TO YOU

I realize, I’ve to write a lot more letters to random people before I’m confident the one I’m writing to you is something you’ll find yourself reading more than just once. I hope when you’re reading this, I’d have gotten better in real time.
Truth be told, I’ve never given a thought to you. Sure, I’ve thought about little boys that’ll have my prominent boyish features I got from my dad. But, you? Hmm, how do I find a less harsher way to put this? Honestly, kid, I’ve never once before thought of you the way I thought about baby boys I’d once call mine.
I don’t have you as yet so I can only imagine what you must look like. I imagine you having my big brown eyes. I got that from my mama. I imagine you having thick set eyebrows that cover half your forehead. I got that from my dada. I have a literal FOUR-HEAD. I’d want you to have a bigger one, I suppose, but if I were to sit down and imagine you from your eyes up, you’d look darling even with a three-head or a five-head. Do you have little baby hairs like I do? And OH! What color hair do you have? Do you have brown that looks copper in the sun like mine does? Or do you have jet black thick hair? If you have black hair, it comes from your grandma from your mom’s side and most definitely not from your dad, even if he were to take credits for that. I imagine you have curly/wavy hair. Do you? Is it as untamable as mine is? Do you have to constantly throw it up into a bun and just pull out some of your baby hairs so you don’t look like a balding little boy? That’s not too harsh, is it?
Darling, tell me, are your eyes and eyebrows the same as mine? I want you to have them just like I do. I want to see my parents in you just like I see them in me. I want you to carry something of them with you, for always.
I hope you think you’re pretty. (YOU MOST DEFINITELY ARE!) I hope I’ve done a fair job making sure you aren’t locking yourself behind closed doors or the girls common room, crying to yourself, beating yourself up about not being good enough. Word from the wise, it’s not worth it. All of those who make you feel like you have to be everything that you’re not, aren’t worth your spark. I hope you aren’t succumbing to peer pressure and doing the things I’d never imagine you’d do in a million years. Has the world changed a lot by now? I’d imagine so. Do we have a good relationship? Do you and I have what mom and I have? Do I know about all the boys in your life? Am I your one true best friend? Do I cook well because while I’m writing this down for you, I can barely make tea.
Kid, do you see something you want to be in me? Have I set an example to you? Have I ever made you feel like you’re not beautiful enough? *wideeyes* Have I ever not given you a shoulder to weep on about the randomest ‘girl troubles’ I’d have probably once had too? Have I run the family as a unit? Have I shown you that marriage is beautiful even with all the quarrels and the hair pulling? Have I shown you what it feels like to be loved by the right person? Do you feel like I’m getting better at being a wife and showing you how to be one to your husband? Am I imparting real life lessons that you’ll later pass on to your little ones?
Most of all, I’m itching to know this one.
Do you love me, kid? How good of a mother am I?
Author’s note: Why do the best ideas come to me while I’m always washing my face and then just evaporate when I’m ready to write it down on paper? WHY!! This was something, yet again, that struck me while I was washing my face this afternoon, after I’d just seen a post on Instagram about how a teenager is scared to have a daughter because of all the things that she’ll have to go through, going by the way her mom grew up in a world that doesn’t fully appreciate uniqueness. Really struck a chord in me and it got me thinking, if I were to write a letter to my daughter, at 20, what would I tell her? How much do I know of being a mom even before being a mom? Will these questions keep me up at night when I do have a daughter that I can’t go directly and ask all these questions to? I’ve been better with writing than with talking. So, will this thing that floats about the internet under ‘Your Average Peahead’ ever find it’s way to her? The universe has a strange way of connecting dots and I place my full trust in the fact that this time again, it’ll bring this to her. I find it funny myself that I put my belief in the universe, a very scientific entity, to perform magic. But at 20, this is what I wish for. I wish for my daughter to find this in her own time and know, I have questions for her.

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DO YOU FALL OUT OF LOVE?

