Favorite 😍

roller coaster rides

When I was 15

They taught me in my physics class

About the law of conservation of energy

Energy is never destroyed,

I was told

It only changes from one form to another

5 years on from that day and I have learnt

Pain and energy

Work in strangely similar ways

Pain is the same

Or maybe

It is an energy too

Pain is never destroyed

(Maybe like energy it cannot be destroyed)

It just changes its shapes and auras

Sometimes it comes in the form of an unrequited love

A broken heart

A tragic separation

Heart wrenching betrayal by those you dearly loved

Sometimes it appears in the guise of poverty

Making life hard to sustain

Sometimes it knocks on our door as an illness, a disease or a malady

Crippling us of our energy

And at times it finds us as the emptiness in our chest

In the…

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Do You Ever?

roller coaster rides


Do you ever murmur my name while sipping your coffee and looking out the window of your room?

Do you ever remember my warm embrace on a cold evening when the waves of nostalgia take hold of you?

Do you ever want your head on my chest after a long hard day when you are so done with life?

Do you ever get overwhelmed with a burning desire in your chest to leave everything and run back to me?

Do you ever surrender to the flood of the memories and let pain take over your body and soul like a knight defeated in battle?

Do you ever tell them about those secret tears that roll down your face when its 2 am and you are missing me?

Do you ever whisper the pain that circulates in your veins like poison when someone plays my favorite song?

Do you ever write…

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In Case You’re Sad

Hey, kid.

Today was shitty. There was nothing particularly epic or eventful — no real moment that defined it, but there was a low, gray cloud that hung firmly over the whole thing. I was tired and everything was boring and the lady in TCS office was unspeakably awful and traffic was unreasonable and then dinner never happened. I just wanted the whole thing to be over from about 8AM on.

And then there was this article on my Facebook page. It was a beautiful young girl and she killed herself. And there was no amount of click-baiting that could get me to read it. Because I didn’t want to. I don’t ever want to. I don’t want to read about the ones who don’t make it, the ones whose sad becomes the only thing they know. Especially when they are young. So, so young.

So, like I was saying, today was shitty. Just because.

Today was also shitty because I was depressed. I hope that you see sunshine in every dark corner of the world, sweet boy, but I am also realistic. You come from a long line of world-class crazies, sads, and worriers, and the chances that you will emerge unscathed are not stoutly in your favour. I hope they are, but hope is a frivolity… But even if you do escape with a clear mind and a light heart, I still want for you to understand what it can be like.Because your compassion will fight the good fight. It might even save a friend one day.

For some of us the sun doesn’t always brighten the sky. We feel sad for reasons unknown or unseen, hopeless because we believe something the rest of the world cannot understand — maybe something that doesn’t even exist. There are days when — to me — there is no purpose, no reason, no motivation. My mind tells me things that I have no choice but to believe. I sometimes feel scared and sad. I forget that things pass, that the winds will shift and the seas will calm. In those moments, I am overwhelmed by the permanence of my darkness. I am convinced I have failed. I am nothing.

But I am always something. Though it may seem like a tiny pinprick of light, an illusion or trick of the mind, the belief that I am something — whether it be to me or someone — is enough to keep me walking forward. The feelings will pass. The darkness will subside. Nothing is permanent. Always remember, nothing is permanent.

If you every find yourself sad, remember that you are something. Visualize the tiniest point of light shining in the distant nothing and do not lose sight of it. Keep walking and waking until that tiny light becomes something — a new day, a friend, a hand, a doctor — something. Please, do not ever stop walking.

More importantly, remember that being sad is okay. Say something. Tell someone. There is no shame in being sad, scared, worried, or anxious. Always, always tell someone. And if someone tells you they are sad, make eye contact with them and then tell them how wonderful they are. Show them compassion and understanding. Imagine that you are their tiny pinprick of light. They are walking; walk with them.

I’ve learned something very valuable by writing things down: all the people you think are sane, all the people you think are perfect, all the people you think have it all together — they are scared too. We’re all trying to figure it out — the optimists, the pessimists, the hopeful ones, and the depressed ones. Even the Republicans.

If you one day find yourself depressed, whether it’s for a moment, a few days, or a battle that you fight always, I hope you find the courage to open up. I hope you find a reason to find a person (or a pill) to help you. The path doesn’t always get easier and there are times that the sun stays hidden for longer than you think you can hold on, but if we are only here this one time, and we only have this one chance, you deserve your turn. The world should be so lucky as to have you for as long as possible.

Be kind. Be happy.

Thanks to the Universe 

  Do you ever feel like you’re hanging on the hairy edge of crazy by one spun fibre?

Do you open your eyes at 3 a.m. — belly full of responsibly raised animals, organic veggies, coke or any energy drink and appropriately dark chocolate, with omega 3s and Chinese herbs coursing through your veins — and just feel bad, sad, pained and scared? Wrapped in cotton, wreathed in the scent of peonies, their slumped sensuous pink heads bobbing in the gentle breeze on the vanity?

Who do you think you are, to feel this malaise, this dull unhappiness in the midst of plenty? You, who have never known war, hunger, earthquaking tragedy — how do you justify your anxieties and agitations?

We all struggle, every one of us, with much of it — the turmoil of the mind, the insult of the modern world, the indelicacies of aging. We lurch and writhe through the various prescribed stages — childhood, school, adolescence, work, family, illness, aging, and death. But we can find paths, or tunnels, through it and we can conjure balms and spells to heal and help. We are clever and adaptable, most of us, and we build the scaffolding of relative sanity into our messy lives.

Some days, however, it seems that the universe just wants to pick a fight. In your bed, in the middle of the long night, it needles you with pain, doubt, worry, and want. It reminds you of your failures and asks why you haven’t fixed everyone else’s wagon yet. It pokes at your most sensitive spots, seeking a reaction. And, because you can’t fight with the universe — it’s absurd! — you poke someone near you. You pick your own fight, a fresh engagement, to vent the steam of the unseen thing. It will probably be about something like money or sex or work or food — no matter, the harangue begins and the universe just watches.

It watches your ugly handling of its challenge, with your small mind and your tiny clenched fists. Watches you stomp and stew and miss the grand point, the big picture, distracted as you are by the circus of your own creation.

I have always wished for the grace to roll with these punches, to stand straight and speak clearly in spite of the vague, humming confusion. I admire stoicism, sturdy silence, and no-nonsense practicality, though none of that describes me. It’s a game that ties me up in knots, but I keep swinging away.

And so, I will scrub the greasy stove, throw food on a fire. I will feed people who may or may not thank me, depending on their relationship with the universe today — again. I will put roses in the bathroom and climb on a bike, even knowing that the bottom of the hill will feel like crisis and I will barely make it to the top, legs screaming and lungs heaving, because I can coast down the other side and gulp the June view and the scented wind smacking me in my blessed face.

Maybe there are no roses without fear, no fire without pain. Maybe there’s no June without 3 a.m. and crisis. Maybe the flea market collection of trinkets and crap that the universe dumps in your lap every day will hold a gem or two.

Maybe it’s all worth it anyway — even though.