Roofies III: Roofrandom

So here I am, sitting on the roof again. I guess this is turning out to by kind of like my comfort paradise? Is there such a thing called a comfort paradise anyway? Because a place can be paradise, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's a place of comfort is it?

Okay fine, all these sexy hotels down south and in Udawalawe and stuff, you know, the hotels with the luxurious jacuzzi pools that massage your butt and the spas that give you dead-to-world-sleep massages? I mean you call those paradise and they certainly are comfortable but they aren't comfort if you know what I mean. Does that make any sense?

Anyway. Here I am on the roof, with my usual munchie. Well. Okay, it's isn't mango pickle or mango chutney. It is actually ambarella. Yeah ambarella. And NO, I am NOT eating it raw (blehh) because I hate it raw, but when my mother makes Ambarella curry, I simply CANNOT (the emphasis being on not) resist the allure of it. Okay so yeah, I stole a container full of Ambarella curry and I am seated here, eating it.

There's a really nice soft breeze circling the vicinity of my house by the way. It surprises me cause the past few days it has been so effing hot and I woke up halfway through the night and slept very restlessly afterward because I was sweating like a pig.

And what's up with that? About the sweating like a pig thing? Do pigs sweat? I guess they do have cooling mechanisms like humans since they are mammals too.. but I guess it's more of releasing heat? But then all mammals should be able do that right? All mammals are exothermic? So if all mammals are exothermic, why do we use the term "sweating like a pig?" Isn't that a subjective term? I mean, if pigs were able to effectively communicate with humans, we might even have court cases for using that term. Like, why can't we say "sweat like a bat" or "sweat like a cat" or something? They're mammals too? Although we can't say "sweat like a crocodile because crocs are reptilians. And talking about the pigs being civilized; there pigs who in comparison to certain humans are much more well behaved and civilized. Seriously, humans should be sub-classified under the titles civilized, somewhat civilized and complete animal.

I was thinking about G-strings earlier. They're a real pain in the butt (no pun intended). Yeah so guys say they're sexy and yadda yadda but seriously, I feel SO naked when I wear them and it's really uncomfortable at times, specially the lace ones. The lace ones tend to roll up between your butt cheeks and it becomes really uncomfortable then. Sometime I really feel like "screw the effing panty lines, comfort over style for me" but then in some cases, like in official stuff, I guess you have no choice?

MUN is this weekend. I am seriously surprised at myself because I actually spoke and entertained Points of Information. Not that I'm terrified of public speaking or whatever, but it's still kinda... y' know.. AND OMG! Edward Cullen is in my committee!

Yes! Edward Cullen!

Okay let me explain.

I'm not one of those Twilight addicted fucktards okay? I hate the book. I honestly do. I hate the movies even more. Seriously, Twilight comes NO-fucking-where close to Harry Potter or Lord of The Rings. Anyway. So I read Twilight (obviously I have to read it to decide whether I like it DUH) and it's like whenever you read a book with fictional characters in it, you have your own vision-slash-idea-slash-picture as to what each character looks like right? Like in your mind's eye, you have a personal picture (and I did NOT mean that in a perverted sense). Well, there's this guy, the first time I saw him, the words Edward Cullen flashed across my mind in big, bold PURPLE block capitals. And I tell you, he is VERY easy on the eyes.. and he has a marvellous behind..mmmmm.

Ahem. Anyway. 

So yeah.. that's what's been happening lately. Other than that, some male homophobic drama which I do not wish to relate because it is far too tiresome. Ah males! How you feminine you are! 

Currently I am lusting after a pair of Green shoes I saw at Mondy. They're SO gorgeous, made out if this delicate olive Green satiny material with a one-inch heel and a buckle ankle back strap. It's open to and it has these cute criss cross arrangement of straps over the toes. It's GORGEOUS. Gosh. I want it so bad.

