The Last Day of Death

Last and final day of submission week and i want to cry my arms ache and my wrists ache from all the typing and laying-out-magazines and cutting sunboard to make 3d models of rooms I've never been in and my eyes need more than matchsticks to keep them propped up and my body is screaming for sleep but its desperate pleas are falling on deaf ears and why is it so hard to work like this every day for so long and get nothing out of it but tomorrow...tomorrow is when I get to go home and I cannot be happier about it.

Ouch

4 am - 9 am coffee high!

These two weeks are all about 

-finishing work and doing a good job

-waiting to go home

-drinking bucketloads of coffee

-hearing birds chirp at 5 am every day

-sneezing and sniffing through

-loving my laptop

-missing my camera

-HOME

-spending time with Ze Boyfriend....or not, because there's no goddamn time

-cursing about the number of hours in a day

-wondering why teachers do this to you

-crying in relief at a completed assignment

-article writing and stabbing myself with a fork

-staring judgementally at my sleeping roommate

-the possibility of carpal tunnel

-the hidden wonders of lozenges (hint: alcohol)

-not realising that I'm drooling at McDreamy

-Hooooommmmeeeee

-making lists and feeling productive

-not really feeling productive

-being productive anyway

I'll be keeping you posted.

Love,

Kanika

Maybe I need to write a book

I've been at home and only home for 5 days now. Five days full of feeling. 

I've been in the middle of a lot of conversations lately. I've been watching more news on TV than I have in the entire duration of my being in Bangalore. TV people no longer know how to conduct a debate, it consists only of fat old politicians yelling at each other and making a fool of themselves. People around me yell across rooms and parks and into gadgets. The decibel levels make me cringe and shudder. Who talks softly anymore? And is there anyone who still values the beauty of silence?

I feel closer to a person with whom I am able to share a comfortable and non-awkward silence. That's the real test of a relationship...are you able to still feel together when you're not verbally showing it? There is so much more said in the lack of words than in their abundance. I've been keeping my thoughts to me for a few days and it's overwhelming, but fulfilling. And when I do say something, I make sure it's honest, and clear. It makes for less chance of conflict...with family, with boyfriend, with friends. If you tell someone exactly how you feel in the clearest way possible they never have to assume what you think, and there is simply no room for miscommunication or misunderstanding. I've been trying really hard to not let my short temper explode at the littlest things, and it was difficult at the beginning when everyone turned into a complete asshole. People are inconsiderate and no one is inherently nice anymore. I had to stop deluding myself into thinking that people like being polite; they don't. Everybody's default setting is jackass. And the sooner I realised that, the sooner it got easier to be carefree. I'm not going to be all zen and say that you should stay calm no matter what...if someone's mean to you, I'd say give it back. Subtly maybe, so that your karma doesn't get all screwed up.

Being at home for these two months has taught me tact, has made me quieter than I have ever been, happier in many ways and sad in some. I'm glad I interned here. I needed time with my family. 

Coorg tomorrow. This trip is going to be insane. I'M GOING TO MAKE IT FUN. :D

I'm sorry about the silence on the blog. I think I explained the reasons for it, up there. But let me get back to college and the many emotions it brings, and soon I shall be a chatterbox again.

Love in excitement and tranquility,

Kanika

Sleep can't cure this

"Go away," she said,
"leave me be,
to wallow in my misery
to soak up in all this self-pity
because no one seems to care."

Yes, I wrote that. I'm a genius with poetry, am I not?

- I have too many feelings inside me right now, and they are threatening to come in the way of my daily routine. I feel like curling up in bed and sleeping for days so that no one is able to hurt me anymore.

- I want to do another Fantabulous February, except this time it'll be Joyous June. Let me know if it's a good idea and if you would like to join. Read more about FF under the FF label. Click on the top of the post.

- I'm going to spend tomorrow entirely without using an internet connection. I was going to say computer/laptop but I forgot I'm at work and without solitaire to calm me down I will probably brutally beat my fellow intern. No facebook, email, twitter, tumblr or blogging tomorrow. Can I do this? I'm certainly gonna try.

