Writer’s Block

Do you ever wake up mad at the sun? How it rises day after day? How it abides by this routine, never caring to honour the terrible nights we sometimes have? Nights full clear darkness and loud silences packed in the cracks of our heartbreaks. But more than that, how can a creation be so stoic?  You would think having a ball full of confused human beings revolving around you would every once in a while dull your shine. My question is, how did the sun learn to be so indifferent?

That is a strange question to ask. It almost seems like I am trying to humanize the sun. And in a sense, I am. I am trying to relate to the sun (another strange thing) and I feel the only way I can do that is if the sun was a little bit human. 

Why am I trying to relate to the sun? The answer, I imagine, is as simple and as complicated as feeling like a fraud would be. I haven’t been able to write these past few months. I have a case of the infamous writer’s block. As any writer will tell you, this is as agonising as a wooden stake would be to a vampire’s heart. My nights consist of hovering(trembling really) around a keyboard and my eyes fixated on a blank screen, only punctuated by a stinging eyes that sometimes go on to become full blown sobs. I am a very emotional human being. 

On nights like this, I stare at the sky. I stare at the moon and the stars. And on mornings that follow such nights, I stare at the rising sun.  A lot of times, it is out of anger and frustration but every once in a while, I feel a twinge of jealousy. Sometimes I envy everything the sun is; its immortality, its strength. I am awed by how the sun has thawed mountains and catalysed the decomposition of generations. I am amazed by how it simply never stops rising. Because such days begin with me wishing, praying, that I never stop writing. 

Because writing shall be my legacy, an immortality of sorts. So what right would I have to claim to be a writer if I can’t relate to the sun? How can I seek immortality if I can’t catch a glimpse of my soul when I look into the stars? How do I never stop writing? 

Fear of Photographs

My best friend is always trying to take pictures with me. Poor guy. That’s an endeavour I will almost always botch. I don’t get pictures. I don’t know why people insist on capturing moments. Can’t we just enjoy them and save them in our heads? The irony is, I don’t want him to ever stop trying to take pictures with me. I realise that is selfish; to subject a guy to mild forms of embarrassments every time he puts a camera in front of my face, but hear me out. I know pictures have no intrinsic value (as my friend put it), and maybe that’s why people take lots of them, because it’s no big deal. However, every time my best friend tries to take a picture of me, I want to believe that he treasures that moment and he would like to freeze it and have something to remember it by(To him it’s probably just a picture, nothing deep.) So call me selfish but I find the thought that he would stop wanting to freeze pieces of the moments that we spend together a bit alarming. And that right there is the paradox; me attaching so much sentiment to a gesture whose expression I don’t really understand, let alone care for.

That got me thinking about my phobia of pictures. Why is it that I don’t like taking pictures? Could it be for reasons as vain as not wanting to take a bad picture and have this eternal reminder of that one time I spent a fraction of my life looking ugly, terrifying people with my face? Maybe that was true a couple of years ago. These days, I adore my reflection in the mirror even on my worst days. Or maybe that is the problem, the image I have of myself in my head is so good, no camera could ever capture it. And when I say good, I do not mean superficial beauty. My friend says that’s a genetic lottery, no one deserves it. And I agree. There is so much more to people than the symmetry of their faces. If we take pictures of the moments we are proud of, then something as simple as a pleasant face that you were lucky enough to be born with shouldn’t be on that list. It really isn’t an accomplishment.

I go to school in this dusty, sunny, miserable little town. This town is half stressed out, drunk and/or high college students and half motorists constantly asking you if they can take you somewhere. I find the latter funny, because more often than not, I’m always dying to go somewhere; anywhere else. Half the reason I always have my earphones plugged in is to distract myself from this apathy. The other half is people. I feel like I would commit suicide if I had to be constantly aware of this reality. 

