Broken

​Everyone is a little broken and everyone needs love. But only few will accept it and give it back. That’s when magic happens. Broken souls that know nothing but to love deeply and fiercely, for they know what it means to not be loved. 

– Bezubaan (Coming soon)

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Gravitating towards love 

​People gravitate towards love. As I write this one line, I reflect upon my own reality. Flashback hits me and I think of all the times I thought I was loved and my intuition warned me about the contrary. Why didn’t I Iisten to it then? I should have. But people want to be loved. It’s the universal truth. I think people always find their way to those who love them endlessly, eventually. Maybe it is necessary to meet people who pretend to love you until you find out the truth and gain some wisdom. And maybe, just maybe, you let go of them somehow at some point and meet those who really make you feel loved genuinely. Maybe going through a rough road is actually the path to reaching where you should, where you belong. As I look outside the window, people pass by, busy in their lives, I realise this journey would also result in learning to love myself in places that was missing my love; filling hate with love, insecurities with confidence. 

Yes, people gravitate towards love. 

– Bezubaan (Coming soon)


Moving

​The last leaf fell and I’m still here. Here, because I chose to grow again, rise again, live again. Why choose to survive when you can live? My glass has become foggy and I’m trying to write my own name. It won’t stay here forever. Just like you. My coffee is still warm and it’s making me smile, reminding me of days when I’d devote my love and time to it while also carving few words in my diary. Strong and wonderful, that’s how I’d describe it. You were the last leaf, fallen and gone. I could have painted you and you would have stayed. I did. I painted you in my words. But time has it’s own game to play and you had to leave. You left not knowing what I wrote in those pages of my diary, what I kept within myself, what I felt about you. You were my autumn, beautiful even when you were broken and I haven’t yet let you go. You’re still my autumn, a peaceful beauty. 

Bezubaan (Coming soon)

Beauty lies in you

Why have we defined beauty in a destructive way? 

A little kid taught me something very important. Love yourself and value who you are because it doesn’t matter what others say. What you think about yourself matters. This truth, that I’ve known, has hit me hard when I saw it in reality. 
We may not like the negative aspects of our personality (like jealousy) and we try to change it, which is understandable. What about aspect like looks? Why do we let someone else’s opinion of us bring us down? 

Let me admit something. I’ve had those moments as a kid when I would wonder what makes me unlike others, why I don’t have the looks that would make me ‘normal’. Why? I don’t remember well. I think a huge part of me didn’t know and still doesn’t know how to figure out if someone has good looks and the other part of me used to judge myself. It’s a paradox! Like everything in life, time worked and I’ve realised I don’t get much affected by what others say unless it resonates with what I think about myself. 
We don’t realise this, but everyone has their own set of insecurities. Some maybe conventionally beautiful and still judge themselves. 
Being fair doesn’t make anyone lovely. Or handsome. Same goes for being dark. It’s how you perceive yourself and others that makes you beautiful. 
Months back when I still had ileostomy (is it the first time I’m talking about this?) and I was underweight, I’d look in the mirror and like who I was seeing. I was proud of being that girl I saw. In the initial days, I couldn’t recognise myself because a lot looked too unnatural. 
Weak, perplexed, and figuring out things in my head, I liked the person staring back at me. I saw something beyond explanation that made me realise it’s stupid to not love who you are.

 
I have scars. There is a reason why I have always been against getting rid of them. It’s really simple. My scars remind me of stories. They’re stories of not just how I got them, but also of everything that happened around that time. They tell me about the place, people, myself. They remind me that I had some people who held my hand when I needed to walk. They remind me of my own internal struggles. They remind me of places that have been hurtful. They don’t own me. I own them. My scars are my rewards. They remind me of everything I’ve learned because of them.

 
The reason I mentioned my scars is because we’re all so immersed in getting rid of them that we forget how valuable they are. They’re beautiful. We want to look so perfect that we forget how beautiful we are naturally. 
Beauty isn’t about looks. It’s about how you feel.
Next time, when you look at yourself, make sure to see the beauty in you.
You are truly the most beautiful version of yourself.