Love with feeling, (if the labels on this post are any indication)
Kanika

Tiresome

I'm getting tired of people. Of having to talk, meet, laugh. The meetings feel pointless. Coming home is a relief.

Had a different sort of talk with granddad today. He talked to me about maturity. He sees sincerity and diligence in me. I don't understand why.

I'm losing faith in people. Everyone is just a terrible version of themselves. I'm tired of being told to not be hurt because the 'real world is a cruel place'. If that's reality I want to go away somewhere far away from it. I want to meet nice people and listen to nice thoughts. I want feeling hurt to be allowed. I want nice people. I want to hear good things.

I feel hurt today. I want to let this feeling get through completely so it doesn't come back to haunt me. This is taking a toll on me already. I abhor myself.

Love in despair,
Kanika

There's this thing about design

The problem with design is, no one's opinion or work is wrong.

Which means that when it comes to giving feedback or telling people what you think about what they've made, you are able to act like a jackass and then get away with it. Because somehow saying "this just doesn't work for me, for reasons I cannot explain" is feedback that I have to try and take something from. How do I do that if you can't articulate for shit? I mean, people on twitter are more vocal in 140 characters than you are with the gift of speech.

Needless to say, I'm ticked off with this internship.

New Feelings

New theme, new header :) And I adore it. It's very dreamy and unreadable, just to my liking right now. Once I post this I'm going to go on a blogpost deleting spree. Delete all the clutter and make this blog pristine.

There are a couple of big things I'm going to say in this post, so it's going to be a little long. I'm asking you to stay with me right till the end, because it's been a long time since I demanded so much attention in a blog post. My last few posts have been distracted and silly, and I have been waiting in vain for a moment of blog-lovin'. It happened last night but the internet was switched off. So I wrote everything down. I guess sometimes writing things down helps more than typing. The scratching of my pen in a tiny notebook was more soothing than I felt the sound of my keyboard would have been at that moment.

I'm adding numbers to these things simply to break them up. I don't know how else to let this flow.

1. I'm going to quote my diary from last night. I wrote this after an intensely disheartening conversation with Ze Boyfriend.

I just spent an hour on the phone with a boy having to convince him that my love was true and pure. I always thought I'd be in his shoes in a situation like this. Keeping my low self esteem issue and constant need for positive reinforcement aside, I've never had problems in the boy department. I've had pretty good luck actually.
Tonight I was accused of being a heartless monster by a person who till recently has refused to accept that I was flawed. Now I'm a can of worms that just doesn't quit fucking up. Everything I do or utter is a mistake in the making that apologies cannot rectify. I must become a superlative version of myself in order to be worthy of this person's trust once more. The old me would have never stood for it. "What? Dance around on the whim of a boy? Never!" And equal rights would prevail, and that would be that. The new voiceless me, however, is not a force to reckon with. I'm spineless with no opinion...rather with an opinion that does no good and only harm when raised.


Things are looking bleak for me. There is love but there is also disappointment. When did I turn into this person who lets such hurtful things go right over her head without any retaliation? I don't want to be a meek, hollow shell of myself. That's what I'm turning into. Instead of the independent, strong woman I want to be, I'm becoming a characterless little girl.
What is a relationship if not a place for me to have my moments of despair with the absolute assurance that there is someone to help me get out of the pit? I'm not allowed to fall apart. I'm not allowed to be muted, only vibrant. I don't know if that's something I have the strength for all the time.

2. Two days ago while sitting with my paternal grandfather while he wrote some letters, I noticed his right leg jittering. I asked him why he was impatient. (My dad, sister and I have the same habit when we're restless.) He smiled at me. "I'm not impatient...it's Parkinsons."
It was like a slap in the face. Parkinsons? What the fuck? I knew granddad hadn't been keeping very well but it was always a slight weakness or a headache or something of that sort that had easily available instant cures. A Paracetamol. Some lemonade with extra salt. Freshly cut fruits. I always believed he would get better in a day or two. And he always did. But with this, I don't know how to find a solution. I watched in silent horror for the next hour as he quietly clasped his knee, stopped writing, and waited for the shaking to pass, every time it happened. He then asked me to help him put some clothes away.
We opened his army trunk, and my grandmother (who's suffering from really serious short-term-memory loss) stopped being low and both of them together told me stories as we folded clothes that brought tears to their eyes. Like how a certain sweater was my maternal grandfather's and when he passed away two years ago his wife graciously gave them all his warm clothes to my paternal grandfather. That made both of them tear up. It made me feel horrible. Because in the twenty years of my being their granddaughter, I didn't know that the bond between the in-laws was so old and so deep. I left the room after two hours feeling like a different person. I was quiet for the rest of the evening, mulling over the things I had discovered in the same room I spent most of my childhood in.