On my way to and from class, I have to walk past this group of motorists. I notice that one of these motorists never asks if he can take me somewhere. I never thought much of it at first. I just assumed he was one of the very few people left who are respectful of other people’s spaces. Eventually, it began to worry me. This is his living. Why is he not as aggressive as the rest? Why is he so calm? Before I knew it, I was actively looking for him every time I passed there. Studying his facial expression, his body language, trying to figure out why he is so different from the others. Surely, he has to know something that the others don’t. Or he could be sick and dying. I don’t know. Granted, I didn’t find out anything about him (I’m not Sherlock Holmes.) I did notice however, that he always seemed distracted, like he was never really aware of his surroundings. And on the occasions that he wasn’t in his head, he was busy doing something else; like talking to someone or eating or fixing his motorbike, anything but asking people if he can take them somewhere. I think I began to relate to him. Here is someone who seems to spend his days distracted or being an oddity. That is kind of my story. So you can imagine how surprised I was this one time I saw him laughing. He was laughing so hard, I was scared he’d fall off his bike. It was the happiest I’d seen him in months. This is weird as hell but I was so proud, I wanted to take a picture. It literally was the first time in years I have wanted to take a picture of anything.

I once read this article about things that make you feel good about yourself. On that list, was take a lot of pictures. I do not understand this at all. Somebody explain it to me, how is taking a picture of yourself, especially when you are feeling down going to improve your mood. Essentially, all you’re doing is documenting a phase of your life that sucks. How is that helpful? Anyway, people seem to agree with this premise so I’m just going to shelf it with other arguments that I vehemently disagree with. An example would be the phrase, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” How is that even true? There is no way that something that could have killed you leaves you stronger. It just has to weaken you. Otherwise it wasn’t that serious. But that is an argument for another day.

But every once in a while I try to explain the urge to take that motorist’s picture. Me relating to him aside and thereby treating his happiness to be my own by extension aside, I wanted him to always have a reminder of how happy he looked. I wanted him to put that picture on his bedside table. I wanted him to wake up every day and look at that picture and strive to be happy like that. I wanted him to look at that picture on the nights he’s had an awful day and remember that despondence isn’t permanent. I wanted to give him hope. I wanted him to know he can be happy like that again and again; all he needs to do is find a really good joke. 

And so maybe when I say I don’t like pictures, maybe it’s just selfies and all other forms of pictures that require you to be aware when they are taken. Because I wouldn’t mind having a freeze frame of the moments I’m happiest. I believe, the moments we’re happiest, the moment’s we’re most beautiful are the moments we’re being ourselves the most, the moment’s we feel most in love with ourselves. When we are laughing at a terrible pun, or helping an elderly person cross the road. The moments we’ve forgotten about the acne on our face or the size of our butt; the moments we’re least aware of our insecurities, when our brains aren’t reminding us of our failures. My best friend took this picture of me in a supermarket holding this teddy bear. It’s not even the best picture anyone has ever taken of me, for one you can barely see my face and I look like I have no butt, but I love that picture. Because in that moment, it was just me, happy with a cuddly toy and a friend who cared enough to hand me that moment. And I think that is what pictures should do. Selfies on the other hand, require you to get out of that moment, and make a face or a force a smile for the camera. It just ruins the moment. They make us aware of our terrible reality. And it doesn’t matter how convincing your forced smile is, every time you look at that picture, you’ll always remember you were failing math in the moment it was taken.   

And maybe that is my fear. To look at a picture and think I’m not good enough. To have this frozen reminder of a time when I wasn’t the person I’m working towards being. I know it’s not a healthy way to perceive things, but my brain already is on overdrive, I don’t want to give it one more thing to obsess on. 