Life goes on... here I sit and I eat my ambarella. Akki came and she went back and I really miss her, more than I missed her last time. Over the holidays we got really really close and I shared a lot with her. I realised that even though in writing I am emotional, in real life I hardly let people see me cry and stuff. I have Woman of Steel facade. But then when it's nighttime and I'm lonely I gush out my tears like the freaking Niagara. Hmm.

I guess this is a more of a serious note that rest because I am coming to realise that fact that I'm leaving school in May. Sigh, where did all that time go? I'll miss my friends SO much! Specially Thami and Rush. Theja I hardly see so it's all right. I really am looking forward to uni because I looked at the coursework and it really seemed interesting. But I'll really miss everything about this microscopic, hot, judgmental island which I call home. 

I feel lucky. Yeah. I have the BEST best friend anyone could ever have. Theja is the most awesomest person (is awesomest a word? =/ ). It's like, I've been having all these crappy problems and the moment I talk to him, everything seems fine, even for those few minutes and I forget everything and he cracks me up so much. I rrally miss the guy though, I haven't seen him so long. And Thami. Oh gosh she's been an angel the past few days when the going got tough. I really can't.. well, I don't know what to think (maybe because my mouth is having orgasms because of the ambarella I'm eating) but yeah.. *speechless*

Damn. I love them both. ♥

"Find out games you don't wanna play

You are, the only one that needs to know

I'll keep you my dirty little secret"

- All American Rejects

Spectrum: The Claret Carpeted Street

There was smoke everywhere. The continuous gun-shots were fired at a heart beat pace. People were screaming, people were dead and dying all over the street. People were running everywhere and they fell dead as they tried to flee the violence that was upon them. Sadists, blood thirsty sadists, killing off humans for no solid reason.

In the midst of all this, a twelve year old boy sat, huddled in the shadow of a wreckage of a car that was partially in ashes. The street around him was in rubble and ruin. His grimy, black-smudged face was obscured by his small, dirt covered hands while tear tracks glistened from the corner of his soft brown eyes and down his bony cheek. His clothes were blackened with smoke and an array of stains. His legs were popped up in front of him, the blue-denim torn at the knees and caked with a small splatter of blood displaying the result of a very recent fall. He was wishing for his parents, who he had not seen for nearly a day. His elder brother and sister were long gone too; they had gone to find the whereabouts of their parents, and he, the youngest, was left alone in a lonely flat above a street shop when the firing had started. The street was teeming with people both forever still or standing and fighting. The stench of death and the salt-rust smell of blood clouded his brains while the smoke of the burning buildings choked him, burning his throat and eyes. The street and its once handsome shops were an inferno and they charred away into black smoke and black dust in front of his eyes. The flames devoured shops and houses that had once been displays of delicious sweets, trendy clothes and shelters of loving families and friendly people.

Dead bodies were scattered and he watched people burning alive, the smell of charred flesh making the bottom of his stomach convulse in horror and disgust. Blood was all around him, pooling rich-red under the gunned down mangled bodies like carpets of the deepest burgundy, splattered like paint on walls and shattered windows while at his feet, shards of glass were scattered like high cut diamond. His shut his eyes and covered his ears with his blackened hands, trying to block this nightmare from his thoughts. The noise of the explosions and the fatal screams were at a fever pitch. He thought of his family and he wondered what had become of them. He tried to drive the demons out, the gory beasts that attacked his young mind, scarring it with their sadistic actions, he was trying to shut them out but all was of no avail.

He remembered his family and a tear fell down his face. He thought of his mother and in his mind, he saw her soft, beautiful face and long dark hair and from a sane corner of his mind then sprung a memory of his mother singing a song to him. A song she always sang to him and his brother and his sister when they were sad. Remembering her words, he began to sing to himself. To drive the horrendous scene around him away, to tune it out, he sang her song. The fighter planes flew overhead, the guns fired continuously and he sang her song, tears running down his face because he wanted to shut it all out.