3. I'm slowly realising that as much as I whine about missing school and how simple everything really was back then, I'm doing absolutely nothing to keep in touch. Actually, that applies to everyone in my life, school or not. I get happy when plans get cancelled. I rejoice at not having to look pretty to meet someone but rather sit at home, drink chai and tweet. That's how strange things have gotten. I don't understand my brain anymore.

So as you can read (if you're still here) my mind is a mixing pot of confusion right now. Confusion but somehow still organized. And I just wanted to put it here, because my blog is the only place where all this makes sense.

Love in utter flux,
Kanika

We Found Love

Yellow diamonds in the light
And we're standing side by side
As your shadow crosses mine
What it takes to come alive

It's the way I’m feeling I just can't deny
But I've gotta let it go

We found love in a hopeless place.

Rihanna is a great way to stay up on a night when a deadline has been thrust upon you without warning. Massive

headaches are preceding my every movement. Could it be the incessant bangalore heat with teasing overcast skies? Or a semester that's been easy but this last week that threatens to kill?

Hi you guys.

Love,

Kanika

Unleash the Motherf*cking Fury

I've been feeling lost.

Been worried about internships, my grades (they're good, they've always been, yet I'm tense), and mostly about how a lot doesn't seem to matter to me at all, suddenly.

How I wish I could paint. There is so much happening inside my head I want to put down onto paper, but I always forget how to do justice to my thoughts. I want to write a long passage describing my dilemma, but I find I get distracted, mostly by shiny things with no body.

But all that for another insomiac night.

Diwita gave me an award :) and it requires some do-ing.

What a byootee.

a) thank and link back to the person who awarded you

Diwita, you are a gracious and kind human being. Thank you :) http://diwita.blogspot.in/

b) share seven things about yourself.

1. There is more truth on my blog than I share with most people.
2. I'm going to go on a diet. tomorrow. no, day after. soon...
3. I am a vicious grammar nazi.
4. Pottermore excited me only for the first five minutes.
5. I need a blanket/sheet when I sleep, even in summer.
6. I am very unsure about my work and applying for internships.
7. It is very difficult to conjure 7 things about yourself on demand, so I am slyly skipping the last.

c) award bloggers.

Okay then, let's see:

- Diwita at In My Words...
Checked out her blog just after she awarded me, she's a sweetheart and a great photographer in the making :) http://diwita.blogspot.in/

- Soumi at Sold-for-shoes-overweight-intellectual-dancer
She could be my best friend if she tried :P http://sold-for-shoes-overweight-intellectua.blogspot.in

- Vidhi at Fat Gulf Kid
My bro in late hours of the night :) http://chroniclesofchaddimanz.blogspot.in/

- I do, I do and ...Capturin' Life..
She's adorable, what else can I say! http://inthepourinrain.blogspot.in/

- Ruhani aat Hello There Machas,And Other Fisherwomen!=)
She's too bubbly for her own good :P http://ilikebigbuttsandicannotlie.blogspot.in/

d) tell them.

Doing that right now :)


Love,
Kanika

For Want Of A Better Word

Hello helpful blogger friends,

I read all the suggestions and my friends here gave me a few of their own, and I promise I considered all of them...I tried to write on a couple of topics but it was much harder than I imagined. So I decided to wing it, let all my thinking and research go to waste, and came up with this.

And I'm pretty darn proud :')

Feedback is appreciated :)

For Want Of A Better Word

writ·er's block ((rtrz)

n.

A usually temporary psychological inability to begin or continue work on a piece of writing.

It’s a lot more difficult than anyone thinks.

