To My Supreme Power

source: clipart-library

 

You first came into my life fifteen years ago. I remember it quite well. We had just moved to a new city and I was devastated. The recognition, the friends, the confidence I’d built in my previous school was all going to be naught here. I had to start over from scratch, and it was the scariest thing.

 

And then my dad introduced you to me. I didn’t think much of you at first. I mean sure, I would spend some time with you now and then, casually telling you about my uninteresting daily life. But that was all the importance you had. I used to hold back from telling you too much, lest you turned out to be a snitch.

Choosing your Grey

src: vecteezy.com

In the chilling darkness of the theatre hall, we wait in suspense as the hero floats in the air before an unknown looming figure. We hold our breaths as the camera turns to reveal this figure, this gigantic, holy apparition of Lord Hanuman towering over our tiny hero, exuding a blinding light of brilliance.

I’m cocking my head, assessing the animation skills put into this apparition, when suddenly someone behind me screams out the most terrifying phrase I’ve heard in a while –

Just Another Speck in the Cosmos

src: pixabay

Hey you,

This may have been the quickest year we’ve had yet. It feels like only yesterday when I packed a year’s worth of life into five cartons and moved to a new city. It’s hard to believe that was twelve months ago. Moving places is always a romantic affair, don’t you think? The idea of leaving something behind and exploring something anew.

I’m not so sure what I’ve left behind. Maybe the crowd and the frenzy that came with it. Maybe even a bit of loneliness and hurt from my circle back there. But I do know what I’ve gained. A sense of calm. It’s only when the water is still that you get to see clearly.

Fainting into a Consciousness

Src: pixabay

Everything is blurry. There's a bright point of light in front of me. I stare at it blankly for a while, unable to form a coherent thought. There are drops of water sprinkled on my face, but I don't question it. It doesn't seem odd. Nothing seems odd, not even the dark blobs popping into my view, blocking the harsh rays of light. Blobs that look like heads. Like faces.

On a Curtained Balcony

 

Hey you,

It’s been almost a year since we moved away from home. Almost a year since I put up those red curtains for my balcony doors. That was all the decoration I could manage for my room, except for the aloe vera sulking at me from my table. I know I forget about its existence most of the time, but it pretty much takes care of itself. That was why I agreed to bring it over in the first place, mom was adamant.

Cherished and Forgotten

Source: pixabay.com

Vemödalen. 

The fear that everything has already been done. 

When I first came across this word I nodded it off, not giving it a second thought. Today it tails every thought in my mind, pulling back each one that wishes to break through and live a life of its own. It crushes them half-baked before I can put a sense to them, before I can give them space to grow into themselves. It mocks every feeble effort of theirs to be unique, to simply be their own self. It sniggers enough to deafen the little voice in them, wishing meekly to be heard.

A Mountain's Call

 

src: nicepng

On a freezing night, 6000 ft above the sea, our flashlights moved haphazardly from the tent. My numb fingers fumbled for the sleeping bag, craving its promised warmth. My tent-mate’s uneven breathing alternated with my own. For a moment her headlamp flashed on my face. I winced.

“Why are we doing this again?” she asks.