Rumination 18

Perspective is difficult. We’re only ever subject to our own and it makes us the heroes of the narrative. It’s right…to an extent, we are the heroes of our histories.
But perspective also vilifies, makes antagonists of others because their perception is different. Sometimes miscommunication escalates to a boiling point of clashing observations.
I used to go to extreme lengths to try and avoid it, still do, it doesn’t work. It never works. But I’m a stupid optimist and keep trying.
Miscommunication has been pervasive through my life. It’s been the driving force behind every negative thing I’ve ever had to deal with. It seems like something so easily avoided, but it’s not. Any attempts at opening dialogue go horribly awry.
I agree I’m abrasive, I’m not personable, I don’t try hard enough when I should. I’m a terrible friend and not nearly as put together as I would like to be. No defense of this list will follow, because there is none. I ask too much and give too little. I’m far too proud of abilities I don’t have, but without the confidence I’m nothing.
I’m not confident on the inside though. I need reassurance. I’m not always right, usually I’m wrong. I make things about me when they aren’t because I’m afraid no one will tell me when they are. They never do.
The last six or seven months have so thoroughly destroyed any confidence and positivity I worked so hard to gain after years in the pit of depression, I’m not sure how I’m keep trying again.
It is, arguably, the simpler thing to walk away.
And I am walking away, because I’m tired. I could keep pushing into a void that didn’t give, but I can’t keep surrendering more than I have. I want this to be the end of it; this isn’t who I am. I refuse to be it anymore.
Stay good and keep transmitting.
-Aman Sandhu 2016

Divide

Here where silences grow
Of their own accord.
I’ll find my way back again
So let me wander
Where words scream aloud
Always knowing my silences
Are safe, until I need them most
Life changing with a moment
Words passing as simple contact
Fickle the mind
Quick to disregard.
I’ll carry you across, she says
Carry you through
Hold on as long as you need
So long as words can pass unseen
Chase me
Follow me
Find me
I am your divide.
Dare hold for a moment more
Dare linger for a second
Conscious contact
Break our social contract
I’ll run so long as you’ll chase me
Hide, only so you can find me
Waiting here to carry you across
Carry you through
Back to silences you’d left behind.
-AJ Sandhu 2015

Rumination 12

WHY. Why do I have so much stuff? I used to be able to fit my life into 2 pink totes and a suitcase. Now I have a whole house worth of things without a whole house to put them in.
I have TWO cupcake makers. WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND NEEDS TWO CUPCAKE MAKERS? Like 10 different candy molds, a cake pop maker, (have I ever even used it? WHAT?) FIVE CUSTOM CAKE MOLDS. The one that is shaped like a book fits into a tote and it will be mine forever. I will be buried with it.
I have 3 sets of GOBLETS? THREE? Buffet patters (I HAVE LITERALLY NEVER THROWN A PARTY. EVER.) AN EIGHT PERSON CUTLERY SET. WHAT? (Edit: I just looked at the box, it’s from Macy’s; it was $80) When am I going to use these? A SPICE RACK?!?!
The note cards and journals. I love them, I really do, but they only add to the clutter around me. Journals, I intend on slowly giving away to people I find fascinating. I’m going to miss them, but I know I would much rather they find use and not storage. There are journals that are nearly 15 years old.
The note cards will always find use. I have so many people to thank, and there will only be so many more.
I just can’t find it in me to throw anything out. Even when it’s obvious I don’t need it. I’m holding on to things better left in the past. Sure, I might get my own place again one day. But today isn’t that day. I can sit here letting the toxicity of this place ruin me, or I can venture out and find that forever I’ve always dreamt of.
I won’t let depression keep me. I won’t let my mistakes define me. There are symbols in this hoard of the person I was expected to be. Someone I never was, no matter how hard I tried.
I can’t sit still. I need the quiet comfort of lonely wandering. It’s maddening to think I can’t just be a wander. I can’t just pack up and hop a plane to nowhere. I don’t want the things everyone around me wants. I don’t want to get married, I’ve been on this Earth a while now and I’ve yet to find someone I could even fantasize a family with. I don’t want a place to which I am bound.
It’s lonely I know. But I crave the silence of a long drive. I yearn for the books read on wordless flights. I ache for places I’ve never seen.
I’m not naive enough to think two lives can run parallel eternal, but for the times some will run next to mine, I will offer the one eternity I can give; a space in my heart.
I am selfish, there is no defending that. I will wear it proudly. I am selfish. I think of my own happiness before progeny. I am selfish, because I want that which is most difficult to give. I want a space in your memories. I don’t want any more to be a passing glance on a sidewalk or a subway. Sad eye contact until the next bus stop.

I want to arrive at my death with open arms. Welcome embrace from a friend foiled twice. There will never be enough time; I just want to do enough in my time.