The allure of bad boys

Five or so years ago I read (I’m not sure if it was a Jeffery Archer or David Baldacci) this novel. One of the reviews was “*insert book’s name* grabs you by the balls and doesn’t let go until you are done.” And I have always wanted to use that line. People think it is weird because I am not a boy. But then again, when I have had a bad day, I say that day sucked balls, so no, I do not think it is weird. So finally I have found something that I could say grabbed my attention by the balls and didn’t let go until I was done. The Originals! This is a TV series. And I know I have previously stated that I do not like this genre but man, have you heard Klaus speak? Have you felt the vibe Elijah gives off? And have you seen Marcel shirtless? And before you go judging me for being shallow, I will have you know that I am a very picky person. I am one of those people who watch shows for the dialogue. If the script of a show does not appeal to my intelligence, I’m not going to watch it, I do not care how good the story line is. Basically, a good script for me should have loads of humor, sarcasm, smooth dialogue, cryptic conversation. Speaking of cryptic conversation, how good was Revenge? Like Emily and Victoria almost never meant what they said on the surface. There was always a hidden meaning, a malicious intention. They were the best.

Back to The Originals. So today I was on my way from class thinking about all sorts of things and then all of a sudden my mind cleared up and the only thought left was “ oh my god, I love Klaus.” It was so profound I had to stop and catch my breath. I’m telling you, it was like an epiphany. A few seconds later, I realized that this is very ironic because there are very few things I hate more than I hate bad boys. I detest bad boys. One time someone told me that deep down, every girl is attracted to bad boys. It took all of my strength not to slap them. Those of you who are familiar with The Originals know that Klaus is not the nicest person alive. He is a jerk. A narcissistic, arrogant, merciless, unforgiving bastard. So why am I in awe of him? Simple, that man opens his mouth, and speaks beauty. And seeing as I am female, how could I not love such a smooth speaker? Klaus is the kind of person that will make you forgive and forget all his transgressions by just uttering a word. And it doesn’t help that he has such a sly smile. Klaus is the kind of person that will admit to killing someone he didn’t kill, so that he can get people to fear him, because he has this God complex and he seeks to control utterly everything and everyone. At this point, you are probably like, “get over yourself Klaus.” And then Camille, some girl he fancies, will confront him because she helplessly believes that Klaus can be saved, ranting about how she is sure that Klaus did not kill this guy and Klaus being the beautiful jerk he is, actually tells her the truth.

You know when people admit paradigm shifting truths, it is a little ugly because of all the emotion and crying? I mean, moments like this are anything but poetic. Not Klaus. Klaus will say things like, “Of course I did not kill him. I only admitted it because I need to control them and the only way I can do that is if they fear me because I am the only one that can save them. A better man would save you with a lie, but I am not that man, so I will leave you with a burden of a truth no one will believe.” At this point, you are like, he is not so bad. He actually has some good. Then he goes off and slaughters a whole village. So yes, rationally speaking, Klaus is not good for any one. I am sure if I met a real life version of Klaus he would get on all my nerves and kill me with me with a migraine. But Klaus has a messed up past going in his favour. I mean, he was raised by a dad that did not love him and spent all his life trying to kill him. He has spent his whole life fleeing. Basically, he is damaged. And I think that is why I like him so much. Because besides his smooth tongue, he is broken and he sort of needs someone to love him hard enough to fix him. And isn’t that a little bit of all of us? Don’t we all need a little fixing? Don’t we all need someone who will eternally and irrationally believe in our salvation?

And so maybe when people say all girls are attracted to bad boys what they really mean is that all girls are suckers for people they can fix. And I honestly cannot argue with that. And if that person happens to come with a smooth tongue, then by all means, let him in. Because people like that will give you great conversation. They will give you rawness, emotional honesty. People like that, if you stick around long enough, will let you in so deep and as dangerous as that is, there is nothing more fulfilling than someone completely trusting you with their bare soul. I know because I’m a little bit like that. I’m not a jerk, but it is no secret that I can be difficult. You want proof? Klaus’ full name is Niklaus. So his mother refers to him as Niklaus instead of the conventional Klaus. So one day Klaus tells her, “You refer to me by my full name as though we are familiars. I find it insulting.” And I remember thinking, to hell with courtesy and being polite, I would totally use that on someone.