I wish this was an original piece but writing this down, I just want you’ll to know that this isn’t what I thought of.
After hearing this being asked, it got me thinking, do you? Is falling out of love as real a concept as falling in love?
Cue background music: XXXTENTACION- Changes. Very recommended especially if you want to cry a little for no real reason.
I don’t know why I’ve been so unsure about writing this. It’s been on my mind for a week and a half now and I’ve been trying to hold it out until I can’t anymore. I wanted to do this real justice and give my time to collect facts, research or find something to prove my view wrong. Anything that’ll make the truth seem a little less harsher but here I am, given up on the search and with the most intense music on full volume just to really get me in the zone.
I do want to write this but then again, putting something out into the universe has it’s own consequences of coming back to you in it’s own time. And am I ready to take the blow when it does come back even though I feel like I was ready for this? 19 years of absolute celibacy might’ve made me the strongest but will I only ever know once I face it for what it is? Will it still catch me off guard or will I hold my ground and pass it dignifi-ably (Not a word I’m aware)? These questions plague my mind whilst I write this down and I know they’re here to stay. I’m in no hurry to find that out because it’s one of my why’s that I want to keep for as later on as possible. Maybe even never know the answer off of my own experiences. Is that too harsh?
So, getting to the question at hand here. What would I tell someone if I were asked this question?
Got me thinking, do you really? It’s a fun concept (cheesy, really) to think of falling in love. At some point in our ever unfulfilling lives, we’ve had dreams about our own knights in shining armor or the maiden that sits by the window waiting to be rescued by you. I see myself as the damsel in distress. Why distress? Well because, I didn’t find love like everyone else did. Because I couldn’t make a 3 a.m call to someone that’ll understand where I’m coming from. (That’ll understand to get me nuggets from the nearest 24 hour McDonald’s at 3 a.m.) [This does not include best friends even though those are the kind of friends that you only really need and no one else.] And so, I’d read about love stories. I don’t quite know if I went after them or they just found their way to me. Even to this day, I read. I read about stories of never meant to be-s that turned out to be.
The whole of last week, I’ve been reading this one book that got made into a movie called ‘TO ALL THE BOYS I’VE LOVED BEFORE’. It still is a huge thing even after a whole month of getting out, which is a big thing for me, honestly. I obviously had to read the book because let’s be real, not everyone can afford the Netflix bills that they’re charging. (HELL NO!) And also, it really works in my favor that I’d rather read a book than watch a movie because I know for a fact that a movie barely does justice to the depth of the characters and their emotions but in a book, it’s all there and so open and raw, it’s a different connection. (Also that I’m a broke college student.) And so, I got to reading that book. Obviously, I’m not going to be giving you a run down of the book but if I were to put it in a sentence (A really long sentence.) it’d say:
A girl’s letters to all her ex crushes gets sent out and one of them clicks and then so does another and then so does another and she falls for one out of the five she wrote letters to.
So yeah, that was as concise as I could possibly make it. I’m not known to speak in little words so bear with me if it didn’t make much sense. So what I thought I followed along in the book is how she ‘unloves’ all the other people that she had crushes on and stuck to one guy. So basically, the thing I picked up from the book would be, how to fall out of love with someone.
My theory- It doesn’t just happen. As much as we’d like to believe in the concept of falling in love, that’s a load of camel shit that makes absolutely no sense what so ever. It just doesn’t fit. You can’t pick a person and say ‘You! I’m in love with you’. Yes, I’m saying love at first sight is an idea that gives a warm feeling even to me but it isn’t real. No one falls in love the second you see the person you think you’re in love with. You choose. You choose to fall in love with their quirky habits. You watch. You watch from afar what it is that draws you in. There’d definitely be something about them, far from the normal ways you see in others, that catches your eye. Appearances do matter and some would say I fell in love with how clean their dressing was or how blue his eyes were or how plump her lips were or how full her figure was. This is absolute crap. You don’t fall in love with a person based off of how blue their eyes are or how good the black shirt goes with the gray pants and the navy blue loafers or the way his hair stands. No, you don’t.
If you really are in love, you’ve noticed more than just the appearances. It’s probably not the hair you’ve fallen for. It’s probably the amount of times he pushes it out of his eye and puffs it up the slightest just before messing it up unintentionally again while pulling his hand out. It’s not her eyes per say that you fall in love with, it’s how that even though the sun is blinding and she’s squinting to look at the aeroplane miles and miles away in the sky, she’s got the little excited little giggle and an equally blinding sparkle in her eyes. It’s not the dressing you fell in love with, it’s how good they carry themselves with it. It’s how confident they are in it that pulls you closer. And if with their outward appearances, you didn’t see the little things they do to make it seem real to you, you aren’t really in love. You, my friend, never really fell in love.
It isn’t a trust fall where you just close your eyes, spread your arms to the side and fall back to be caught by someone (Or not.) It’s a cliff jump. You have time to think but you’re also balancing on the edge. You have the time to back away and look from afar and marvel at how beautiful it looks as the water hits hard against the boulders below. The spray invites you in and you’re still standing there, wishing the bottom were more clearer and you could see for sure if there’s anything that’s going to break your fall besides the enrapturing water you stand above of.
But, you don’t choose all of that. You don’t choose the beauty. You choose danger. You choose. You choose to fall and in your mind, you can see yourself being speared by the sharpest glistening black rock waiting for you underneath that calming spray you felt that promised the good. That’s when you hit literal rock bottom. And that is a choice you made. To fall in love with the idea of love.
And just the same, it’s a choice you make to stay in it. I guarantee you, you’ll be thrown against the rocks again and again and again and all of your wounds you’ve carried your whole entire life as insecurities will be opened again. And again, while you’re being thrown around, you make another choice.
You can choose to fall out of love. It isn’t something that just happens. You don’t have to wait for it to happen. The universe doesn’t send one lightening bolt to zap you so you can run for your life. Much like you go after what you need, you look for the signs that you need. You look for things that’ll eventually, gradually stop making you feel anything towards the person. You make a conscious decision to stop loving the same quirky things you once swore you would find appealing even at the age of 70.
So if anyone tells you they ended things because they just ‘fell out of love’, you best believe, it’s been playing on their minds for longer than you think possible. Just like ‘falling in love’ is horeshit, ‘falling out of love’ is just the same. Love is a choice you make. not all choices are wise and not all choices are going to kill you from the inside if not visibly. You either get lucky or ………… You don’t, I guess.
Author’s note: I’ve had the most fun writing this down knowing that once I stop being in a funk which I deliberately put myself in, I can go right back to my 3 a.m call that’ll probably (or not) get nuggets with me and watch the twinkling of aeroplane lights in the night. We learn from experiences and I’ve learnt from mine. And I still stick by what I say, you dont just fall out of love. You choose to.

