That didn’t go as f***ing Planned

“That didn’t go as f***ing planned.” I don’t know who came up with this quote, but this describes the story of my life in six words. I don’t usually plan, but when I do, it never goes according to the plan. I plan a trip, a gathering, or sinply a study time for my exams, and in the end, I am left with a disoriented chaos. My plans have failed, surprisingly, so many times that I am no longer surprised at their failure. However, with age comes wisdom. I have become wiser, and now, when I am about to plan or do something, my wise soul tells me, “This isn’t going to go as f***ing planned.”

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A Rant of a Forty year old Me… probably

I don’t remember how many seasons have gone by since then, but I remember it was spring. Back then I was unaware of the consequences that day would bring. It started as a day like any other, and like always, I expected what lied ahead to be a bother. That day for me was a holiday, but I was not expecting anything awesome to come my way.

I was doing my own thing, when I got a call, and what I heard left me jumping around the hall. It was from my girlfriend, and she was back, and it had been many years since we sat down with a joke to crack. I got dressed and raced liks a jet, back to the place we first met.

Later I met her and she said she had something to say. I listened quietly and did as she asked, for she always got her way. I did as she asked and followed her home, where she told her father about us, and when I saw his glare, I knew then that I was trapped in a cage, unable to roam.

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The Cherry Blossom Tree

Kenshi Tora looked at the cherry blossom tree in his garden. The pink leaves falling from the tree looked beautiful. It was a view of serenity. However, he could not feel it. He was the head of his clan, The Tora, meaning the tiger, and the pouncing tiger in the clan’s flag had seen many battles. The leaves falling in serenity reminded him of those battles, with the crimson blood and the chaos.

Kenshi was the Daimyo of his region, a feudal Baron of Japan. He was considered to be the strongest and bravest among his peers, his might overshadowed only by the Emperor himself. A thousand men with swords made by the best blacksmiths in the region followed him. They were his samurai who followed his every command. They would die and kill on his word, but alas, in this time of countless wars and battles, many would fall, and they wouldn’t stand up again, even if the Baron commanded them to. A bitter truth that Kenshi had realized after seeing countless men fall before him, their blood dropping, like the leaves of a Cherry blossom tree.

Kenshi had gained a lot over the years with his strenght and might. Wealth and power, they all grew after every fight. Although Baron Tora had gained a lot from the countless wars of feudal Japan, Kenshi Tora had lost much more. He saw his father bleed out in the field of battle. He had seperated with his friends in the battleground, like leaves seperating from a branch, never to unite again. But his greatest loss came elsewhere, far away feom the bloody massacres of battle.

It was after his dominant victory of the Northern provinces. It was his greatest achievement to date, and he could not wait to return home to share the news with his family. He returned with his men, full of joy from the win. However, that joy did not last long, for as soon as he opened the door to his room, he felt weak and fell to his knees. His men rushed to him, but they too were dumb at the sight in front of them. His wife, in a beautiful Kimono with cherry blossom leaves printed on it, was lying motionless on the bed with their infant son, blood coming out of their slashed throats.

It had been three years, but the pink leaves falling from the tree reminded Kenshi of that ill fated night, of the helplessness he felt. No matter how hard he tried to forget, he was once again grief stricken by the reminder of his greatest loss. This was too much. He did not want to be reminded again. He picked up his axe and chopped down tge Cherry Blossom tree.

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A God for Me…

When I was little, my mother used to hold my hand and take me to temples. She had some faith in God, and that faith had transferred to me. However, as I grew taller, my faith in God grew smaller. It was not that I had lost all faith in God, just that I did not have the same faith that my mother had.

As I grew older, my thoughts became bolder. I still bowed my head at temples but it was more out of respect for my family’s beliefs and society’s culture. I was praying to a God I did not believe in. God never answered my prayers, or maybe he did and I am not aware of it. I do not understand this idea of God that the society follows. To be more precise, I doubt the forms and powers associated with God. Maybe there is someone who is watching over us, but I don’t think there i any point in asking for help. “God helps those who help themselves.”, this quote is what I believe in and what I follow. Although “God” has been referred to in the quote, the quote just means that we should put in the effort ourselves, without waiting for others. That is precisely what I do.

Why do I doubt the belief and faith the society has on God? I am not sure. I respect the belief the society has, but I don’t have the faith they have or the belief in the notion that “God will look after you.” I am not sure if I could be called an atheist, because I still think there may be a God, of form and with qualities that is completely different from how they have been perceived so far.

Then, what is a God for me? If God is a creator, for me that would be my mom. If God is a provider, for me that would be my father. If God is someone that gives hope, for me that would be my family. If God is someone that brings joy, for me that would be my friends. If God is someone strong, who helps others, for me, that is what I strive to be. So what about “the” God? He/She/They, for me, are probably busy doing their own thing.