For a person who constantly uses a keyboard or a pen to express how I feel, having the biggest writer’s block just before a creative writing assignment deadline is one of the most frustrating feelings in the world. I’m sitting here locked up in my room to avoid any distractions, human or otherwise, with my fairy lights on and a mug of coffee that was empty before I had typed out even a single word. For a blogger who writes a blog that more people than I expected read, it’s horrible to have seemingly unending periods of uninspiredness and tons of incomplete posts lying in my drafts folder waiting for a spark of…what’s the word? My command over vocabulary turns into a worthless bunch of words and phrases that just don’t fit what I’m about to say. Actually, I’m not even sure what the point of it is anymore.

Last minute stress works for me in most situations, so much that when nothing else succeeds, I can almost count on a burst of motivation to jolt my mind into action in the final hour. I don’t have a problem with articulation. My catch phrase is, “you know what I mean?” And mostly, you DO know. I can conjure up enough synonyms to get my meaning across without too much worrying. But there are points in time when words don’t flow, ink begins to blot, and my keys get clogged with dust.

I’ve tried free-writes with no constraints, I’ve tried mindmaps, even tried being utterly profane (because somehow cusswords come so very naturally when nothing else does). I find it easier to write in sadness, so I have gone to extent to depress myself into some state of written coherence. Heartbreak, nostalgia, empty Nutella jars, and reading SMS language all make for brilliant catalysts to break the wall of…another word for silence…that’s propped up in my head. And when I’m really desperate, I pick up the last Harry Potter and read the last three chapters. The battle of Hogwarts makes the tears flow like nobody’s business.

Hyperactivity, though the extreme opposite of what I just said, can also be attempted. It can force your brain to concentrate. I turn to music in such moments. A little Backstreet Boys can do wonders to your energy late in the night, I’ve learnt. There exists nothing that Jason Mraz cannot cure. Coldplay takes you to another level of productivity. I might actually write a few sentences, God forbid. I get into a rhythm, typing faster and faster, hoping that the slump is behind me. But of course, iTunes must not cooperate. Justin Bieber begins to blast through my laptop speakers, and all is lost once more.

It becomes harder to be confident of my writing skills at all. Can I call myself a writer when I can’t fucking write? What kind of writer and hopeful-in-the-future-author can’t mould words into a story and make them effortlessly flow across a page? Did Shakespeare ever doubt himself? Did J.K. Rowling ever find herself in a state of absolute…damn, what’s the bloody word…? Would it make me feel any better knowing that the creators of books that my grandchildren will read to their grandchildren also had similar suicidal feelings when writer’s block slapped them across the face? I don’t know what to say. That’s a symptom.

I become adept at losing faith in myself. I know very few people with lesser self esteem in any case, and writer’s block further reinforces my non belief. I begin to think my brain is telling me something. It shut itself down because what I want to write about is not worth the effort. I make a list of all possible ideas that cross my mind, doodling and all. Yet everything I churn out, my brain disagrees. It creates a sense of dissatisfaction with my feelings. I think I’m not doing them justice, leaving them incomplete and somehow slightly unfelt. I don’t know how to explain it in a way that makes it comprehensible, I’m too unsure of it to do that. And again, I guess, that’s the problem in a nutshell.

What would I do if not for my ability to write down what I think and how I feel? How do I conduct myself knowing that there are things to be written and words to be inked but my mind is not up to it? Frustrating isn’t the word, it goes beyond. Insert an appropriate 

metaphor here.

I use writing as a release to clear my head, but writers’ block is an entity censoring any clarity-filled thoughts. It’s a sadist little bastard, you know. It creeps up behind me when I least expect it and suddenly that’s it, I have to say goodbye to MS Word and my notebooks for a bit. It’s better to not try since that only makes me feel worse.

The easiest way to deal with it is to not...but just let it pass like any other horrible feeling. And when it comes back inevitably, I will (try) to treat it like an old friend who turns up for undecidedly long vacations and eats all my food without asking (I could try another analogy but I can’t think of one). It’s one of the downfalls of being a writer, I guess, learning how to deal with your own ineptitude and still forging a path for yourself that you can proudly walk down.

I want to end this rant with a quote I read by Ernest Hemingway:

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

THAT pretty much sums it up.