“There is no such thing as too much self-love.” Even as I type this, there is this voice in my head screaming, “Yes, there is. It is called narcissism.” But I read somewhere that your first reaction to something or someone is what society has conditioned you to think. Your reaction to that first thought is what defines you, makes you who you are. So what I really think is, you can never love yourself too much. Not practically. Hell, a lot of us don’t even love themselves enough. We don’t even do the bare minimum for ourselves. And I have been thinking quite a bit about this and its connection to what society has fed us. Correct me if I am wrong, but here it goes;

See, when you love someone or something else, no one will ever criticize you for overdoing it. Sure, some people might find it smothering. But really, what is annoying is what you do when you love someone too much. You might nag, stalk, kill them, I don’t know. My point is, it is your actions that are criticized, not the feeling itself. If anything, you are encouraged to love hard, to love with every piece of your being. But when it is yourself that you love to a certain amount, then suddenly you are egotistic, proud, self-absorbed, arrogant, you name it. Which is such a shame really. Because we live in a society that makes it so damn difficult to love yourself. I mean, none of us will ever be Kim Kardashian enough or have jay-z’s money. No one is just the right combination of beautiful, talented, intelligent, funny, rich, sensitive, curvy, skinny and everything society makes us feel like we need to be. And everyone on a daily basis has to struggle to see beyond what you lacking and just love, or at least accept what you packing.

So maybe you can understand just how annoying it is when someone actually gets to a point that they are actually comfortable with who they are, society starts to tell you crap and make you feel like a criminal for simply trying to live your life. Well I’m going to tell you this, love yourself. Love yourself even if it makes people uncomfortable. Love yourself to the moon and back and if that isn’t enough for you, do it to the ends of the world. Love yourself at six in the morning when you’ve just woken up and look like a thug. Love yourself at eight in the morning when you’ve showered and done your make up and are wearing your favourite lipstick. Love yourself at two in the afternoon when you are swamped and bored and hungry and cranky. Love yourself at seven in the evening when you’ve just gotten home and don’t feel like cooking so you ate a ridiculous amount of junk food. Love yourself at two in the morning when you can’t sleep and so you got drank, and all you can think about is that boy who said you weren’t enough. Because you are enough, hell, you are too much. If you ever just gave everything you have to offer, I promise you the world would not be able to handle it.

Because at the end of the day, that love for yourself is all you got. It is what stops you from overdosing, or jumping off a cliff. And it doesn’t matter how many close friends you have, how many people claim they will go to hell and back for you. If you do not believe it, it doesn’t mean anything. So the next time society tries to make you feel bad, don’t let it get to you. And if it ever does, you cry it out, let go and move on. Just don’t let people tell you how you can feel, or worse not feel about yourself. Do not let society school you. You have a mind, a heart and a soul for that.

Free Spirits

pain, anger, fear, loss
laughter, joy, love, hope.
I’m just saying,
there is much more to life,
much more than emotion.
locked doors,
dark rooms,
quiet times,
free spirits.
freedom to be who we really are;
who we are when everybody else isn’t looking.

