Rants and opinions, rain and rainbows.
4 in my nickname
and all the other things I love
like your pretty manners
and your weird dreams
and how our love remains a “could have been”
–
friend, lover, stranger,
i’ve liked you in all of these colours
and miles part us and though I can’t see you or hold you
there have been nights when I couldn’t keep my words off of you.
//I hate paths which end blindly yet I can’t seem to dislike the fact that we met in this life//
I no longer apologise for being me. I know my truth and I’m not debating it with you. I don’t have to justify my boundaries. I deserve happiness.
Alright, so I improvised a line from “Fantastic Beasts and Where to find them: Crimes of Grindelwald” but I like to apply the “If it fits, then I sits” mantra of the smaller members of the feline family to myself as well when I write down a heading (perks of being a Mano) and the moment couldn’t have been any more opportune because I just finished “A poem a day”.
Granted, I watched it at a very stressful time of my life as my anatomy mock exam happens to be the day after tomorrow and although I pretend to have a “happy-go-lucky” personality, the shameful truth is that I try to binge study (just as I pretty much binge doramas) usually on the last day and I do it- yes, you guessed it, under a hella lotta stress. (Cue acne and making sad faces in the mirror, looking at the reflection with eyes filled with regret of wasting perfectly good time).
But I’ll work on that, I’m going to change my unhealthy ways (My resolutions are based on unstable foundations, I’ll probably remain a sorry excuse of a human till some more years (◕ᴗ◕✿) Gomen!)
Anyways, back to “A poem a day”. The reason I picked up this drama was because I, too love tiny bite-sized daily poetry and I just had a feeling that it would be a good watch. I started it and I was glad to see my favourite cutie, Lee Yu-Bi, the ‘Choco’ from ‘Innocent Man’, the endearing new reporter in ‘Pinocchio’ who always did “Yes, Cap!” with a salute and the shattered but still standing tall example of a woman who had been to hell and back in “Gu family book”. I’d always wanted her to have her own show! And the main lead guy! *drum roll* [SPOILER] The prosecutor who dies in the second last episode of ‘ City Hunter’, actor Lee Joon-Hyuk! (The characters whose character arcs never attain Nirvana in kdrama land always stay with you because you always want them to be happy as well as everyone else who ‘got away’ with their happy ending.) So I was really excited to see him in a drama which was centred around the emotions in a hospital and how literature and words can resonate and calm the storms in us, giving us the feeling that we aren’t alone. And the poems really were cute and adorable, I loved them. Until, well. Until the poems became bait for a show which didn’t have a lot to offer except zero chemistry between the lovers (and I had really high hopes for these actors too) and entrapment of characters in their own idiosyncrasies.
Poetry is something that goes deep into the construct of a human soul and threads out a cloth with the needle of raw emotions. The show did offer moments like that and the soft narrations of the poems were calming and warm but the acting was b a d and relatable moments were seen in the patients in the hospital and rarely in the main cast themselves. And the only person whose story made me “fan away tears” was MinHo who was forced into the field of physiotherapy by his parents who didn’t forget to remind him either that “If you’d gotten better marks, you could have been a doctor instead.” Aigoo, please go away, patronising parents.
In a nutshell, the relationship between Dr. Ye Je Wook and Dr. Woo Bo Young is acted out so superficially that it’s sad because they both met each other through poetry and their characters deserve more depth and motivation than what they were given. Even as the drama ends, we depart yet look on at them staying in their “happy bubble” which at this point, I’m dying to poke just to explore their personalities more.
But we can’t complain, the poems were superb and I think that was the whole point as well so I really can’t hate this drama after all and here is a poem which really, really, brought tears to my eyes. Literally the reason why I wrote up this whole post.
I thought it was okay for mothers to do that, even if she works herself to death on the farm fields. I thought it was okay for mothers to do that, even if she sits on the furnace and eats a cold bowl of rice for lunch. I thought it was okay for mothers to do that, even if she does laundry with her bare hands and cold water on a winter’s day.
I thought it was okay for mothers to do that.
“I’m full, I’m not hungry.” Even if she starves while feeding her family. I thought it was okay for mothers to do that. Even if her heels are so worn out that they make noises in the blanket, I thought it was okay for mothers to do that. Even if her fingernails are so worn-out that they can’t even be clipped, I thought it was okay for mothers to do that. Even if father’s anger and our rebellion doesn’t phase her-
I thought it was okay for mothers to do that.