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me. Speaking words of wisdom let it be

The explosions increased in sound and the screams increased in frequency. He kept singing to himself, remembering those times of his life that made him truly glad for living. Now, it seemed like memories out of another person’s life. The happy times he remembered seemed unreal amidst this war and this hate. Yet they were there, still and frozen in time, always to be reckoned with as a happy recollection.

He remembered how his father picked him up and flung him around, pretending that he was a flying a plane until he was screaming in delight. He remembered one time when his brother had taught him to carve animals out of driftwood bark and they had made a whole family of bears with the driftwood. The memories of his sister playing the large, gleaming black piano with him came to him in a rush and then saw his mother in his memory, dressed in her large yellow apron, piping icing onto cookies while him and his sibling decorated the with their father popping cookies into his mouth when he thought they weren’t looking. The memory made him smile. The rush of colour and vitality in his memories were overwhelming in the black and grey setting he was now in. They shone strong and bright against the dull, muted greys of the hate and sadism that surrounded him. As the memories rushed on in his head and his lips sang the song, the blur of the recollection was a rapidly moving, vivid film-reel of images, some moving some frozen forever in time. He watched them, and in his is young soul, he was thankful for the happiness he had had for he wasn’t certain of living longer under the situation. 

His eyes flew open when something fell on the ground next to him. He saw the body of a wounded, battle-worn soldier, a gunshot wound in his leg and arm, his uniform covered in blood and grime, and his faced gashed and bleeding, his hands shaking in uncontrollable pain, life slowly bleeding out of him. A fallen hero. He watched in horror as the blood dripped out of the soldier’s wounds and his body tremored on the street. The boy, in a selfless moment of desperate empathy reached out to the soldier’s large  hand and covered it with both of his, holding it tightly, to trying to tell him that it was alright and showing him that he’s there, next to his battered body, keeping him alive for heroes like him were not meant to die. Maybe the soldier understood, because he smiled at the boy and breathed free for after what might have been years and held on to the small boy’s hand. The boy closed his eyes, tears dripping down his nose, and sang his mother’s song again,  and amidst the hate and violence of the war stricken street, both the man and boy both found a moment of peace and serenity in their minds as they shut all other things out.

There will be an answer, let it be

Roofies II: Roofie Addiction

I'm having a Zen moment.

It's like what.... some ungodly hour and... wait, let me check.. oh it's 2.06 am, so it's not ungodly at ALL by my standards. No, I am not being sarcastic.

Or am I?

Sometime this excessive use of sarcasm confuses my own very nimble mind. Being overly cynical has it's sife effects you know... Like the sarcasm gets sort of.... embedded into your veins (or wherever the hell it is) like excessive intake of chocolate leaves one in an all time high you know? And then you can't get rid of it, cause just as the after effects start to hit and it slowly runs out of your system, you ingest more chocolate and it's hits you again. Damn, it hits you.

Is it just my perverted mind or did the last line sound wrong?

Anyway, it is so with sarcasm. It's like a drug you know. Incidentally incase you're wondering where I am at the moment. Well, I AM on our lovely blue (and Green) planet and I AM at home and yes, you guessed it right, I am on the roof.

It's a Zen night. Quite peaceful if I do say so myself and there are hundred thousand gazillion stars scattered on the night sky.

Okay, I lied. I see like 50-100 stars artfully scattered and here I am, lying on my back, twisting my neck this way and that, trying to spot Big Dick. Big Dick is the star that my perverted eyes's spotted back at the pool side of the hotel in Sigiriya in July, when Rakkhitha aiyya, akki, Danishka and I were leaning back on deck chairs and starin at the sky. Now come on, I'm a teenager and I have hormornal hyperdrives which leads to a constant state of perverseness and well, we were all staring at the night sky when I saw a pattern of stars of that looked incredibly like a half erect male sex organ. I didn't say anything at first, but then I realise it wasn't me being horny, it actually was shaped like this, so I confided in Danishka of my discovery and he saw what I saw as well, and we wanted to confirm my observation further, so we mentioned it to Rakkhitha aiyya and akki and they agreed! And we promptly christened the constellation Big Dick.