Until later,

Anya

DO I NEED SOCIAL MEDIA TO GRATIFY MY EGO?

Of course, I do. Being the pathetic self that I am, I definitely do need the validation that social media gives me.
Let me attempt breaking it down for you.
I remember joining social media at the age of 12. I started off with FaceBook (I don’t know what I was thinking, honestly.) That was the only ‘happening’ thing during the prehistoric time I lived in. (Is it still a thing? Beats me.) It’s been a couple of years since I’ve last been active on that platform. I change with the times, I’d like to think but the truth is I just don’t understand FaceBook. I must’ve lost all interest when I started seeing more of their ‘recommendations’ and pointless profiles than the ones that I really wanted to see. The whole point of me joining FaceBook was to post quotes that I couldn’t quite understand the full meaning of (I was 12 *shrugs*) AND friending people I secretly hated or was jealous of, just to see how good their life was when compared to mine. There was a reason I hated them. *shrugs again* (Had I been mature then, I’d have taken the hint to not do it.) Then I’d go curl up in my little hole and weep over the ‘fact’ that they were indeed much better off than I was and living their best damn life.
Thinking back, social media significantly contributed to making me a stupid kid. I was a good kid, let me tell you. OKAY, scratch the good. I was a kid. I was what a kid was supposed to be before social media happened. I was in 7th grade and I had to be living like I had nothing to worry about except for how I’d get my hands on the new Nancy Drew books but there I was, just entering into my teens, looking at people a decade older than me, flaunting their lives and bodies all the same (How is it still the trend?), creating unrealistic goals that I seemingly had to live up to. I WAS F*&KING TWELVE! Sure, the minimum age to join FaceBook was 13 and my ‘underdeveloped’ self was too little to take it in and it’s my fault that I joined about 5 months before I was going to turn 13 and hence the immediate impact on my little mind. But honestly, how much more mature can a 13 year old be when compared to a 12 year old? Honestly.
So there began my downward spiral. While I was supposed to be really living my best life, I was looking at everyone else, trying to copy them or out-do them and be the person that I most definitely was not. And why? Because, if you were anything else that didn’t fit the trend of 2010, you wouldn’t be the cool kid in highschool. (Mind you, I still wasn’t the cool kid in highschool. This is the first and the last time I’ll ever say this but the joke was on me for thinking this would throw me in the ‘cool pool’.)
I’d go out of my way to get cool pictures. I don’t think I ever was a pose-for-a-picture kind of a person and I still don’t think I am because I would never really know what to do in addition to the fact that I’d have to work extra hard to make my ‘ugly pre-puberty’ face look appealing to boys four years older to me. (I like the fact that I think the ugly face was just pre-puberty. This is how poisonous my mind has gotten.) But, I’d set that aside, fake smile, put my camera on a 10 second timer and get what I needed. I was that girl. (Boy, am I glad I have a deactivated account.)
Now, if that went up one week, I’d feel pretty damn good about myself when the likes and the comments increased. This elation lasted for maybe two weeks of posting that highly filtered picture and then it’d drop immediately if someone tagged me in a picture where I looked like my real self. Pimple marks and discoloration; in all my glory.
The amount of likes I’d get on MY post could determine how my attitude and mood was going to be. I’d kneel and pray (This is a legit thing.) that in the first hour of posting my picture, I’d get a minimum of 45 likes. In under an hour was my goal. (If I’d gotten more than 100 in total, you best believe I’d be riding my golden chariot to school, you measly peasant with 25 likes.) Those were the kind of goals my 13 year old self was setting. T-O-X-I-C. I wish I could shake my then self and knock her front two teeth in.
But, I can’t.
Let’s fast forward to present day. I am currently running on 20, fast approaching 21 but nothing’s changed since the past 8 years. I still am the 12 year old girl, desperately fitting her thick ass into a mold that she thinks is perfect. It hasn’t been going well. I am not made for that mold; a realization that hit before I knew it had but I just refused to acknowledge it. I’m much bigger than the mold and through the struggle of forcing myself in, I’ve got bruises and marks that’s pulling me father away from the idea of ‘perfect’ and the farther most from the ‘idea’ of BEING ME.
In the present scenario, with Instagram and Snapchat, the only two social media I’ve sold my soul to, it’s increasingly difficult. Instagram makes me want to look healthy and lean and fit and all kinds of aesthetically pleasing to people but Snapchat makes me want to go drinking, partying and eating out-of-the-world looking dishes that are probably not even palatable and DEFINITELY NOT good for the body Instagram wants me to have. Yet again, I find myself with a rope tied around my torso and these two social platforms pulling at the free ends from opposite direction. The image of my center being distorted to balance both is just plain disturbing.
This isn’t even the sad part. What really churns my gut is the fact that I’m still holding on BECAUSE (You’re not ready for this.)
The only way I’ll get my ass off to ‘go live life’ and make memories is if others can see it and I’m the source excuding ‘cool’ to anyone else beneath me who’s doing nothing social media worthy. I’m only going to go live life if I have great clothes, a not so great face which I can tweak with on a beautifying app, and my search history showing a person who’s in Greece, jumping off a boat yelling YOLO. Of course, only if I see someone else living their lives, would I go make an attempt at living mine.