“I miss your grandmother, I miss your grandmother.” I thought those were just complaints. She woke up in the middle of the night and cried in silence. When I saw that, I thought,
Ah! It was not okay for mothers to do that.
*****
•das my mum, y’all•
When people talk about parting, the general metaphor is “cutting off ties”. As if you were bound together by ropes. Which also implies that the relationship wasn’t a good one because ropes are associated with bondage, keeping something beside you which doesn’t want to kept. So it’s only natural to let go.
But sometimes parting is more like the painful and tedious rubbing of sandpaper against rock, trying to erase something which you’d set in stone. It’s tiring and lonesome work.
Anyways, here’s a song about parting. Ending Scene by IU. 
I’m such a mess, my mind is literally all over the place, running at the speed of light as I try to perfect my expressions according to my speech and tell myself not to stutter as I speak and not to look desperate for a good conversation and not to expose my frustration through my eyes as I try to fit in, with all of you who are (maybe) probably like me.
~Part 1 of “Places you don’t fit in ft. Verbal conversations”
//From June, 2017//
I’ve always hated chemistry. Because I couldn’t understand it. Because even when I tried to, it still presented itself to me as an esoteric enigma, making me feel like as if I was trying to make sense out of something through a kaleidoscope. I knew it was beautiful, people had devoted their lives to this particular subject, and I respected that. But it never made me feel at home. And I didn’t like that.
Until I had to repeat a year. Sounds a little embarrassing to write it out loud, in front of the internet and all, but yes, that happened. I gave the Medical college entry test, didn’t make the cut (actually I fell pretty far away from the cut) so had to give it another go. (Try, try again, isn’t that right, T.H. Palmer?)
And so I had to acquiesce, like a wild horse being broken. Swallowing my ego, I tried to make peace with many chemical reactions. And after some months, I realised that I could use some of these phenomenas for my own nerdish theories.
(Can’t brainwash my inner nerd away, KIPS! I’ll forever rebel against your 5 am classes by using science to corroborate my own cosmological and philosophical deductions! *takes out every colour highlighter and bookmark and waves them around fiercely to express my colourful heart*)
I always talk a lot about relationships for some reason and I will talk about them again now. Somehow, at at least one point in our lives, we fall prey to the idea of perfection. With every condition at its ideal. Now let me talk a little about gases. They are ideal and they are non-ideal. The non-ideal ones are called real. Do you understand?
For ideal, hypothetical gases, they made a kinetic theory to explain them. But when they used it to explain real gases, well what do you know? Two of the postulates failed. The scientists were probably stumped though until they came upon a realisation that well, you need some ideal conditions to make real gases behave like ideal ones. Low pressure and high temperature. But alas! Some gases still deviated from the ideal behaviour. And then Van der Waal came along and made some corrections in some factors so the postulates could be applied on real gases, yada yada. But I was fascinated by how this felt like something that also linked to relationships. Ideal ones don’t exist. But the idea of one is necessary so you can relate to it once a real one comes along. So, some of your own postulates get debunked and leave you in a mess. Followed by the realisation of what’s real and what’s not. And then making some of your own corrections. Breaking down your own castles to a rubble. But staying steady and getting the hang of it, leaving the idea behind for something far better. For something real. For something you worked for.
(Did I already mention this in a previous post as well? Maybe.)
And then we come to the topic of bonding. Atoms, humans, potato, potahto. When two atoms come closer together, they attract. But no, to be more specific, their valence electrons react, depending on their own valencies and their stability and how much they need to depend on one another. We get some amount of a bond energy and that’s that. But are the atoms completely attached to one another when they’re bonded? Are they standing side by side, no space in between them? No. You forget about the other electrons, the ones in the inner shells. They are negatively charged, the electrons of the other atom are also negatively charged, so they will repel and there will a decrease in energy and a distance between them. A little distance isn’t a bad thing, everyone needs space to breathe. Even when you’re in love, remember that you are YOU, even though you share parts of yourself with someone, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve your own space because that’s a good thing! Distance makes the heart grow fonder. You don’t have to stick together like two beans in a pod 24/7.
(My chemistry professor JUST said “Humans and atoms are exactly the SAME but with different forms of expression” LIKE OH MY GOD WOW I was writing this in class and he just said that, I want to grin out loud!)