And apparently, Big Dick can ONLY be seen from Sigiriya. Elusive bunch of stars! Hmpf. But yes, I am trying every darndest thing to get a glimpse of Big D, but all I see is boring Orion's belt and the scorpion. Sigh.

Sadly, I have no mango pickle today to munch on. So instead I grabbed a spoon and a big jar of mango

 chutney.

I recently took a test (don't ask me where) about what mental disorder(s) I might possibly be having. I was pretty convinced that I had Bipolar disorder cause, you know, I have weird mood swings, (albeit that maybe a result of WAY too much chocolate ingestion) but then, the test result was that I had ADHD. And then I Googled ADHD and now I think it's possible that I habd ADHD AND Bipolar. Does that mean I have two confirmed mental illnesses?

Hmm. Why am I not surprised? I always knew that my brain had WAY more capacity than anyone else gave it credit for! Who knew that it had the capacity of withold not ONE mental disorder, but a grand total of TWO?

Damn.

You know, this is more proof that I am God. Cause only God can have two mental illnesses and still be able to function at the pace that I am functioning at cause I mean, what sort of person an have ADHD AND Bipolar AND climb a roof AND eat MD Mango Chutney straight out of the bottle with a soup spoon AND remember all the lyrics of I Know What I Am by Band of Skulls and AND Twenty One Guns by Greenday AND So MANY Beatles songs AND not to mention all those Baila songs?

I'll tell you whom: God.

Yes, I am God, and here it is, proof. Wall, maybe not THE God, but some kind of higher being!

Argh, duck. I have to finish this chutney. And play my SEXY ASS air guitar.

Toodles.

" Keep looking in the locker cause you don’t know yet,
But I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be " 

- Band of Skulls 

Ode to Ferrero Rocher

Ferrero Rocher, Oh chocolate cream
Melts in your mouth like a chocolate dream
Layers of milky chocolate wrapped inside
If the factory shuts down, I will suicide

Walnut chunks in chocolate so fine
Eating so many, it feels like a crime
Wrapped in gold paper, rip it off quick
Mouth of chocolate, divine and thick

Every mouthful, a frenzied bite
Makes me head feel giddy and light
Waves of chocolate simply flowing
If heaven has doesn’t have it, I ain’t going

Boxes and wrappers all over the floor
Munching Ferrero Rocher behind locked doors
Heaven on earth, oh blissful delight
The God of Chocolate has blessed my diet

Showering the world in a chocolate kiss
Oh, Ferrero, its perpetual bliss
Ferrero Rocher, so creamy and fine
Oooh Ferrero Rocher, you?re all mine!

Keep on munching, end up high
Lost in chocolate dreams, I fly
In comes my mother and yanks it away
She took my Heaven! Oh, she will pay

"Enough of this nonsense" she says to me
She takes the chocolates and takes her leave
My tears start to fall so hard and fast
My chocolates becomes a thing of the past