Instagram ‘motivates’ me to look better (like as if there are a hundred things wrong with the way I currently look) but if I don’t, they have a million filters to help me look not like myself. Snapchat makes me think it’s okay to go splurge on stuff I honestly cannot to afford to be throwing money at but still seem to be doing it. As long as people think I’m having fun, secretly crying at how huge of a hole I’ve burnt in my pocket or wishing I was anywhere else but surrounded by people when I quite enjoy solitude is something I can dust under the rug. I’ve just gotta keep doing it for the gram and one day maybe, I’ll get the validation I really need.
If only.

(I’m in no way or form pulling down anyone that’s actually jumping off a boat in Greece yelling YOLO or anyone that’s showing off their gym honed bodies because they worked for it. I fully understand that it’s not your fault that I’m comparing myself to you. I’m just saying the problem is me here and my need to fit into being someone that you are and not be myself. I beg for you to not take it personally. If you find this like I’m pulling any of you down, I didn’t intend to, honestly. This post is just me being mad at me.)
Author’s note: As, I’m writing this down, it’s a scary realization that’s hit me. I am neither what I wanted to be nor am I me. And I’m not stuck half way either. I am on a completely different path. I am in a different dimension, all together.

 

mountain path 2

Take this picture, for better understanding. Behind the lens is the beginning of the path and that’s where I started, being unapologetic-ally me; raw, if I may. I was ‘supposed’ to walk all the way down this path to reach my ultimate ‘goal’. (I’ve used more than my share of air bunnies [“”]on this one.) Funny thing is, I’m not even in the damn picture. Neither am I on the path or in the friggin’ mountains or in the meadow beyond the frame of this picture. Courtesy: The person I paid to document my journey to a cool life based off of what people are currently doing on social media. He’s lost me too.
Sure it’ll be a process to get my head out of my a%* and realize no one really cares about what the heck it is that I’m doing but we’ll get there. I’m going to break my free fall into this pit of ‘perfection’ horseshit that I leaped into.
Take this home with you: You don’t need to fit into that mold with poison coated on the walls inside. You don’t need to be anyone else but you. It’s easier said than done and especially if it’s coming from me, a person who’s struggled with being EVERYTHING else but herself, there’s no reason why you should take it. But, sit your bottom down and ask yourself,
‘How much of what you’re putting out for the world to see is only to receive validation from a group of people that you, Samantha and I know, don’t matter now or in the long run?’

THESE ARE MY PAPER PLANES TO YOU.

I’m still the little shy boy that I’ve always been. Me and the person that you first replied to on Instagram are two world’s apart. Sure, I was the one behind the screen all along, the same boy with the big brown eyes, thick set black eyebrows adding an extra frame to my already thick rimmed black glasses that were half the size of my face. I am him.
Seeing you the day after I first ‘slid into your dms’ with a harmless, “Hey, where are you from?”, I had a nervous breakdown. While I wasn’t expecting you to even respond to me, you did. Why even? And seeing that you actually kept up a conversation with me was even more baffling. Why even?
I feared you hadn’t really seen me in person. My instagram feed is very deceptive, I’d been told. I know my angles and work with them pretty well and let’s not forget about lighting and the sub-par editting I take pride in. What if you thought I had decieved you too and you’d come into class and see that I was not all that? What if you came into class and saw that I was …….me.
And so I waited, catching my breath, at the edge of my seat, chewing my nail and letting my teeth dig deeper and deeper into my flesh. Just about when the pain started stinging, I began pulling at the skin on my lip, something most find unattractive as opposed to only biting one’s lip. But here I was, doing everything that people told me not to because ‘hygiene’. Oh, I almost forgot to mention how my hands were so sweaty, they felt like the skin of eels.
My eyes shot to the door creaking when you walked in, followed by a couple other girls I’d never seen before. Ya’ll wore the brightest smiles and genuinely looked happy with each others company. I wasted no time. My eyes were quick to search your face. Any sign of recognition would do and that’s when I got it. Your eyes swept over me, barely an acknowledgement. Of course, I didn’t think much of it because it lasted for all of 2 seconds. 2 seconds are a little bit of a stretch, if I were honest . All you did was run your eyes through everyone on the opposite side, again. Barely stopping to meet mine. Nothing too special. But I’d like to think otherwise.
No recognition meant you hadn’t had the chance to completely see me and judge me based off of that. I was rigid through the day after I had made sure you were sitting as far from me as possible. Yet, I knew you sat somewhere behind where I was seated, laughing and talking with those friends of yours. It scared me that the more people you associated yourself with, the more people that’d know how desperate I was for your attention, even though I was keeping up an act of not being all that.
After class, like the days that followed, I’d walk out slower than you would or run straight out before you could gather your belongings or just do anything that I could do to avoid human interaction, with you and your laugh-y group. Seemed to be working fantastically. The routine was something I was getting used to. But you clearly weren’t having any of that. I was content with having just an online ‘thing’ going on even though we studied in the same class, had 25 people in between our roll numbers which meant we’d be put into a majority of our other periods together. While a meeting would be thought inevitable, I’d managed to avoid it up until you called me out on it.
You asked me why we were doing what we were doing. I knew you were getting weirded out by it and so I took another chance, first being that I hunted you down on social media and sent you the first message. I agreed to walk back with you after class. Now mind you, this meant that we’d have all eyes on us. We’d become the new …………….
I wanted your attention. I’ve never been the boy to ever want the attention of anyone. I’m better off when I’m left to myself but that was not the case with you. I wanted you to know I existed but at the very same time, I wanted you to know that I only exist as the person that spoke to you through texts after class. I was the same person but between you and I, I was more confident and much, much, much more in control of what I said and how I said it while texting. I knew that if I spoke to you, face to face, you’d hear the crack in my voice, the shrillness when I pronounce some words, the way my tongue rolls oddly at some other words. Basically, you’d notice. Whatever it was, I wasn’t ready to put myself under your scrutiny.
But, I did. I slept that night thinking that after the next day, things would change between you and I. Either I’d be terrified at the thought of being around you or I’d actually quite enjoy talking to you. It all boiled down to you.
I made it seem like I was the problem. But, now, it was upto you. Based off of how you’d react to me being stuttery and awkward in real life and not the smart mouthed, quick witted, sarcastic boy with the carefully calculated replies that I seemed to be online, I’d either run from you and never talk to you again or I’d build something I’d craved for since forever.
It was on you.

