A nicer way to give the middle finger, I suppose.

So many times I think I'll write about certain things that bother me. But every single time there's always that thing where I imagine at least one person rolling their eyes and going "Oh my God, she needs to stop whining". Or the person I'm slyly writing about to say "It's a good thing I got rid of her when I did", so I never really end up expressing about it.

To write here is not about judging anybody, it's really about purging (like I've mentioned so many times before). I'm not trying to say that I'm right or not. But there's no harm in saying it like I like it, right? If I'm disturbed due to something YOU said or did, I should be able to talk about it without feeling like I'M being judged, in my own space.

I'm very accommodating of other people - their whims and fancies, their desires, their orders, their lifestyle, their expectations from me. And quite frankly, I've started to get extremely irritated by it. I'm never the one to spew poison but this is just getting too much. I don't see the point in raising my blood pressure over it any more. I go out of my way, time and again, to make people happy because I love them and all they do is disappoint me. When you care about them, they turn around and go "I never asked you to do that!". The least you can do is acknowledge somebody's effort, not deride them for it. So much so I've been craving to keep a pet, so maybe I'll get some love back, even if it's conditional.

This time, I'm NOT going to walk away quietly. I swear to God, I will break your balls and do everything in my power to make sure you don't mess with me again. Just get the fuck out of my life and take your two cents of disrespect with you, because "I never asked you to do that!". I wish someday someone comes around and hurts you the same way or worse (All hail Schadenfreude). Oh how I wish it were me, but I don't seem to have that kind of effect on you.

If you think this post is about you, it probably is. 

FUCK YOUR BLOG! Vs FUCK, YOUR BLOG!

Ayyo long time.

Dropped in to say hi, was wondering if the link had expired. Have no theme for you today, just gonna ramble along. I should be working right now but there's so much going on in my head I thought maybe a blog-vomit would help.

So yadi yada I've moved to Bombay. New job, new life, new home, a little fatter me (The cupcakes in this city are mindblowing)

How's it going? Tell me fun stuff. Tell me happy stuff. God knows I need it. Life is great though. Little bored today but can't complain. I miss my piano, miss her a lot. Every now and then my fingers keep searching for her, and then it makes me sad to not find her around. Cuz when she's there, and after spending a few minutes with her, I feel like I had a long chat with a girlfriend about everything that's bothering me. I cry in private, I cry freely, I cry with joy. Must make efforts to get her to this city. Pronto.

Throat was also out of commission for a little over a month, getting better now. Vocals are coming out all flat but still not completely out of key. Haven't practised in over 3 months so no surprises there. Fear has taken over. I don't know where my next note will land. Very disconcerting. Love is fading slowly. Why is love fading? There needs to be something...one thing that I love passionately still. What's the difference between the next person and me if that doesn't remain?

Phone also left me bereft. Gone for repair. Handicapped every which way, do you see?

But I'm fine. I always am. Things get better. They always do.

P.S: Tell me...what do you wish you never fall out of love with? Living or inanimate, anything. Talk to me.

I don't know if this makes any sense at all to you - the weird freaky musician love

Today I was at the Norah Jones concert and I was constantly trying to observe this friend who's a huge fan. I was trying to imagine how she must be feeling when Norah was yet to arrive. Then I remembered the time I went to watch Incubus in concert.

Prior to the concert I thought I was gonna cry my eyes out, faint, cut my hand and write Brandon's name and all. But even on my way to the venue, I just wasn't quite getting there. I wanted to feel something - jitters, overwhelming emotions - but majorly I was just excited to fulfill what I set out to do.

Then I got to that very second when the band came on stage. Nothing. I had a smile on my face like any normal fan would. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to react. Suddenly it felt like I had something to prove. Like my 6 inch heels that I wore to the concert (I didn't want to be disadvantaged for the view cuz I'm short) or my knocked out spectacles or my high temperature or my spending thousands and thousands of rupees to get to Malaysia had to culminate in some proof of accomplishment, a miracle, a gift from God for which I'll always be thankful.

Instead, I sang to every song. Every word, while being pushed around to the point of having bruises on my body till a week later. The smile never left my face as I watched Mike looking all nerdy with his periodic table T-shirt, playing the most badass guitars, or Jose with his naughty childlike little-drummer-boy vibe, Chris K coyly dishing out the most ridiculous samples, Ben supporting Brandon with a mean bass and backup vocals AND Brandon, looking like a picture of serenity, with the genuinity of child and the words of a mad-wise man. And when the entire hall was reverberating with about 10,000 people singing Drive altogether, I was floating in a reverie, the only reason why I even believed it was reality was because I video recorded it.

They were not somebody I flew down and paid to watch. They were my family. In my mind, I had talked to them, laughed with them, hugged them a million times, cried with them, wished them well in their personal lives and thanked them for existing. You never even realize how much time you've invested into people who don't even know you. But they do know you. When they look into the crowd, and you think they're looking straight at you, you know they know you. Am I making any sense?

I'm their great fan. I'm one of their many great fans. There's nothing more beautiful than admiring someone to the point of obsession, as creepy as that may sound, than maybe getting together with people who share your obsession. We, on the innumerable Facebook groups, talk of Incubus as they were our best backstreet friends. Music seems coincidental. But music is the way we communicate. What would we be without music, obsessions and obsessions with music?

I'll never feel the way about Norah like my friend does. Hell, I'm not even sure if she feels about Norah the way I feel about Incubus. Because our love is so inexplicable, moreso private. So, I'm not sure I want to know. How the hell does it matter? I'll never understand it anyway.