She slams the door in my face.
And I stand there for a long time.

Fifteen Minutes later
I'm sitting inside the bathroom. I can't go out. Not again. I don't wanna see that woman's face.
It was my father who brought me back inside. He helped calm my mother down. He is angry- very angry- but he is not being too hard on me.

I don't know how long I've been sitting here. I've lost track of time. I go back in my mind to how it all started. I'm trying to remember what made her angry.
Oh right, I was reading a book.
A single tear falls on my lap, followed by other teardrops. I realise I'm crying.
I wipe my face rigorously. I cannot be so weak. But it hurts. There's a stinging sensation on my jawline. I look in to the mirror to see what it is.
It's a cut. There's a tiny speck of blood oozing out.
How did that happen? I wonder.
Oh yeah, she slapped me.

I clean it up with a towel. I cannot let her see it.
I gently wash my face and wait until my eyes are normal again.
Then I take a deep breath and walk out of the bathroom.

Maybe she'll scream again. Maybe she'll hit me more. Does it matter? She's taken the book.
Only four years. And I never have to see them again. never.

The Beginning

Hello there.
My name is Vanilla.
Actually, it isn't. But I don't want you to know my actual name. So, Vanilla should be fine for all of you.

I m fourteen years old. I am a girl. And I live in New Delhi, India.

I lead an extremely normal life. I live with my parents in a small apartment in a stupid area called Kalkaji. I wake up early in the morning everyday, go to school, study, come back home and do the kind of things every regular teenager my age would do. Oh yeah, and I have a stuffed toy for a brother.

But you see, my life isn't as normal as it would seem. That is because I am a half-breed faery.


Relax, I was just kidding. I thrive on Fiction-Fantasy novels and Romance novels, and that's mainly because that kind of excitement is something which I'll never find in real life.
What I meant to say was that I have issues. Not serious ones. Psychological ones. I mean, not serious psychological issues either. It's just that I'm sort of going through an emotional breakdown since a few months ago, and I'm at a point in life when I really think I need a psychologist. I could sit inside an empty room with a stranger and just TALK about myself for hours. I know I need to unwind. I need it desperately.

So I decided that this was the place I could do that. I love to write about everything. And this is a great place to open up.

I shall write about myself. I shall write about how I feel about everything in the world. I shall write about those few things and people in the world thaat I can't live without. I shall write about my hopes, my desires and my dreams. And I shall wish that in the end, things turn out right for me.

There has to be some advantage of the million mistakes I made in the recent past. They have taught me a lot. But they have not taught me to stop daydreaming. At least, not yet. And until then, I shall be free.