Author’s note: This is a little something I wanted to try out. Instead of letters to people, I want to send paper planes to people. You could take it as a ‘letter series’ but I’d much rather you take it as the ‘Paper Plane Series’. Now, I dont quite know if this has been started anytime before on here. This idea came to me while I was just falling asleep, racking my head as to what I was going to write this week. When I began writing again three weeks ago, I’d planned on doing it mid-week so I’d have a little less pressure on posting during the weekends, like I’d promised. But, this week has been a little crazy what with me trying to recoup from my week-long of staying away from class because of my tooth extraction and the fever that followed. So, this idea just came out of pressure and I’d really like to think this is a first on here. (If not, um….)
This is the first paper plane to a girl from a boy I know. They’ve just started off in a college, both from two different places of the country. That’s about all that they have in common. They’re not from the city and they’re interests and views definitely don’t match. But through the coming weeks, he’ll be sending paper planes to her about how their story unfolded until we reach to present day.
I’m still going to be writing absolutely pointless things and it’s not just going to be this. I’m going to throw this in whenever I have a packed week since the story ………. is a lot closer to my heart than I’m letting on,
Until later,
Anya

HOW MUCH WISDOM DO YOU LOSE AFTER A TOOTH EXTRACTION?

None.
STORYTIIIIIIME! Who’s ready?
Since I’m always living in the past, lemme rewind this bit.
Last Saturday, I’d been having a slight pain at the corner of my mouth and thanks to the numerous videos I had seen on wisdom tooth extractions (Not the educational ones. I take joy in watching people say absolute rubbish while under anesthesia. *chuckles in shame*) I guessed that the pain I had could be from an emerging wisdom tooth.
A week prior to this, I’d been complaining of pain in my upper set of teeth on my right side as well.
Hint: I had two wisdom teeth ready to pop and ruin my first weekend back at college.
Before the guessing happened, there were more guessing-s (?). Since my lump at the corner of my mouth near the last bottom tooth was painful, it could be a benign cancer. (Malignant cancer lumps don’t hurt as much.) Also, I couldn’t quite differentiate between my neck and my mouth so for half a day I thought I had tonsillitis. After which, I was convinced that the pain in my ankle from walking around with heavy whole-sale books was radiating to my head. I had only recently learnt about referred pain. Also, a swelling in the face could be mumps, even though there was no swelling evident on the outside. Follicles, nodes, lumps, uncontrollable cancers, radiating pains, mumps …………………… If I’d been let to myself, I’d have come up with tuberculosis because I’d read a board on tuberculosis on the same exact day.
The more ‘half-knowledge’ you have, the more in a soup you are.
So like I always do when I’m extremely anxious, I put myself to sleep, convincing myself since I’d caught the lump in it’s early stages, I wouldn’t be in too much trouble. But, after this nap, I felt myself biting down on a bigger lump. The little tiny thing that had sprouted out the day before had successfully wedged itself between my upper and lower tooth. And being a person with actual feelings, I felt like Satan himself was setting the right side of my mouth on fire.
I took a painkiller that my father was certain would relieve a little of my pain and slept on it only to find it lodged in its place the next morning as well. By this time, Lord Jesus knew I had to go to the doctor because I woke up with a headache and went through my day with the headache only building and an added LISP! It was like talking to someone with a hard sugar candy in your mouth EXCEPT this candy was sending shock waves and pain to every inch of my mouth and radiating to my head. It felt like my brain was too big for my head.
At some point in the afternoon, I became aware that the pain I’d been having for two days, had somehow seemingly reduced. And like aforementioned, malignant cancer lumps are most usually painless. So while in class, I thought about expenses. I’m a 100% serious when I say my cancer thoughts were coming back in full force since the lump wasn’t as hard as a tooth. It kept playing in the back of my head. Sure, I might’ve over reacted but do you ever really know for sure?
Coming back to my sensation-less lump, I poked and prodded with my tongue to get some sensation back. I’ve always been applauded for my aim (NEVER!) and I don’t see why not? After two tries, I managed to poke my tongue right at the lump. There are a total of three times I’ve ever wanted to rip the hair out of my head. One, when someone touches my knee. Two, when someone steps on my foot. Three, ………….. it was then that I realized that I had a third thing that made me want to rip my hair out.
My pain was back and in full force at that. After class, I made my way to the doctor, hoping and praying I hadn’t missed him because it was almost closing time. That was one of the days the only day I’d ever been thankful that I stayed on campus where the hospital was only a literal hop, skip and jump away.
I made my way to the dentist’s office in good time, was asked to walk right in and got seated and it took the doctor three seconds to come look into my mouth. I was NOT prepared to be rushed in like that. Let a person breathe a little.