The Name in the Sand

The name in the sand will not last

The waves come rolling high and fast

And washes all the lines away

It will be just another day

The foamy waves, the sky so blue

Slowly fades into memory true

Where sky meets the horizon vast

Melts into the distance, soft and fast

The day will fade and the night will come

And soon those memories under the sun

Will be fading whispers and shadows old

The setting sun glowing like molten gold

One step forth on the sandy shore

The voices, those voices! They haunt no more

Looking back, see the waves crash down

A sweet, melodious, haunting sound

The name in the sand will not last

The waves come rolling high and fast

Fading into eternity forever more

Those wonderful memories let loose, they go

The name in the sand did not last

The waves came rolling high and fast

And the footprints that were left behind

Were just footprints in the sands of time

Broken

Tears cascading down her pretty face
Amidst boxes full of clothes and lace
As I stand there, she sits and cries
I try to cheer her with a few white lies
What is the matter? I do not know
How do I know why she's crying so?
She's sitting there, sobbing her poor heart out
Something is very wrong, without a doubt
I sit by her side and hold her hand
But honestly, I really don't understand
So I open my mouth to say a word or two
And I end up staring at my shoe
I shake my head and wonder why
What terrible thing is making her cry
Tears are falling, hard and fast
I want to do something so this doesn't last
I paced the room, up and down
I stared at her with a little frown
Contemplating, thinking hard again
I wondered what was causing her so much pain
So then I went down on my knees
And asked "What's wrong? Tell me please"
She looked at me with red rimmed eyes
But, yet, I still couldn't realize
What was wrong, again I asked
And handed her some tea in a thermos flask
She sipped the tea while she sat on the bed
She breathed slowly and then she said
"Please don't get mad, don't rant and rail
The truth is... well.. I broke a nail"

Addiction

I say addiction. You say fight it. Addiction can be conquered.

However strong your addiction is, somehow, humans have the will power to fight it.

Drugs?

Quit them.

Alcohol?

Give it up.

Pornography?

Get over it.

Yes, it does seem that addiction can be countered. Addictions. They take control of your life for some time, weeks, days, years. Yet, you can fight it. Resist it. Challenge it and get your life back on track.

But what if your form of addiction is a person? A living breathing human? Can you fight it then? Can you conquer it?

As long as that person takes up space in the most vital organ of your body, the heart, that person is an addiction. Maybe even a life time addiction.

What do you do when the way he says your name is an addiction? What do you do when his smile acts faster than marijuana, to affect your brain?

Why is that even the touch of his hand is an addiction? The way he looks at you, the turn of his head, his sparkling eyes, his hold on your hand...

When they are all addictions, what do you do?

Could you fight it?

Could you deny that longing in your body?

Can you ignore his intoxicating smell?

Can you shield yourself

from the rush of adrenaline in

your system when he kisses you?

Could you confront the feeling of addictive bliss when his mouth is moving against yours?

Is it possible

to be immune to the immeasurable pleasure he gives you when he kisses your neck? Tell me, can you fight it?

What do you do when the object of your addiction is a person? Can you get over it? Where in the world do you find rehab for addiction to a person? How can you love him with all your heart and never feel like you love him enough? How is it that you will ward off the serene calm he gives you when he's around?

How can you resist it?

How could stop your addiction, not indulge in it when he loves you more than anything? You tell me, can you stop it?

I say addiction. Do you still say fight it?

Love and Hate?

Isn't it such a paradox that we don't love to be hated, but we love to hate? We live in a strange world. We hate to be hated, but we love to hate. Love and hate. Such polar opposites. It intrigues me. The Universe; this unending expanse of unfathomable glory that burst forth was created in such a way that each thing had an opposite.

Light had darkness. Hell had heaven. Man had woman. Bitter had sweet. Superman had Lex Luthor and Harry Potter had Voldemort. We live in a world of opposites. And like all opposites, one becomes redundant when the other ceases to exist. The is no good without bad. No heaven without hell. No thin without fat.

Likewise, no love without hate. Without hate, love cannot exist. Without love, hate cannot exist. Isn't it strange?
We can hate a person with a passion and yet we humans are capable of loving a person just as much. We are supposed to spread love, not hate. That is the good thing to do. But without hate, what would happen to each personal definition of love? How would we know what love is if we didn't know what hate felt like?

Similarly, how would we know what hate is if love didn't exist? How would we know? How would we know what light is if darkness didn't exist? It works both ways. One end of an opposite cannot exist alone, just like you can't clap with one hand. It truly is a strange world. There will surely be no balance.

This is why utopia cannot exist. Because what's happiness without sorrow? How would we recognize happiness if we haven't felt sorrow? How would we identify sorrow if we haven't experienced happiness? This is true to all paradoxes. This is the simple rule of opposites. One cannot exist without the other. It's a fact.