Don’t tell me I am beautiful

Don’t tell me I am beautiful. See, I have spent years trying to grasp the meaning of that word. Because beauty comes from the inside out. And it goes through and through. Instead. Tell me something with depth. Tell me I am intelligent. Tell me my words make sense. Tell me I am a force to reckon with;that with a brain like mine, I could change the world. Tell me my eyes see right through you. Tell me there’s something about them that does more than just seeing the world. Tell me there is depth in them. Because I am deep. As deep as the ocean. As vast as the earth’s terrain. As rugged as the earth’s terrain;with its highs and lows. With my high’s and lows. From my silly goofiness to admirable intelligence. From my cool composure to emotional insanity. As insane as my notions on humour. Humour; what truly makes a woman sexy. So tell me I am sexy, not because of my breasts or hips, but because of my sense of humour, what’s inside my head, my ability to hold a conversation about a lot more than how my day was; whether it was bad or nice. As nice as that would be. As nice as I almost never am. But call me nice all the same. In as much as i wont smile when i meet you and hugs aren’t exactly my favourite things on this planet.but because I will say thank you and sorry and mean it. Because I will be there for you when you need me to, even if you won’t want me to. So don’t just pay me a complement. Tell me something I will remember, long after I have met you, even when I don’t remember your face, when the butterflies you stirred in the pit of my stomach have settled down. Tell me something that will make saying “nice to meet you” worth my while.

I don’t get people..

I don’t get people who do not read. like, how are you comfortable with knowing so little? it doesn’t bug you there there is so much you don’t know? and i don’t just mean books or novels, i get it, not everyone has the patience for those. but for once, would you Google more than naked women doing deep plunges?(though i don’t know why i know that exists) are you telling me nothing outside your academic work interests you? like you are not interested in metaphysics or quantum physics? like you don’t wanna know Isaac Newton was a mason? so when you are listening to a song and they keep saying this date, it doesn’t occur to you that you should find out what that date stands for? when someone says something as controversial like Mary Magdalene was the among the twelve disciples of Jesus, you don’t get curious at all? no part of you cares to find out if there is any truth to that. or even when you are having a discussion with a friend and the say this word you’ve never heard before, you don’t think you owe it yourself to find out the meaning of that word? its origin, uses, synonyms? i don’t know, there is no part of you that wants to sound intelligent when you are talking to someone? how are you ever going to be able to talk to someone if your academic work is all you know?

I don’t get people who judge others. how do you just sit there and open your mouth and declare that someone is wrong, or indecent, or weak or whatever? you don’t gag at all when you do that? we are all human, so i do not understand what would get into your head to make you believe that you are better than someone else. everyone has their struggles, everyone has made their mistakes. everyone is living their life the best way they know how. so just mind your own business. unless you don’t mind people judging you all the time. unless you don’t mind people breathing down your neck with every bad decision you’ve ever made, don’t judge someone else. and honestly, if you haven’t walked in somebody else’s shoes, you can’t tell what their journey is about. and since we cannot do that, how about you just don’t? its just so rude.

i don’t get people who claim they don’t have feelings. even Satan has feelings for crying out loud. but i think i can understand why someone would say they they don’t have feelings. sometimes life gets so cruel, the only way to get through it is to pretend you feel nothing. the people i really do not understand are these self-declared jerks and bad asses. my God, what is so hard about being nice? you wont die if you let someone go first. you wont die when you say sorry after bumping on someone on the street. look at me, i am so cold, but i am the nicest person you’ll ever meet. and trust me, its not forced. it doesn’t even take up your time. what part about being rude and pretending you don’t care makes you feel so good about yourself? what part about calling someone a bitch, especially when you know they don’t like it, makes you feel like you are having a good time? what part about disrespecting someone makes you feel like a hero?

i do not get people who drink themselves silly. i think that is the epitome of stupidity. what about waking up in an alley or by the roadside spells having a good time? and i understand that there are days you just wanna go out and have a good time, down a bottle or two, forget your misery for a while. its perfectly fine. hell, i think its healthy. but when you do it to the point of passing out. when you drink so much you lose control of yourself, that’s madness. when you do crazy things in the name of loosening up and just seizing the moment, that’s bullshit. that is a lot of things i won’t say(partly because most of the words going through my head are a tad vulgar). but maybe its because i am obsessed with being in control. i do not like losing myself. i do not like not having an explanation for the things i did. i do not like doing things that make me look stupid. hell, i think i am allergic to looking stupid. and maybe that’s why i would never put myself in a position that would lead to that.

but i also do understand that people are different. and everyone cannot live life by my set of rules. so while i do not get these people, i know they are perfect human beings in their own little ways. they all have something to bring to this table of life. and i accept that. if anything, they make life less boring.as you know what they say, variety is the spice of life.