My dentist, who I’d never seen before, looked strangely like my mother except for her intimidating height. (Yes, my mom is a smurf.) Calmness was just starting to set in after hearing she sounds eerily much like my mum before which, she picked up an instrument, nodding her head to what I had to say and jabbed the end of the instrument right at the lump, MID CONVERSATION. I took back home a lesson that day. DO NOT ENGAGE IN CONVERSATION IF THERE’S A TOOL IN YOUR MOUTH. It’s all a sick plan.
You guessed right if you thought I lost my shit and gently roughly gently pushed her hand away. She carefully set the instrument down and told me I had to get my wisdom tooth removed. The surgeon was in the building and the surgery could be done in an hour’s time if I got an X-ray done in under 30 minutes.
I lost her at ‘the surgeon is in the building’. I had to get her to repeat what she had just said because I was certain I had heard her wrong. WHO CAME HERE FOR A SURGERY, MA’AM? Not me, for sure. I suppose she sensed my reluctance and explained to me in as little words as possible that if I waited for opinions, the pain would just remain until I got it out. If she had an X-ray she’d explain why I HAD to remove it out.
At this point, I gave in. What harm would an X-ray do? I’d never gotten an X-ray AND my clinical rotation in the hospital demanded for an X-ray for procedures we’d conduct on patients (Sometime faaaar into the future, I know.). I’d hit two birds in the eye if I got this X-ray. One, I’d get the X-ray and use it for my academics and two, I’d walk out of here with no need of a surgery once she realizes that I didn’t really have to pull my tooth out. A tablet and a painkiller to reduce the swelling would suffice. Why wasn’t I a dentist already because I seemed to have my shit sorted?
Boy, Oh, boy, was I wrong.
Four injections, 6 stitches and two wisdom teeth extraction later, I realized I was 2 teeth less. I’d done it. I sat through my very first surgery, by myself, among-st people I didn’t know but treated me very kindly, and I’d been the bravest I’d ever been. Sure, under the influence of anesthesia I thought about my sister in a far off land and cried for her. I thought of my granny and cried for her. I thought of my parents and cried for them. I thought of a dear friend and cried again. But I’d taken it pretty damn well, if you asked me. I believe the term used by the doctor was ‘brave girl’ even though I was sobbing like I’d lost an eye.
I walked out of that place like the boss that I still think I am, paid my bills, got my meds and walked right back to my room. Only to break down in my own company.
This time, I’d done it out of pain, not under the influence of anything. I was in terrible pain. In between my episodes of crying, I thought about how my parents and my granny, the three people that knew I was going to do this alone but were miles away and couldnt help but let me do it, were worried sick. I wouldn’t tell them that my pain was a 11/10. I settled with a 7/10. I wouldn’t tell them that I missed them and that even though I’d called people just in case I never made it back, possibly fainted on the way because of the anesthesia, I felt like someone else should’ve gotten the extraction with me just for the heck of it. I felt alone. And then the pain took over all irrational thinking and I was once again sunk in a sensation close to having my whole head on fire and my body going ice cold from my neck down.
I have a fairly good pain tolerance but a terribly high fever hits me almost immediately and renders me useless for the next day and a half. The routine continued. I took my medications, the painkillers kicking in only after THREE HOURS and I drifted to sleep earlier than I usually would, finally ending that day.
I might’ve (definitely did) lost two wisdom teeth that day, equal to losing half my wisdom owing to the fact that a person has only four such teeth. (Side note: I’ve had moments of such realizations before but that day, I just knew, I have the stupidest friends I could have asked for thanks to their stupid theory of me losing wisdom along with my teeth. You can’t lose anything from a zero, DUH!) But, I’d never been more proud of myself. I wasn’t particularly scared of it all, thanks to my previous experiences with dentists and braces, but the thought of getting two teeth pulled wasn’t very settling.
I’d sat through this by myself. I put myself in a situation where I couldn’t escape. I didn’t flake out or complain. (So I think.) Sure, I was whiny about the pain but HELLO, 4 injections and 2 extra from the nurse because I got back sensation in between the procedure, isn’t easy, okay?! Maybe it is, but you know me. I just gotta be making everything a huge deal.
So, that was my not so detailed but extremely detailed storytime. I hope you liked it or didn’t, IF YOU DON’T TAKE JOY IN OTHER’S PAIN!
Author’s note: A lot of you’ll, much like myself before I had this done, probably don’t see why it’s a big thing for me but it is. If you’ve ever had a tooth extraction, or two, know that it’s not the easiest thing. I’ve had a swelling for a week now and it’s only just reducing. Cutting into your gum, and then your bone, stitching that up is what it took for me to get rid of my tooth. Imagine that being done, TWICE!
Only wisdom I took back after it all wasn’t the fact that I can do anything maturely once I put my mind to it, without kicking my doctor in the throat but it was the fact that I MADE myself do it. I could’ve easily run away with the excuse of getting an X-ray and settled on an island and prolong the pain or worsen my condition with an infection. I wasn’t under anyone’s supervision. I could’ve worsened it for myself. But I’m glad I was in enough pain to just get it over with as opposed to running away and waiting for someone else to force me into it, like I would’ve probably done if it wasn’t for a sudden spurt of courage from God alone knows where.