-------

Love,

Kanika

Not the only list I have made recently

In the last two weeks I have:

- dyed my hands green/purple/red and pretended to not choke on the fumes of acid dye

- successfully extended the deadlines of two submissions

- had nights where I have come home and crashed at 10 and woken up the next morning with no recollection of what happened the night before

- looked wistfully at the work of other people and wished it was mine

- gone to college at 6 am on a sunday in my nightclothes for a project (it was dark at 6 am, pitch dark)

- compelled my OCD urges to pipe down while working when I glanced at my slowly disappearing-under-junk table

- wished I had time to spend with my camera

- talked to my mother a lot more than usual

- not cared so much about the state of my hair and face

- tried to eat healthy for a day or two

- not heard enough music

- FINALLY watched the Matrix trilogy and have hence not been sure of many, many things

- thought about old friends more than usual

- not blogged as much as I would like

Pyaar,

Kanika

The Upside to Procrastination

Found all of this little notes in tucked away boxes with ribbons and forgotten books:

"There are some conversations you dread having for fear of what they may lead to- a broken heart, a dream that can never come true, an unattainable feeling of satisfaction, what leads up to them too. After you have them you cannot, for the life of you, figure out why it took so long to have them."
- After talking to an old friend after years

"I don't actually like notebooks with lines.
I rather detest them.
They grab my thoughts and hold them down in ways that make it difficult for me to breathe.
They capture my ideas and claimed that they were always there, just not expressed like I struggled to.
My words get moulded into straight, smooth and very fake lines. I hate it.
I cannot wait for this notebook to get over.
A page filled with blank pages is an irritating canvas for a person with a fountain pen and a passing for jotting - memories, characters and stories.
I want an empty notebook with light yellow pages."
- In the middle of an infuriatingly neat notebook.

"Empty your mind write down every random thought that deigns to cross your mind in that duration. As crazy or insane as that may sound. You'll feel tons better, breathe.
Maybe I should get a smoke from that girl. I can feel myself slowly drifting away and seeing/feeling/hearing nothing but this pen and paper and mumford & sons.
Sensitive Chaos does exist. It's not just a fancy name for a blog. I feel like it's mine. I have sole and overpowering ownership of my brain. Yes. Dunno about heart matters though. Maybe heart doesn't matter.
Mumford & Sons thank you."
- Yikes, punctuation added later.

"No one must know about these little excursions of ours."
- back of an old unused postcard

Somebody That I Used To Know

Walk out the door, I told you and between your screams of protest I grabbed you by the collar and threw you out. Away from my life, my home, my little bubble of happiness I created all by myself when you left me in the middle of everything. You’re making it break, I told you, as I hauled you on to my porch, you’re ruining everything, you always do, you’re the proverbial stupid spanner in my life of tiny, relentless works.

Tiny is a horrible word, especially when you use it excessively in your head to describe your own value, and worse when someone else put the word in your head. It’s not a welcome addition to my mental self-esteem dictionary, and I have solely you to thank for it. You’re a frequent contributor, actually. You must find that amazing, knowing that so long after your physical absence in my general scheme of things, you still hold the irritating place in my head- the voice at the back of it.

Detachment is a word that sounds bereft to begin with, used in a sentence generates a feeling of pity. Aw, you poor thing, having to slowly hammer away at that shrine in your heart you built for something. You poor, poor thing. I wish I could help, but I’m afraid I have no intention to.

I wish that dashed line would erase itself in a fireball of sentimentality. You wish I lost my way with words so that I no longer had the ability to make you insanely guilty and highly relieved at the same, exact time. Guilty because you thought you turned me into this subtly crazy version of myself, and relieved because you left before the worst of me came along. We wish there was an easier way to conduct ourselves at these uncommon bonding sessions – a way to get much farther away than ever considered possible, and right now we don’t know what way we’re going.

The function of love no longer an easy prescription, you kissed my cheek and left me standing there, the back of your head bobbing away in a painfully familiar rhythm. See you soon, I couldn’t help but whisper. 

See you soon.

Love,

Kanika

Things the past week has taught me.

1. However inviting that plate of gobi manchurian that the guy with the cart next to college created looks, chances are your stomach cannot handle the multitudes of masala and super fast hand motions of the chef. Eat a couple of pieces. And then control yourself.