The allure of pain

i keep telling people i am good with pain. i am the kind of person who will rate my pain at eight on a scale of one to ten and still refuse to take painkillers. on most days, its because i hate medicine. but on other days its because there is something about pain that fascinates me. morbid i know.pain is rather grounding; physical or otherwise. it is a reminder that bliss doesn’t last. that things could go south any moment. i think it’s the universe’s way of teaching us to appreciate our happy times. and the good thing with pain, its that that feeling stays; long after you’ve been healed. long after you get over someone. you never forget how hard it was to swallow food, or move your limbs. you never forget those days you missed someone so bad, crying is the only thing you could do about it. you never forget those days you woke up feeling so disoriented and unmotivated. and in your own little way, you strive to make sure you never feel that way again. you take your health more seriously. you look before you fall. you fall with some grace. and while evading pain is impossible, you get hurt again and again. but you learn to deal with it. you learn to laugh at yourself when it hurts. you learn to ignore it. you learn to live your life with pain. you learn that pain never held anyone back. so maybe that’s why i never rate pain beyond an eight. because i have learnt that it could always be worse. that there are people who are going through worse. so i reserve my nine and ten for joy, for happiness. and someday, i know i will be able to rate my happiness at ten. but till then, i keep reminding myself; that things should be better, but they could also be worse. so i am calling it even.

Have you ever…

You wouldn’t believe this(i do not believe it myself either) but people think i am funny.granted, i have a sense of humour, but funny? lets not get crazy. and i get anxious when someone calls me funny because i feel like every word i say after that has to be rib-cracking,and i just cannot handle that amount of pressure. that’s the same thing with my writing. i have been writing since i was fifteen(no, i was born holding a pen and paper) and not to sound cocky or anything( okay, so that is my intention) but i am yet to wrap my head around how awesome i am. like i am so good, it freaks me out. haha. and my point is, every time i sit down to write a piece, i feel like i have to write long paragraphs of extremely sensible sentences with moral lessons embedded in them, punctuate it with a little laughs and still appeal to your emotions.like, it is a compulsive disorder.see all the pressure i am under? so today i thought I’d make my paragraphs as short as i can and see how horrible i feel afterwards. and i am just going to say, i feel like i am about to self destruct. so,

have you ever forced yourself to write a blog piece with extremely short paragraphs and so for hours you just there staring at your computer wondering how that is even done. and at the same time feeling like you are perpetrating a joke because the first paragraph wasn’t exactly what people would call short?

have you ever woken up in the morning and you realize your eyes are swollen because you have been crying in your sleep and you do not even know why?

have you ever woken up in the morning feeling so down and unprepared for anything, so much so, the sun rays feel so intrusive and disrespectful and then you are just mad at the world, the mountains, the buildings, those people walking down the street?

have you ever woken up one morning and you just hate everything and everyone?

have you ever woken up in the morning feeling all confident and ready to face the day and then like an hour later, unable to decide what you are wearing, you are just like,”screw life. i just can’t. my life sucks and i cannot handle all this suffering.”

have you ever been hurt by someone so badly you even forget how to react so you just stood there waiting for your brain to unparalyze(that is not an English word) itself so you can start plotting on ways to kill them?

have you ever missed someone so badly and there is nothing you could do about it because you already told them like four times that very day and honestly speaking, its getting creepy and your ego is beginning to feel insulted. so you are like,”get it together emotions!!”

have you ever wanted to talk to someone but you cannot because you feel like you are bothering them and so you just lay there and replayed all your conversations in your head until you fell asleep. needless to say, you had nightmares.

have you ever wanted to text someone but you couldn’t because you talked yesterday and you have to wait for a week or so till you can text them and so you just re-read your texts wondering what happened to those days you talked all day,every day.