Lesson 1: If you put your mind to it, convince yourself there’s no other way even if there is, you’ll get your shit done. (That sounded better in my head, I promise.)

wisdom tooth
Anyway, thanks for reaching here. Peace out.
Until later on,
Anya

HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU’RE ON THE RIGHT PATH?

In answer to the question in bold, more often than not you know you’re on the right path if it feels like you’re on the wrong one to everyone else but you!

I guarantee you, you’ll be rolling your eyes more than once during the course of this article.
Let’s rewind this ish. So, 2017. The year I got accepted into MedSchool. 2016, the year I decided I was going to take a few months off, staying at home and studying for this huge test that I needed to take to get accepted into ANY college in India.
Now, this wasn’t the easiest decision I had taken owing to the fact that a lot of my classmates from school and college were now admitted into professional colleges. And here I was, praying to everything that was ever mentioned in the Bible, so I could get myself into Medical School.
It did contribute to the already low self esteem that I had. I was introduced as the kid that stayed at home because she couldn’t get through to any medical college in the State. What does that mean?
In simple Indian relative/friends of parents/classmates/snakes language, I was DUMB! Not that I was competeting with the entire Nation for a limited amount of seats. OH HELL NO! Because India has a population of 70 people out of which 30 are sensible and the rest 40 are your relatives.
So, the year that I stayed at home, while people who were trying out for the exam like I was, were in coachig classes, (I’m not blowing my own horn, I’m just saying it the way it is.) was the year that I heard THE MOST bizarre questions and statements I have ever heard. I couldn’t retaliate with a comeback then because bachche kya jante hai? (What will kids really know?)
So here are some of the things that I was told and below each of them are the things I wished I had shut them up with.
You’re not ready for this.
1) She’s sitting at home? What was her second PU results? Wasn’t enough, huh? (Equivalent to grade 12.)
– This was the time I realized that if you were to sit at home, you better have the percentage for it. Or if you had a 99% then you wouldnt have to worry about your lack of life skills being at a 0% because NO MATTER WHAT! your 99% will get you a job in the topmost firm and if you make it as the employer of the week it is because of your 99% and the ghee and the almonds that you had at 4 in the morning when you were religiously running to your tuitions!
Anything below a 100% is sub-par. And god forbid you get an 84%. Did you even touch your books? Obviously not. Is 84 even a percentage?
2) She’s sitting at home? Give little money and put her in any college. A girl cannot be sitting at home.
– Now why didn’t I think of giving ‘little money’ and admitting myself in a decent college? My parents, OBVIOUSLY, come drop all of their earnings into this little sealed pot we have at home, labelled ‘Our second daughter’s college tuition money only! (In subscript: BECAUSE OUR OTHER DAUGHTER WHO IS PURSUING MEDICINE IN ANOTHER COUNTRY WILL BE LOOKED AFTER BY THE GOVERNMENT OF THAT COUNTRY AND BE TREATED AS THEIR OWN CHILD)’. Let’s not forget about the mine we ‘inherited’ from our ancestors. We’ve been in the news for the amount of wealth we have. But, we don’t like to speak about our forutne like that.
That being said, I still don’t know why we didn’t use that money to get me a medical seat. It was definitely not because we couldn’t buy our seats what with the strict rules of the MCI that were introduced. And most definitely not because, well, WE DIDN’T HAVE THE MONEY!
3) She’s sitting at home? My someone’s someone’s someone’s daughter is also ‘wasting’ a year. But she’s taking tuition so next year surely she’ll get admitted. That’s what they’ve said in the banner. Try putting her into some class. She might be bright but tuitions are a must these days.
– JUST. NO. DONT. GET. ME. STARTED. NO.
4) She’s sitting at home? You could’ve forced her into something else. It’s not nice to sit at home. Especially for a girl.
-It’s not nice to judge a person’s decision and it’s especially not nice to judge it based on the person’s gender. And just like how forcefully shutting this person up will never work, forcefully putting me into some other field will most definitely NOT WORK. If I want to do something, I deserve the chance to do it in my own time. Even if it means I need forty chances, I’ll take it just so I can say I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to. I tried changing paths but realized that it was not like me to give up a dream I’ve been having since I was 11. So if you’re one of these people that believe in jumping between your two options, you need to rethink your life. You can’t have two things you absolutely love. (Save that answer for when someone asks you which one of your parents you love the most.)
We need to nip these species at the bud before they pull down people who actually have the balls to go after their dreams.