2. Not having coca cola one day does not mean you are losing interest in that one thing that makes your life beautiful. Don't tell your friends you're getting deaddicted. They'll laugh. [:( ]

3. Never EVER underestimate the soothing powers of long hot water baths.

4. Throwing your head back to laugh while eating Wonka Gobstoppers will make you choke and nearly die.

5. Working with friends seems perfect until it comes to actually WORKing. Youtube will not do your assignments for you. Your GPA will not be calculated on the basis of how well your friends and you can shuffle.

6. Once you find two bloody brilliant songs that have even better videos, you basically listen to them on repeat and piss off your roommate.

play count - 72

 play count - 53

7. I need to write more. I keep thinking of beautiful sentences but before I can jot them down they've vanished.

8. ONE BED CANNOT HOLD TWO PEOPLE.

9. I know nothing about technology. My course makes me feel like that. Yeesh.

10. Big thanks to Priyanka over here at Because I believe in 'The Happily Ever Afters...!' for an award :) ARE MY EYES REALLY SO PRETTY? AW :)

11. Most often, love songs are not about your love story unless the writer knows you. Stop thinking all those beautiful words were written exactly for your life. Other people love and lose too. Specially that Lady Gaga song up there. It is not about you. NOT.

12. Thinking that if you sit in college on a Saturday and work when no one else is around other than your two distracted team mates is an idea that is destined to fail. Hence. Resort to telling yourself not to fuck around and actually do some research.

I took notes. Yeh.

And I took those notes with Sharpies. Are you jealous yet? -_-

13. Forget that thirteenth was your anniversary date.

Bohot pyaar.

Kay

Yah. Sad things happen but then you GET OFF YOUR ASS AND MAKE THEM BETTER!

I've told you I've been ill right?

Well right now I'm in that stage where I sniff frequently enough to illicit "tcha"s from people around me and I cough like a 90 year old man who smoked since he was 12. It's entertaining to watch people jump when a giant phlegm-y cough is suddenly let forth into the atmosphere by that girl in the corner of the doctor's waiting room who looked really harmless but is actually a walking talking germ warehouse.

*beautiful imagery...let us revel in that for a moment*

COUGHCOUGH

So yah. It has been tough to maintain any kind of composure when a coughing fit comes along and claims me whole. My poor dabbling-in-homeopathy grandfather has been trying out multiple medications on me and I've been woken up and asked "IS YOUR COUGH BETTER? BY WHAT PERCENTAGE WOULD YOU SAY?"

(he screams because he's a little hard of hearing, he thinks all of us can't hear.)

And then I'm like, wait man, what the fucking fuck, I am not sitting here and letting a little THROAT PROBLEM make me feel like a senior citizen!

So I took out my camera and tons of glitter.

The end product turned out to be my beautiful new header, and I'm going to take a long long time to get over it :)

YAY. 

Also I added an About Me page on the blog but I became all narcissistic and made it About The Author because I consider myself to be a writer *insert canned laughter here*

Haha. 

Pyaar,

K

p.s. verdict on Google + ? I don't have an opinion yet. Ooh so shocking.

Low Self Esteem Moments SUCK

I'm sorry I don't shop from Forever 21 and wear clothes like the other girls do. I'm sorry I do most of my clothes shopping from Sarojini Nagar and not from Zara and Mango like all the other females our age you see around us.

I'm sorry I feel uncomfortable in the tiny shorts that all the other girls in Delhi wear and I'm sorry that I turn up in a kurta and jeans when we go to a mall where all the other girls are in hot pants and spaghetti-strap tees. 

I'm sorry that my hair is naturally super curly and frizzy and that it looks horrible on that one day I didn't have the strength to straighten it.

I'm sorry my menstrual cramps make me want to curl up in bed with a hot water bottle instead of not hindering my life like it doesn't for, apparently, most other girls.

I'm sorry I'm clumsy in the fancy restaurants that you take me to and that I get conscious whenever the waiter asks me anything because I'm scared I'll mess up and embarrass you.

I'm sorry I don't think I can carry off glares. Hence I don't wear them.