There should always be some hate to understand love and some love to understand hate.

Love and hate are an old married couple without a divorce policy and share inextricable ties. Each time you say that you love a person, you have hated someone or is still hating someone to know that you love the other person. And the deeper your love, the stronger the hate.

We learn to hate from love and we learn to love from hate.

Love and hate: They cannot exist without each other

Reflections

From a cracked old mirror, what I see
Is my old tired face, smiling at me

The frame is tarnished, the glass is cracked
As I go to my past, reminiscing back

From a new shiny mirror, on the wall
In the hands of a lady, young and tall

Was my baby self, with fat little feet
Covered in a soft, white, cotton sheet

From a mirror that hung for eight long years
I see a child with so many fears

The beautiful smile still etched upon
From the mirror that hung since I was born

From a mirror with a slightly aged frame
I see my young face, and it's not the same

A rebellious teenager stares at me
Black hair, brown eyes, a pout, I see

An older mirror, but yet the same one
Reflects the rays of the golden sun

As I stand in front, wedded in white
I see myself in a whole new light

The mirror gets older, as I too age
My life book opens at a brand new page

I see my baby son in my arms
From the mirror that reflects all the calm

The mirror with the glass, beginning to crack
Reflects my children with large back packs

Going out to the world, far away
The mirror seems to preserve each day

The age old mirror, since I was born
Hangs in its gilded frame, all alone

As my little grandchildren crowd around
And makes such a racket! Oh what a sound!

The time is passing, it has nearly gone out
The mirror reflected all, without a doubt

As life passed by, the mirror so clear
Reflected my smiles, my laughs and tears

And from a cracked old mirror, now I see
Is a life well spent, smiling at me

The Little Things

"The little things you do to me are taking me over".

Muted and far off, Colbie Caillat sings in the background. A softly strumming guitar. The line itself conveys these unexplainable things. Yes, it's all made up of little things, some good, some bad, but together makes something so beautiful.

Maybe it's one text message beeping its heart out. Or maybe it's the sweet words in the text message itself. Or maybe it's those little arguments. You know, the petty little fights. The jealous insecurities. Or maybe it's the reassurance to those insecurities. Maybe it's the kisses. Or maybe it's when we hold hands. Or maybe it's the hugs. It could be the stupid jokes we make. It could be something. It could be anything. It could be everything.

I am lucky. I am blessed. I am happy. I am loved. I am dreaming. I am smiling. Slowly, traveling to those three happy hours. Those golden three hours. The one hundred and eighty minutes of happiness. The ten thousand eight hundred seconds of wordless, priceless, expressive, pure love. The soft kisses on my forehead and neck that carried so much of love. The hugs that conveyed so much of joy and the deep connection of hearts and souls. The wondrous utter bliss of every minute, second and millisecond we were together.

Or maybe it's just the way you looked at me.

Every little action, every everyday word magnified a thousand million times. The splendid golden rays of the sun streaming in through the open window, highlighting our hands and faces like a pools of molten gold dancing in a bubbling brook. Like being trapped in an encasement full of enchanted magic fairy dust.

Maybe it's the way you held my hand the whole time. Maybe it was the way you kept giving those secret smiles of yours. Maybe it was how your hands wrapped around me with room to spare. Or was it the way you said I smelt like strawberries?

The perfect time, the perfect place. The rich smell of brewing coffee. The warmth of your skin against mine. All our favorite songs playing in the background. The feel of soft kisses on my forehead and lips. The overwhelming sense of strange exhilaration. The breaths we drew together in contented sighs.

Yes, it was all made up of little things. A hundred million different little things, like puzzle pieces, glued together in amazing balance that make the perfect moment so imperfectly beautiful and complete. Was it the way you said that you love me? Maybe it was the way you whispered in my ear. Or maybe it was the way our eyes found each other, our hands fit together perfectly with each other and our hearts beat in a timeless, perfect rhythm.

"The little things you do to me are taking me over"