Pretty Little Death

Tag: gossip

  • Hold on/me

    For the past three weeks, words have failed me.

    So I did what every Tamil eventually does when language falls short. I turned to Sangam poetry.

    Perhaps this can say what I have been trying to.

    Translation and my thoughts are at the end.

    குறுந்தொகை 40

    யாயும் ஞாயும் யாராகியரோ?

    எந்தையும் நுந்தையும் எம்முறைக் கேளிர்?

    யானும் நீயும் எவ்வழி அறிதும்?

    செம்புலப் பெயல் நீர் போல
    அன்புடை நெஞ்சம் தாம் கலந்தனவே.

    Translation:

    What are you and I to each other?

    What relation is my mother to yours, and your mother to mine?

    How did you and I ever come to know one another?

    Like rainwater falling upon red earth, our loving hearts have mingled and become one.

    My thoughts

    There is a reason this poem still finds people after all these years. It understands something I have never quite found the words for.

    Sometimes, people just happen to us.

    They are not ours. They do not come from where we come from.

    There is no reason for them to matter as much as they do. And yet, they do.

    Two people, born into different families, living entirely separate lives, somehow meet and feel as though they have known each other for much longer than a lifetime permits.

    “Like rain on red earth.”

    I think about that line often.
    Because once the rain falls, can you really ask the earth to give it back?

    Maybe that is why some people never quite leave us. Not because we are unwilling to move on, but because somewhere along the way, they became a part of us and we, a part of them.

    Kurunthogai 40 isn’t trying to explain love.

    It is simply acknowledging that some things were always going to happen.

    And perhaps that is the saddest thing of all. That some people are written into our lives in ink, even if they were never meant to stay.

  • Protected: Rant: Work is a sh!tshow with processes that have to go

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  • Shut it.

    How do you tell someone to stop yelling at you? Do you yell back or do you go silent… do you simply walk away or do you throw water from your mug on their face?

    There’s no right answer, and it really depends on who’s yelling and who’s on the receiving end of that verbal noise pollution.

    It also depends on the situation’s potential to turn more violent.

    It’s never fair, especially to anyone who’s neurodivergent, to be on the receiving end of that yelling.

    Picture all that over-stimulation while being non-verbal… how unfair is it to be left defenseless, with a head full of thoughts, a heart full of pain and confusion?

    Whatever the disagreement, there are so many other ways to sort things out.

    Humans who are not speech-impaired and/or non-verbal can always talk things out.

    How lucky one must be to never battle being non-verbal and have every ability required to simply shout their point at someone else?

    Well, to such people, I’ll say one thing.

    Why should anyone be subjected to your abuse and have to turn into another version of a yelling you just to stop your negativity?

    Shut it.

  • This Is Not Fan Fiction.

    Random pic ✅️⬆️ Random caption ✅️➡️ And I’d give up forever to touch you

    But first, the sidebar you didn’t ask for.

    Yesterday, I realised I was battling a silent addiction.

    I sat in the office for a good five minutes before everything started feeling deafeningly louder — the silence, the loneliness, the coldness of the room.

    Without noticing, I found myself reaching into my bag for my earphones.

    My hands trembled with an urgency that felt almost ridiculous, like a bobblehead bobbing on the dashboard of a lorry hurtling down a rocky road in Western Malaysia.

    For a fleeting moment, it genuinely felt as though I couldn’t bear another second without music.

    That’s my addiction.

    Music. Bet you were waiting for a druggy confession! Hah.

    But somewhere along the way, I had definitely forgotten how to sit alone with my own thoughts. That’s not great!

    So, here I am now, trying to sit alone with my thoughts (at least until these words get read, haha).

    Here’s the not-fan fiction you’ve been waiting for

    Someone told me I was trying to gather material to produce fan fiction for my blog.

    That seemed like a request.

    I need to please my audience, but I simply cannot come up with fan fiction out of nowhere. 

    Instead, I come bearing a poem I wrote last July about a totally fictional moment.

    I’m no Edgar Allan Poe. Enjoy, though.

    July Twenty Twenty-Five

    That’s all. Kthxbye!

  • Protected: NOT a rant, NOT an exposé

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