I'm sorry I don't possess a single dress in my cupboard and only one real pair of heels.

I'm sorry that the only make up I like is kohl and no other. I'm sorry that my legs are not always completely waxed whenever I get out of the house.

I'm sorry I'm me and not who you want me to be.

Nah, not really.

GOOD GOD.

There are a million reasons I want to be at home whenever I'm in bangalore. Obviously. The food, the people, the love...whatever.

And then when I'm here, I hate it.

I love the freedom I have in Bangalore for a reason. Well at least I can smoke without having to hide the ashy odour that will follow me around later.

Maybe this is smoke withdrawal? Seven days without a single drag. Of course it's cleansing and all, but it's fucking difficult to tolerate the withdrawal symptoms.

I'm just fucking pissed off with parents right now.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.

And boyfriend? OH DO NOT GET ME STARTED.

I'll post later. A nicer post. I just had to vent.
Ok?
Ok.

Limits

Okay okay wow.
I was all set to write a sad post about how my life is really sad right now and I could do with a major pick-me-up but you know what happened? My iTunes decided to play 'Imma Be' by Black Eyed Peas (I say my iTunes decided because it's ALWAYS on shuffle so it plays whatever the fuck it wants) and Fergie's part made me me feel all awesome and sick-of-being-sad types.


Imma be takin them pics, lookin' all fly and shit
Imma be the flyest chick, so fly
Imma be spreadin' my wings
Imma be doin' my thang, do it, do it, okay


Haha I know, not the perfect inspirational type thing you would expect to help but somehow it did :)


So I'm going to go and reactivate my facebook (did it because I felt like I was in a major antisocial phase) and maybe go outside with my camera and rediscover some happiness! 


Redid the theme for my blog, at one point all the grey seemed lovely but it was getting me down.


I had totally planned to list out all my problems here and garner some sympathy but wtf, that sounds so fucking silly. I'm in control of my own life and I decide my mood, so guess what, the world can go suck it, I'm back xD


I'm also going to blog more, I promise, I've totally been neglecting this like a lot of other things in my life. Sorry about that, guys. I have this really bad habit of starting everything with tons of enthusiasm and letting it go somewhere in the middle. I don't want to do that with this blog. It's been good to me, so have all my readers. :) 


Okay. Operation Clean-Up-Room starts now. I'm quite a Monica, I have my intensive phases of OCD where my roommate really curses her luck because I go into cleaning overdrive :P She's gone out, thankfully, so time to put on some trashy pop music, sing along loudly, and pick up the pieces :)


Btw, I'm become quite a twitter/tumblr whore :) Follow follow! 


http://twitter.com/#!/kanikakaul22
http://sensitivechaos.tumblr.com/ 

You will not believe.

I think it all started with Japan. That happened, and suddenly everyone's laptop screen was playing the same video on loop. Buildings collapsing, water taking over, that nuclear blast. Jesus Christ.

And since then, I felt scared. Could 2012 happen? I felt stupid for thinking so.

Two very close family friends passed away in a car crash. I am on the danger of losing my boyfriend to the disease that is long-distance. Internet at pg wasn't working. Didn't feel like taking laptop to college. Floor plans and furniture layouts and bubble diagrams. Yuuck.

Going back home for the weekend. No one knows except parents and boyfriend. Not even sister. I shall land up in her room at night and say "WHAZZA?!"

Tiredness taking over.
Details later.

I miss blogging.

:(

You give love a bad name!

Bon Jovi phase. Killer deadline, staying up nights. Keeping myself awake with Jon.
hi :)

Shot through the heart and you're to blame
Darlin' you give love a bad name

An angel's smile is what you sell
You promise me heaven then put me through hell
Chains of love got a hold on me
When passion's a prison you can't break free

Oh! You're a loaded gun, yeah
Oh! There's nowhere to run
No one can save me
The damage is done

Shot through the heart and you're to blame
You give love a bad name
(Bad name)
I play my part and you play your game
You give love a bad name
(Bad name)
Hey, you give love a bad name

I know all the words *hides face*


here, some love :

all unedited and clicked in black and white (:

Pray for my survival.

I now know why deadlines are called 'dead'lines.