So, I am still here, alive and well, and my choices of my beliefs has not betrayed me so far. My mom still makes me go to temples, but I do it now out of respect for her. I haven’t gone on a crusade to influence ithers and change their beliefs because it is their choice. I am happy with my decisions and have no regrets. Sure, I hit a few bumps here and there, but now I make an effort to get back on track myself, and not wait there, asking for help, and when things work out, it feels like an achievement. I see others searching for Gods in temples. A God for me, however, is in everyone around me.

I am sorry if this was not that good. It just felt wrong to abandon it after writing it down. Afterall, no writing is trash. So, be sure to like it, comment what you think, follow my blog  for more and share it.😊

The Old Lady

The old lady sat on the footpath smoking a cigarette. In front of her was a piece of tarpaulin, and on top of it wad a big pile of gooseberries. She was sitting there to sell them, and this was her source of incomeher daily routine. She did not remember how long had it been since she started selling them on that footpath, but she knew it had been long. For she had been there when the giant building behind her was called the Royal Nepal Airlines Corporation, and it had been about ten years since the Royals were removed.

She used to sell gooseberries in Ason, the busiest place in Kathmandu, Nepal, for retail shopping. However she had to move because the local shopkeepers didn’t like her setting shop outside their doorsteps. She was walking away from that place, when she had discovered the giant building, and the bus park in front of it. The mass of people flowing in and out had motivated her to set up her makeshift  shop there. For some time her business bloomed. She didn’t have land to grow gooseberries, so she had to buy them in order to sale, but the profit was big enough for her to not care.

Many years had passed since those days. For some reason, the number of people in the bus park went up, but her customers went down. Forget the profit, she could barely make money needed to survive the day. On bad days, there were no customers at all, and she had to go to bed with an empty stomach. Today was one of those bad days.

She had been sitting in that bus park since nine in the morning, but her income was dead, so she should be mourning. She looked at the pile of gooseberries in front of her. It was not the best she had ever sold, but she did not have the money to buy better ones. It was getting late, and no matter how many people passed by, no one seemed to notice her. Dejected, she started packing her berries. Looks like her family would go to bed hungry today too. No, she thought. She had to manage some money, some loan, for she could not let her family down.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a young boy in a college dress. He seemed to be interested in the gooseberries. He asked if they were for sale. She apologised and said they were not that good. He said he didn’t mind, and bought some and walked away.

The old lady didn’t know where he came from, or where he would go, but she knew one thing, and that was, she had some money to take home.

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The Red Landline Phone

“But why?”, she asked, holding back her tears, barely holding the phone, but there was no reply. Her love had cut the call without replying. She stood there, her silence interrupted only by the distinct beep of the landline phone.

She was devastated. Her Romeo had broken up with her, saying that she was not her Juliet anymore. He didn’t give any other reason for leaving her, and on top of that, he had done it over the phone. This was just too much. She spinned the dial of the telephone to get a reply, because he was leaving her without saying why. However, he didn’t pick up, no matter how many times she tried. She sat down, unable to comprehend the situation. What had she done wrong? She didn’t know. She had loved him unconditionally, and he did too, at least she believed so. They had been together for years, and now he had left her in tears.

The worst part was that he didn’t give a reason. Was she really that worthless, that he didn’t think it was necessary to tell her why? She didn’t know. She only knew she loved him, but he didn’t love her, and this made her cry. Maybe it was her fault, she started blaming herself. Maybe she was no good, she thought, as she remembered all the quarrels and the fights they fought. Whose fault had it been then? It was probably hers, she thought. No, it was definitely her fault, thats why he left him, she concluded, her heart getting weaker with the growing pain.

This was too much. She couldn’t take it anymore. There was no end to this and she didn’t know where to go, or at whom to shout. So, she found a solution to get all the pain out. She took a knife and cut her wrist open with a slight moan, her blood coloring the floor red, just like the landline phone.

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If I could send them away…

I was asked to write about things I dislike, the things I would put in a box and send down the river. I thought it would be easy, but then I started counting them, which turned my heart cold and made me shiver. I had so many things to put in that I got lost. I had no idea what to include in the box, for my list ranged from world hunger to my stinking pile of socks. Maybe I should just mention all my bad exam papers, for they make a pile tall enough to dwarf skyscrapers. As I sat down, lost in my thought, I realised that my box isn’t big enough to hold them all, and they all don’t need to go in, some of them can be fought. Soon, it hit me that there are things that I really wish to be gone, out of existence, nowhere to be found under the sun.

My box would have all of my mother’s tears. It would also include all of my father’s fears. Those caused by me are many, and I don’t want my parents to be left with any. I would put in all the goodbyes I had to say to my friends, because our path together was about to end. I would throw in all those heart wrenching departures, and wish for more time together, like birds of the same feather. I would lock up all those times I had to spend away from my cousins, and I would strap those times in the box like they were my worst sins. It’s not that I didn’t or don’t have friends and family to hang out with and parents that care, but I would just like to have more of it, so that life could be more fare.