Author’s note:
This is in no way or form trying to put me in the limelight of doing something really extra-ordinary. These were just some of the things that I heard everytime I met anyone, which happened most times that I’ve stepped out of my house. You can’t ever completely shut yourself off even if you tried to. It’s one of those ‘It’s Impossible’ things. Yes, they exist.
Getting a medical seat in India, is one of the most painful experiences I’ve ever gone through. It is truly physcially and mentally draining and really tests your patience. But this doesnt fall in the ‘It’s Impossible’ section, for sure. Personally, with my knowledge and my exposure, I had a really tough time but I can have others speak about their own stories where it wasn’t exactly a smooth sailing but they have nothing to complain about.
Whatever your profession, be a little considerate about every other field. AND don’t pretend you can generalize every professional college. Each of them is different, if you haven’t already picked up. Each student has his/her own battles they’re fighting. Don’t be the adult that thinks one field is easier than the other. Don’t be the adult that thinks dreaming of a profession isn’t normal. Don’t be the adult that thinks putting down a child with hopes is actually a better thing to do FOR them.
Trust that the kid knows what he/she is doing. Like one of my peers said, you’re not the only one that wishes them good.

Until later,

Anya

WHO AM I? WHAT AM I?WHAT WE DOING HERE?

I know we’ve been down this road before. It’s surprising how I can still type like I’m having a full blown conversation with the internet. Well, thankfully, that one thing hasn’t disappeared even tho my will to write momentarily had.
Welcome to my site. If you’ve been here long enough since I started this site two and a half years ago under a different site address (Take a shot everytime I say ‘site’), you’re the real OG but if you’re new here, looking for promising content, hahahahahdisappointmenthahahaha. YES, YOU’VE HIT THE POT OF GOLD!
Hey there.
I am Anya Abraham. I turned 20 this year on the 28th of May. I’m currently going to step into the second year in a medical school 6.5 hours away from home. (That’s 6.5 hours of crawling back to my little hole where I hide from the world.) How do people usually introduce themselves around here? I know I’m doing it all wrong especially for a person whose more than half of their life has been previously documented on here and deleted because …………….
Getting to why this changed, I figure I owe some sort of explanation because I initially thought no one cared, but ever since I got a couple (Literally, two) DMs, I just assumed that they’re expressing their concern on behalf of the whole population that solely depends on my writing to get through life. (Whatever helps me sleep at night, right?)
Here’s the tea:
I want to start new.

Having said that, I could’ve just started a new site for myself. True. I could’ve but much like everything else, I attach a part of my soul to everything I do and own. (Sorta like Voldemort.) No, but for real, this is my brain child from 2016. And while that had been the roughest year I’d ever gone through, something really beautiful came out of it. (My favorite pair of shoes that I wish to be buried with.) And well, life happened and then some other things and then writer’s block hit me in the face whenever I forced myself to come up with content or forced myself to be inspired (Kids, inspiration CANNOT be forced.) and that led to me completely abandoning my baby here and ……………… And I can’t come to shut it down even if I tried to.
The reason I want to be back is because over the past few weeks I’ve come to realize that this site that I created for myself, to unapologetic-ally pour out whatever ran 400 mph in my head, was the only and the only thing keeping me sane. I find humour (Pathetic much like myself) a source of liberation. And I’d bring out my funny side (Let’s all laugh at how I think I have a sense of humour.) only through writing. I’d also like to believe I’m a really funny person amongst people I associate with. But between writing and people, I choose to sit behind a screen and type away. This is ,without a doubt, going to kill my social relationships but you know, I never was a people person.
So that aside, here’s what’s up! I’m going to give inconsistency a go here and see where the wind takes us. (Knowing me, I’m just going to go in circles.)
Again,
Welcome to my site where I have no idea what I’m going to put out but I’m certain I’m going to be ruthless and more often than not inappropriate and might come across as borderline insane a bright ball of SUNSHINE!
I have to apologize at how all over the damn place this seems, but yeah! *shrugs*

Let’s get this started!!!!!

1)

Until later,
Anya