Crisp.

The smell of fresh leaves,
the crisp sound of crushing old ones.
The mist in the air,
as it melts on my skin.

Its a routine we do,
Its ours till the end.
Its a feeling we make,
Its for us to live within.

Walking with a heavy head,
and sometimes light as air,
What is it that is wanted from us?
or from you? or from me?

Just silence and a little pain,
just noise and some joy.
A gulp and a breath,
to keep walking on.

Is it that's all there?
Is there more we're yet to see.
It seems a never-ending road,
or one that's just begun instead.

Haze in my head,
Dewy - my heart,
Quite - my mind,
They say its the perfect moment to pray.

Sight

I don't know what's going wrong,
what is right.
In the craziest ride along,
I've held on tight.
A sense of where we belong,
hoping for an actual sight.
Praying with an urge so strong,
for there to be no..
...nightmare tonight.

Just Lose Yourself.

"I love [insert some action you love], I just lose myself in there".

How easily, how naively we tend to use that phrase. As if it means only the bad within us is capable of being lost, leaving behind the peace for us to enjoy. As if losing oneself is the best, most liberating feeling; should one find such an opportunity, it should be welcomed with open arms.
Does it always deserve the glory?
What about when you lose yourself unintentionally? Even if for a while - what if losing yourself is a direct effect of a bigger - even if better - purpose? What happens when you are so severely lost that you don't remotely resemble yourself? How do you console yourself when you're in tears for things you never felt? How do you justify your emotions in situations you never linked to your own frikkin' self ?
Is losing yourself really that awesome a sensation.. when it feels like everything good about you just walked away in one unanimous move? Is losing yourself really empowering when it disassembles your insides and takes away every shield - rendering you defenseless and meek?
When you don't see it coming, losing yourself can be more than mere joy.. like intense confusion, like excruciating amnesia, like a stormy chaos.
And for a bitter after taste.. the journey of figuring out what went wrong..

Interculture.

You've got it all figured out, the path seems simple. Things are as clear as they can be in a real situation involving real people.

Principles, ethics, religion - its all in place.

Enter: Culture.

And then nothing is. No longer simple or straightforward, the world wobbles and repositions everything. Opinions, feelings, traditions - its all over the place.

Sometimes its too fine a line to walk and ironically, this one excruciating effort of giving in to culture isn't considered a step, let alone a huge one. Forget about the gesture of appreciation, it isn't even respected much. It's like a disease you had and now you better cure yourself, before you throw offences in every possible direction. In some cases, it is ignored just so it 'goes away'. Let's pretend you don't have this disease, so maybe you'll end up cured. In other cases, its considered an inevitable measure so why make a big deal out of it anyway?! Let's all together forget about acknowledging it at all.

I write this from the point-of-view of one who's grown up in a multi-cultural environment - rendering me an amateur in e.v.e.r.y. traditional context.

A word to the wise: respect.

Flippin' Me

Dudey's heart is a grain in the hourglass. 

It keeps flipping back and forth between the two halves - in the future waiting to become present or in the past buried by the present. 

It keeps floating up and down - in the peaceful solitude or in the distrusting isolation.

It keeps being turned around - a new direction, a new era, a new emotion every time. 

A Cig in the Rain.

A cig in the rain.
I'm yearning to be letting out the smoke.
I'm drenched instead.

A cig in the rain.
I'm yearning to keep my insides intact.
I'm crumbling away instead.

A cig in the rain.
I'm yearning to be picked up as a challenge.
I'm laying idle instead.

A cig in the rain.
I'm yearning to be inhaled from.
I'm being stepped on instead.

A cig in the rain - I.am.lost.

Run.

Thin ice cold blades scraping your skin - feel the wind rush past you.
Nerves impulses giving jerks to your skull - feel the thumping in your head.
The bones in your toes grind against the ground but bounce back up, in vain - feel the light feet you have right now.
Digging deeper into the soil, your legs wrench your guts along - wow, you're fast.
The ribs swing in half circles, right to left and back, dragging your arms along - feel your body pushing all odds away to move ahead.

It's only your eyes - the betrayers.
Sitting in their sockets, they watch the world glide past. They tell you the rest is only mechanical. A natural part of the effortless endeavour of running.
So you obey them and you run. Run like there would be no end to it. Run like its the genius idea for survival. You run not because your afraid. You run because you no longer want to be afraid.
You think.
Because then you slam into the glass! The sides of your imagination's dome. The bottom to your fantacy's pit. "The reality check."
You hate that phrase, don't you? Because you can't run anymore, you can't glide further away from the burden of existence, the consequence of your being.

It's the cold, dead end to your addiction to illusion.

You slam against it and no matter how deep your legs dig into the ground, your chest just presses harder against the glass.
And then you feel it.
The heart inside.
Stubbornly beating like a mad beast trying to break out of a cage. Over and Over. Crying out loud about the reality of it's existence. Pumping it's pain, to every inch of your body. Forcing you to recognize every cell as your own.
You see it too, as your vision blurs and blood rushes to your head, blocking out all sounds.

And then you feel them.
The lungs, striving to drag out the bad, absorb the good. Breathing in life to push away death.
You hear it too. Your own breath. Deep, hard, cold. Almost like you've got company.

As you regain a sense of the whole of your body, the feeling of existence kicks in.
The feeling like you deserve to settle for a while, rest your aching muscles, warm the pricking skin.

The sense of comfort makes you "realise" maybe it's not the end after all. Maybe it's OK.
Because come to think of it, if existence were really a burden, the Almighty wouldn't torture you with it. It's a Blessing He has bestowed out of His Love for you.
And you love Him too, right? So it's easy to do what you must (and more) out of Love for Him.

And if the Faith is just about as much as you fear it to be, the distance to the other end of this glass dome is a long stretch....
Run.

Survivals History

A very Brief history of Dudeyyy's Survival would include the following words and the era's in her survival, that they refer to:

Sumo Wrestler - 1989 -1995
Pampered Adventurous Brat - 1996 - 2001
Dude - 2001 - 2009
System Restart - 2009-2010
Dudeyyy - 2010 onwards..

Some of these era's overlap, but the general categorization can be thus.
Further elaboration of these phases may come up in the course of her survival story.

At present, Dudeyyy may have to give up her identity within the next 24 hours.
And this is a desperate attempt to hold on to it.