My point is, we are made of atoms and so we have their characteristics. We collide, connect, disconnect and even blow up, giving off heat and terrible energy. I just thought this was very fascinating how science, (rationality-driven, fact-seeking) could relate to something as irrational and free as love. I guess they are both two paths of a same journey.
Like a deer in front of headlights, I stare at the projector slides during class. The crisp white coat which I had always despised, is now a part of my daily attire. But white has always been a nice colour. It’s a colour of change, as if you can paint anything over it. Like a canvas. Like when you think about your future, sometimes all you see is a white light, waiting for you to get there with your prism.
That’s what university meant to me. One step closer to that white light. I’m taking baby steps but I’ll get there. The deer in front of the headlights will realise that it doesn’t have to be scared. Maybe I’ve been hit so many times that rock bottom doesn’t frighten me.
They say you don’t make your choices but your choices make you. But I couldn’t make my own choices even if I could. My parents will do that for me.
And so I live, an internet deprived life. Mobile data lasts for a certain blissful amount of time and like all great things, comes to an end. Moments when I find internet in a cafe or at a relative’s are rare but I try to cherish them like one would cherish the last moments with a dying lover.
My exact situation is this:
I don’t have wifi. I do, however, have an internet usb which also only lasts for a certain amount of GBs (which end in a blink of an eye, and yes I download a shitload of stuff, mostly anime or Korean dramas) and it’s speed is so slow, my death certificate will look like this.
Cause of death: Slow Internet
And then comes the mobile data and then the long phase of staring at walls, waiting for the next month so Mum can pay the usb bill. I also don’t own my own cellphone. I use my Mum’s. Am I sure that I’m 18 years old? Well, unless someone messed with my birth certificate then yes, I’m sure.
But I don’t mind. I have zero (maybe even less than that) self-control, and I would study less than I already do and if I did have all that I wanted, then my parents wouldn’t get what they want. And that’s a good report card from my college, in the mail, on a silver tray, at the breakfast table.
And I also don’t get pocket money. My parents don’t have time for that kind of luxuries. They are both doctors and even when they get a second away from their routine, they will start studying. Even at the age of 45. The conversation they have will typically go like this:
“I had a case of leukaemia today, do you mind if I send the reports to you in the lab?”
“No, it’s alright, but check it yourself first if the platelet and the red-blood cell levels are normal.”
“Sure, right after I complete this report on meningitis, so many kids are getting this lately, not to mention diphtheria.”
“Not to mention the sudden attack of dengue. Which reminds me, Mahnoor. Could you print out the new government precaution update for me? And why are you out here anyway? Why are you not studying? Do you want to fail in exams, kick our honour around in the dirt, die alone with not a penny to your name?”
(Seriously, she makes my life go past my eyes like that. From exam-failing to living in the streets, and I just sigh and go back inside.)
My friends got lunch money, I got two small nuggets (chicken, not gold) in my lunch box. Once I asked Dad to start giving me pocket money and he said that’s what posh people do. What even is life?
Trying to look at it optimistically, I suppose that this is my super-power. This miserable situation does make me the odd one, so I’ve decided that it doesn’t have to make me feel bad anymore. I thought about the time when I was a kid, and internet never even existed in my life. I remember sunshine and grass, my grandfather-
(Why do I sound like an alcoholic in rehab, who is suddenly remembering his life before he started dating alcohol?)
Anyways, with no wifi around, I write more and draw more, and I wouldn’t do so otherwise because I have no control over my brain and I’d be on YouTube right now, if I led a different life, learning about how the first meme ever came into being and if Romania ever had actual dragons (Ron’s brother, Charlie worked with dragons there), and if yes, then is Sebastian Stan also a lovely yet dangerous mythitical being?
I’m probably going to get very very bored, but also going to be very very happy about not seeing that there are single ladies in my area who want to chat with me (Not that I wouldn’t chat with them, they look like lovely ladies but they seem so desperate, you just kind of lose interest). And if it’s not the ladies, it’s weight loss techniques and if it’s not that, then it’s “10 photos Hilary Clinton wishes didn’t exist”, I mean, come on. Nobody cares. I wish the ads were better. I wish they were like, “Golden Retriever pup rolling on the grass, click to see more.”
