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

Rumination 17

I’m always scared someone is playing the long con with me. It’s the strangest sort of paranoia that keeps me guarded. To soften the hurt to heart on my sleeve, I keep something up it.
I always debate putting up more private thoughts. Maybe because my face is attached like never before. Maybe it’s more of that avoidance. The fear if I give too much I won’t have any left for myself?
But that’s not the truth.
The truth is that I don’t think I deserve this. That I deserve any of what I have. If I get anything it has to come with a catch. It always does.
Doesn’t matter how hard I work, there is always a catch.
And it’s such a stupid way to live, yet here I am. I know better.
I don’t know if that’s stupid or brave to admit to an audience. But I refuse to isolate myself to the point of inaction.
This isn’t a plea for advice or a call for friendship. I have more love than I’ve ever have before. I can feel that. I’m just…waiting for the other shoe to drop.
That I’m going to be exposed as the fraud I am. Unworthy of love, not just because I have nothing to offer, but because I’m really not that good of a friend. I’m not extraordinary, I’m not even plain, I’m background. I get in the way.
And maybe getting these thoughts out of my head and into these pixels will help me deal with the dissociation I feel.
Stay good and keep transmitting.
-Aman Sandhu 2016

Rumination 16

My friends cannot read my mind. They don’t know everything I know.
I’ve fallen into the trap of thinking they’ve absorbed my knowledge or emotion via some strange external osmosis, but they haven’t. If I’m having a bad day and put on a brave face, they will never know I need to be comforted. They won’t know not to believe me when I lie and say everything is alright.
Sometimes I think they wouldn’t want to be bothered. Why talk to them about something they can’t fix, or wouldn’t understand? But who will I celebrate with when I come out victorious on the other side? How will I convey the devastation of my defeat as I sit there and lick my wounds?
We make friends to share the load. To carry our collective burdens so they don’t break our backs. Your friends will not be weighed down by your problems. They will not leave because you are struggling. If they cannot help they will wait patiently for you to get through; ready with whatever support you need in the aftermath.
And if they do abandon you, were they really your friends at all?
Stay good and keep transmitting.
-AJ Sandhu 2016

Dispossessed

We’re not pieces on a chessboard
Built to be played however we choose
Life is not finite in what it could be.
I’m holding the hope
That the sins on my soul
Are not greater than
The forgiveness I’m asking for
There are no chosen kings
And queens of our world
Only fearful people hoping
Their confidence will disguise their lies
We’re all hiding from ourselves
Hoping our deepest devotions
Are never put to the test.
Victims of our baser urges
It’s what we feared
No hearts left to converge.
You’ve gone too far for me to find you
And after all, you never wanted me to.
-AJ Sandhu 2016

Emptiness

The worst thing that could happen was losing my story. I could lose everything else, but losing the story in my heart was unbearable. The thought that Derivation would be there no matter what happened, no matter how deep the rabbit-hole went, kept me going for so long.
I emptied myself into the singular pursuit.
My apathy, empathy, love, hatred, passion, motivation.
Everything belonged to my one purpose; telling the tale that burned in my chest.
Now I fear I’ve given too much.
I’m empty.
I lost Derivation while I was surrendering the rest.
The one thing I was determined to keep is gone.
Without it, I’m not even a person.
So what now? What do I do now that the worst has happened?
How long do I stay away? How long will it take to fall in love again? Until my hands itch with words burning to see life on paper?
I don’t know.
I’m starting over. From the beginning. Tell me again, Alexander.
Stay good and keep transmitting

-Aman Sandhu 2016

Frozen Mausoleums

We won’t find you
Oh we won’t find you
Not in these tattered pieces
Of dreams left behind.
Is there a remedy for
All of the things everyone knows
If not
Is there place that holds
All of the knowledge
We should have by now?
You built this town
You built this city
Repeat it over and over
As if you expect some pity.
Is this what it’s meant to be
Only disappointed faces looking our way?
Constant reminders that you think
We only want your sympathy
We can’t find it
Oh we can’t find it
Not in these tattered pieces
Of dreams left behind
Oh you built this town
You built this city
Heaven forbid it rises
Above your glory
And it all fades to black
Was the ending worth for naught.
Because you built this town
You built this city
On the ashes of those who
Thought you only wanted their sympathy
We’ll tear this town
We’ll burn your city
Frozen mausoleums to leaders
Who don’t deserve our pity.

-AJ Sandhu 2016

On My Way

We all want somebody to love
Somebody to hold
Somebody to lie beside
Because the nights are cold
But will the degradation
To our baser instincts
Consume our souls
Confuse the common urge
For something we’ve never observed
Don’t let me go
Till I take my final breath
Then I swear I’ll set you free
Don’t leave me here without you
Though you can stay without me
I don’t want just
Another heartbeat beside me.
Familiar hope only your scent gives me
Just give me this life
Then I swear I’ll be on my way.
We all want somebody to love
Somebody to hold
Somebody to lie beside
Because our lives can be cold.
-AJ Sandhu 2015