My box wouldn’t just consist of these great wishes to make my life grand. It would also consist of petty things like my mom’s curry, which is so bland. I would put in all my past disasters in with a flick of my wand, even if doing so now is useless, like pouring water in the sand. There are more things I want to put in, that I know, but I can’t add anymore in this flow. Maybe I am already turning some heads, for not mentioning any world problems, and just going on about my regrets. In my defense, this is my wish, and I get to be a little selfish. So, I will stop my list here, as I don’t know what to put in this box at the river shore, and even though I have more things coming to my mind, I can’t make them rhyme anymore. I would put all these in, and shut the box tight for the win. Then I would send it down the river Styx all the way to Hell, as I stand at the shore, bidding it farewell.

However, what if there is no such box, and my life would still have all these holes in the mix? What if I don’t know my way down to river Styx? My life would still be alright, for I have a bigger pile, of all the things that make me smile.

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Three Things I do Well

Its really difficult to pick three things I do well, but when I think about it, there seem to be three things that I am so good at, that I tend to do them instinctively. They are almost like second nature to me, and I execute them perfectly, either consciously or unconsciously. They are: 1) Dodging questions 2) Messing things up (especially friendships) and 3) Daydreaming.

I believe I am really good at dodging questions when I am in a tight spot. I do it so well that not only do I deviate a question with an irrelevant reply, I make it seem as if its the right direction for some time too. I tend to dodge difficult questions and get away with it unscathed. Well, except in my exams. This trick, sadly, doesn’t seem to do so well in exams.

The second thing I am an overachiever in is messing things up. I take something, and try to make it better, but in the end I over do it, and turn it into a hot, ugly mess. I have a tendency of messing up friendships. I try making it better, and although I often succeed, I would be lying if I said that I don’t have a big pile of broken friendships.

The final thing I am good at is daydreaming. I am so good at it that I do it with my eyes wide open, staring into the abyss that doesn’t even exist.(Actually thats how everyone does it, I guess.) I can do it anywhere, anytime. The teacher will be teaching in front of the class, and I would be in a dream where the class is interrupted by an alien invasion, and we all end up fighting them off with newly found superpowers. I could be at the dinner table, and my mind would be dreaming a scenario that has a negative ninety percent chance of actually occurring in real life.

So am I weird? Well, a certain friend told me I definitely am. Is that a bad thing? I don’t think so. Will I stop doing these things from now? I probably won’t. Afterall, these are three things I do really well.

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Tales of War

​”Enemy forces are continuing their attack. The brave men of our national military are doing their best to stop their advance. The Prime Minister urges us to stay strong and united in these times of peril.”

 The breaking news on the radio could be barely heard over the sounds of bullets in the distant. The young woman sat in the middle of the room holding her daughter tight. There were some girls crying in a corner. Two old men were praying to God, asking for forgiveness for their sins in this life. The young mother too, started praying, asking God to protect her husband in the frontlines.

“Mama, what is happening?”, her daughter, who would turn five this spring, asked.

“It will be alright.”, she replied, as planes dropped bombs in the distance.

“Mama, where is Papa?”, her daughter asked again, with eyes full of innocence.

She could not reply. He was in the military, and was fighting in the frontlines. It had been over two months since she last got any news of him. She didn’t even know where he was right now, alive or in the afterlife. She didn’t know if he would ever return to sing a lullaby to their little girl like before, who expectantly waited for him to come back. She looked at her daughter who was still waiting for a reply. She would have to answer this question with a lie again.

Her reply was muffled by the sound of an explosion nearby.

“Mama, what was that? Why is everyone running? I am scared. I want to go to Papa.”, the little girl screamed with tears in her eyes.

“Its all right, dear.”, her mother said, holding her close to her chest. “Papa will return soon.”, she said, as enemy aircrafts flew over them.

“You know what? Lets play a game.”, the young mother said, with a broken smile. “Close your eyes and count to three.”

The little girl closed her eyes and started counting.

“One… Two…”

There was no three.

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The Vendor

The old man looked at the young customer standing in front of him. He was standing there, with the payment in his outstretched hand. This was a familiar moment for the vendor, a scene that had repeated itself thousands of time in his life, but for some reason, he felt the script was a little different today.

He had faced many customers over the years. Some were talkative,and some were quiet. Some were rich, and others were richer. No matter how they were, they all had one thing in common. They all had an aura around them, a vibe that they were better than him, and be was a lowly vendor who was beneath them. He never understood why they had to be so rude, but it happened so often that he grew accustomed to it.

However, right now, it was different. The young man gave off no such aura, and the old vendor felt something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time coming from the man in front of him- politeness. He didn’t speak much, but the old man was happy to encounter such a person.

“The world needs more people like you.”, the vendor said with a smile, while receiving the payment. “God looks after good people like you. May he bless you with success.”

“Thank you. I hope he hears you.”, the young atheist replied with a smile, and walked away.

(If you like my posts, remember to like them, share, comment what you think, and follow my blog for more. You are also welcome to connect with me on other social sites like facebook and instagram. Stay awesome. 😊)