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Sun, Sand, Stars and Dreams

The chronicles of a misfit Indian teen

Month

August 2014

Freedom

So, today is India’s Independence Day. The day we gained freedom.

Zoom down on a city in the South; Chennai. Further zoom; a girl who blogs at Sun, Sand, Stars and Dreams.
Am I free? No. Will I ever be free? Never.
I might be free from those annoying, irritating people (a.k.a. Other relatives) and well-meaning, but annoying people (Some relatives) in three years (or four, at most.)
But, free from in the inner scars, the demons that lurk inside of me, I don’t think I ever will.

I found this on a Facebook page, and it pretty much sums up

“All my life I’ve had people tell me;
“You’re 16. What do you know?
You don’t pay taxes.
You don’t pay bills or a mortgage.
You don’t worry about having a job.
You don’t have mouths to feed.”
You’re right.
I’m only 16.
But at the age of 13 I was already contemplating suicide.
At the age of 13 I was relentlessly told how ugly, fat, and untalented I was.
How I would never amount to anything.

At 15 I held a bottle of pills in my hands several times a week.
At 15 my parents fought so loudly the whole house would shake.
At 15 I started telling myself how fat and worthless I was.
At 15 I stopped eating for two months.

By the age of 16 my thighs were covered in battle scars.
At 16 I learned what it was like to pray every night that I wouldn’t wake up to see the sun.
At 16 I swallowed a bottle of pills and had my stomach pumped in the middle 3rd period.
At 16 I woke up in a hospital and crying and screaming because I wasn’t dead.
At 16 I was told my depression and anxiety were just cries for attention.
At 16 I learned what it was like to feel the rejection from the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally.
I learned what it was like to feel the love my parents used to have for me drain out of their eyes.

So I maybe 16 but I feel like I am a thousand years old. I have fought battles you cannot even begin to imagine.

I have endured years of relentless torment and taunts, and when I asked for help I was told I deserved it.

I may be 16 but I have endured more than you ever have in your 36 years of life.

So I may not have to pay taxes.
But at 16 I have anxiety attacks over the piles of homework I have to turn in the next day.

I may not have to worry about feeding my kids.
but even after 2 years of rehabilitation I still get depressed if I eat too much.

So you tell me;
“You’re 16. What do you know?”
And my answer will always be;
“Far too much””

Reblogged from: these-fading-scars.tumblr

Re-reblogged from: Potterflies – Potterheads in support of the Butterfly project.

Okay. I haven’t self-harmed or anything. Or I am not suicidal. But, I did have such thoughts. But, I chickened out in the end.
But, I had fallen into depression.
I still don’t know whether I am fully un-depressed now.
I am scared. Although I act all tough.
I am sad. Although I pretend to be all smiles.
I am lonely. Although I act friendly.
I am jealous. Although I act like I don’t care.
I am angry. Although I pretend to be cool.

I don’t know. When this game of shadows will end. I don’t know when I will be free.

The pains of moving

Before you all get any ideas, I’m not moving my blog anywhere! I love this current blog of mine and I hope to keep it for as long as I can.
So, what I’m talking about here, is moving to a new place. Or shifting.
That, in itself is a big, boring, dry and panicky task.

After I graduated from high school, last April, my mother and I decided to move back to India for my undergrad.
So, we began the first chore of moving; packing. Towards the first of May. Then came an unexpected vacation to Dubai.
And after that, it was one hurried, frantic packing, stuffing things into god-knows-where, filling up nearly 70 cardboard boxes in the process, so that they could be shipped a week before we left the place.
Then, we flew over. To a new place, a new life.
And yet, our container was shipped only three weeks later.
After yet another three weeks, we came to know that the container had reached the port in India.
But, then again, we weren’t destined to get it.
All the containers containing household articles were supposed to be left in the port, till the owner of the goods comes and signs a release paper.
But, industrial goods are taken to a shipyard.
And as luck could have it, our container with household articles was taken away to the shipyard, due to some neglect of the authorities.
Somehow, finally, after yet another three weeks, we got to get our container out.
The night when we got it home, it started raining heavily. During the middle of the summer. That rain soaked up nearly all of our things. Which contained around 8 boxes of books.
Then came the drama of shifting the furniture, including beds, couches and a glass-top dining table, from our house in the outskirts to the one in the city.
And once again, nature played spoilsport, soaking the mattresses, and the couches.
If I did think that the travails of the day were over, the workers lost their grip over the glass of the huge dining table and it cracked into a million pieces. So, currently, we are stuck with an amazing net table, which isn’t a table for all practical purposes.
We tried to claim compensation from the packers and movers, but, in true Indian fashion, they are playing the “we have no connection with this” game.

All I can say is that I sorely, fervently hope that all these misfortunes of moving are done with. For the time being.
At least I got proper wifi now, so please excuse me which I go and watch cat/dog videos on YouTube in a sincere attempt to cheer me up from all the misfortunes.

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