have you ever texted someone but deleted it before it went through because you just remembered that they aren’t going to reply, and you are not supposed to care and so you just stared at your phone screen, willing it to give you the patience to wait for the day that sickening urge to text them will be non-existent.

have you ever been in such a good mood because you are wearing your favourite socks until you stepped in a puddle and suddenly you are in the foulest of moods, and you are being so nasty and just snapping at everyone?

have you ever sat yourself down and contemplated why you let the smallest of things bother you so much and the more you thought about it, the more distraught you became and so you just ended up crying?

have you ever thought about something so much, your head hurt and you just got so depressed, and so you went through the day thinking about every bad thing that has happened to you in your life?

have you ever felt so sad and down, and you don’t even know why?

have you ever gone into your room, turned up the radio so loud so that no one will hear you screaming, then gotten out and smiled at everyone so widely, it began to feel idiotic.

do you have that one friend that you love so much and you keep embarrassing yourself in front of them, and you keep lashing out at them because of your emotional insanity and you are beginning to wonder if they are getting tired of your drama?

of Superheroes

A while back, I developed this habit to cope with negative emotion; I would imagine myself as a superwoman of some sorts. Invincible by whatever disappointment and hurt life would throw at me all so regularly. With time, this coping mechanism evolved into a “personality” of its own. I like to think of it as my alter-ego. So on times when I am not being the Clarie everyone knows (okay, very few people really know me but that’s not the point), I am being super clarie. (I will think of something more creative in a while) super clarie is a very emotionally composed person. Actually, she is very un-feeling (is that a word?). She has a poker face and the closest she will get to show any emotion is looking away. And very importantly, she wears long white dresses, red lipstick, drinks expensive wine and smokes cigars. So it is in those days when I can feel emotion gnawing into my soul, threatening my very existence. When I have promised myself not to cry so many times it begins to sound like a broken record. When I can barely hold it in, when it all crumbles down, that I put my super-clarie cap on and for days or so, people have told me I become a very cold person.
“It is like you are a totally different person.” of course, I cannot tell them that on those days, I am. With the exception of the dresses, lipstick, wine and cigars. So I usually end up saying something like, “I am just trying to get through life, aren’t we all? “ So recently someone asked me, “can’t you just talk to someone?” I just shook my head. But honestly, is it not a lot more fun, to be super-clarie? You see, I just did not wake up one morning and decided I would create an alter-ego and make her wear long white dresses. It was a process. Plus, of all colours, you think I would choose white? For all I know white symbolizes purity. And what part about red lipstick, wine and cigars spells purity? And white is a very difficult colour to maintain. This alter-ego business is me trying, just like everybody else, to get through life. It is me pretending, hoping to be stronger than I feel. It is me reaching into my depleted smile savings account and loaning one or two just to keep me going. It is me offering a helping hand, giving a friend a shoulder to cry on when I can rarely breathe. And come to think of it, isn’t this the concept of superheroes? Putting our pain aside and in the process hoping we can get through life and while we are at it, make someone else smile wider, if not brighter?
And while super-clarie doesn’t always last that long. Eventually, I find myself on the bathroom floor crying my lungs out. And once in a while, I will open up to a close friend and admit I am not okay. That I am screwed up and don’t know what to do. But those few days of being super-clarie have taught me one vital lesson; that deep inside there is a superhero. And yeah, sometimes I have to look a lot deeper compared to other times to find her. Also, there are times I feel like I have lost her. But if I keep at it, she will come through. And when she does, there is nothing she wouldn’t get me through. She will move mountains, cross seas and pass through fire just to see me smile again. And when that doesn’t work, she will sit with me in that bathroom floor and wait for me to finish crying then gently remind me that I will be okay.  So what really am I saying? That we all have our superheroes. That we are our own superheroes. We just have to be crazy enough to believe it.