Anyways, winter is here (“Father always said so”) and I haven’t got a lot to look forward to except oranges and the days with sweet sunshine. And my super power doesn’t feel like a power anymore. It’s just there. It doesn’t even do anything anymore, like, I would love a magic wand or something. I feel so useless, I would swish around anything. Okay, new holidays goal. Steal the Elder Wand my cousin got from England when he visited the Hogwarts set. (He probably won’t even notice it’s gone, while I, on the other hand would kiss it goodnight and then lock it in the secret safe under my bed.)
Super-power or a burden? I guess this power is too great, my brain can’t deal with it. Super-power or just my life? Now, that makes sense.
(But seriously, would love some Internet. Even the monastery where Doctor Strange learned had wifi. They weren’t savages. But then again, if I tell that to my parents, they will say “At least he was a doctor. You should become one first too and then you can live with monks with wifi for all we care.”)
When things started to go downhill, I was the immature one who was infatuated with the idea of love and he was the mature one who had seen the world. It was somehow easy for him to convince me that this wasn’t “it”, that there was nothing to be sad about, things end all the time and nothing can last forever anyway.
I should have known this because once he told me that I was like a cloud which brought rain to the barren fields he called his life. And I suppose, that’s what clouds do. They pass by and on.
Sometimes, being in love is a fight between idea and reality. Even a person, whom you once thought was all that, is not “all that”. So, slowly the castles of ideas break down to rubble, one by one, and there is a war going on in your head. But what do you do? You stay. You stay with the other person who is also weltschmerz-ed because you aren’t all that as he/she thought you were either. But, you need to forgive yourself for creating something in your mind which wasn’t real. That’s the only way you can get out of the labyrinth. If things go south, forgive yourself. And the other person as well. And say, “I’m sorry we messed up, do you want to try again?” Because at the end of the day, you’re a human. And you’re learning. Slowly but steadily. Isn’t love about “After all these things I’ve done, I think I’ll love you better now?”
And gradually, the ideas will fall apart, you will go through seas of pain, but in the end, there will be no fantasy left. You’ll be standing in front of the person you love, with nothing fake between you but reality. And what’s that? It’s the fact that you both stayed. You’re standing there, battered and torn but stripped to your soul and that will be perfection.
You see, everything begins from an idea. And then reaches some real point when the haze clears away and you can see form and shape. There is always some ideal point first. But to reach there, you have to let go of some things. You have to let go. But letting go isn’t always bad. Letting go doesn’t mean you’re cheating on the ideas you’d been holding on to. It means that you’ve found something for which you can give yourself permission to change. With whom you can grow together with. Because albeit love is important, but since no two people are similar in all aspects of their lives, they should allow themselves a little morphosis, for the puzzle to fit. It will seem a little imperfect at times, but you should believe with all your heart and soul, that there is perfection in imperfection. That you made something that you’re both proud of. Sure, it isn’t ideal (nothing ever is, not gases, not transformers) but it’s real. I know it looks like autumn when you’re shedding old leaves but spring is around the corner as well.
And what else do you require? Patience and courage.
Anybody can ‘love’ but not many can actually ‘stay’. Because a serious commitment means responsibilities, fights, screaming and shouting, pulling the boat through storms, actually, like ACTUALLY not saying, but DOING ‘no matter what’, breaking down ideas, accepting bitter realities and learning and forgiving and learning again.
It sounds scary and it is. And people know that. But I think it’s all worth it.
But now, commitment is an idea, a fantasy. People will call you immature if you hold onto that for too long. Or worse, delusional. Messing around is considered more real now, thanks to the excuses of broken hearts and trust issues.
I’m more of a “keeping secret journals” kind of a nerd, which consequently also makes me a slow typer. But due to my enthusiasm fuelled participation in the “online friends” area, my typing speed has shown an applaudable improvement. And I write because it’s a habit now (my dad would add ‘bad’ as a prefix to that) and I really cannot remember why I started it, I have been writing as far as I can remember. (Not actually as far as I can remember. My very first memory is probably of my crib mobile with tiny farm animals going around my head). Nonetheless, writing being my oldest hobby (proud owner of 14 journals, started when I was in grade 5, thank you very much) I will continue it and see how it goes.
I’ll write about whatever comes to mind, from excited rants about tv shows to depressive life stories, brilliant playlists to crappy reviews. Occasionally, there will be some good stuff too. But only on days when I am feeling exceptionally heart-broken or if I ever meet Sebastian Stan.
And oh, I almost forgot. I hope you have a good day!
A little bit of everything 