Officially ending this...

I call it Princess Syndrome. It's where you are that girl who waits for eons and eons to find that special "prince" who will sweep you off your feet to a distant kingdom. You don't want to be be queen, oh no, you want to be the princess.

My Mom and Dad never called me their princess. The joke was a girl could be anything on the third rock from the sun, but not a princess unless her Mommy/Daddy were crowned royalty. Never had Princess Syndrome back in grade school, never felt it in high school. But it swept me off back in the end of my undergrad days.

My fantasy is five times screwier than Pulp Fiction and Fight Club combined. Let's check the parameters shall we?

• Fourth child of Scandinavian Royalty
• Has a uberly appealing piece of body guard/ hunk
• Are together
• Need a female to seem normal
• But ultimately they want to be together.

This isn't a fantasy, it is pure madness. And the funny thing is I know it is madness, but I keep on delving deeper into it. What's a 20-someting to do when she ain't got no looks, no grades, no money and absolutely no viable talent/utility? If have to live in my head sometimes, then it better be a mad one where nothing ever makes sense.

Stockholm Syndrome - 2nd edition

My Strategy course started this all. This blog was a result of two consecutive all nighters followed by a really bad presentation and an even worse day of tears, fears and all the negatives packed inside 6 hours.

I had to call it quits over one of the finest specimens of males on my side of the platter. No, it's not about trying, not being in league of someone; it just wasn't meant to be anything other my southern region calling the shots over the brain and the guts.

Sometimes, actually most of the time, proximity, height, and some undecipherable scents mix to play weird tricks on your nervous system- specially if you never had any shot at something fine.

But that is not the reason why I am doing this entry.

The course, as it ended (still 2% away from full finish) last night - at 10pm, I found something actually cry from within. I have been in the Stockholm Syndrome road block ever since I came to my senses. And I knew what was happening to me last night. The anger, the despair of not being able to grasp the most 'simple' concepts and finally the insensitivity ingrained by the Professor just evaporated like there was nothing there. The white paper of my senses which was riddle with holes, streaks and burns was suddenly made whole again in a split second.

I don't have the urge to reach out to Mr. Popularity again and do something weird. I'm gonna miss everything about him although I am still one Facebook message away from him. But just like the absence of the Strategy course is working to reconstruct my soul, my out of whack nerves are settling down. I'm not gonna forget those feelings, crying in the middle of the night for being so stupid and the panic attacks.

Taking them all in stride is the best thing I can do because let's face it, time and gravity are the only truths on this dimension!

10 years behind schedule

I only realised that even though I am 26 years old (+ 5 months) I am still in the hormonal mindset of a 16 year old. Truthfully, adding up all my immaturities has always set me back 10 years behind the rest of my peers (although on paper most are three years behind me, it's a Bangladesh thing on reducing age).

My official finals start tomorrow, it is official in the sense that my formal education is going to be boxed starting tomorrow. Who knows what will happen tomorrow, let alone the next week. There seems to be no end in sight and I have no idea as to what our esteemed teachers are up to. If Karma exists, their great grand children just better not be born. 

I have been super depressed over Lukas Graham's 7 years old. what is so great and inspiring in it. It makes me cry every time I sing it. Yes, I have memorised the song and sing it every time it comes up on VOA radio or on VH1, but I cry all the same. I guess I have to grow up the ten years on the inside to fully appreciate it.

A Shield in Shambles

I keep hearing the echoes of Evanescence's Everybody's Fool. Although it is a song on how fake the media is, like any great song it resonates differently at times.
While I keep telling myself that the great big world is not really as imposing as it seems, I end up crumpling into a crying ball of nothingness on the inside every single minute I breathe out. I tell myself my M/M story needs to be out there because that is the only thing no one take from me. Publishers will as expected will reject it,but I will never be able to rise up from it again.
I end up as the human shield for people I deem stronger than me because something inside me never fixed itself no matter how hard I tried. The patches of Eminem's hard rap, the wraps of gut clenching shows and the threads of my beloved Supernatural series all wrapped under my favourite yaoi manga and action moveis are not working. The combination worked for simpler times when I prepped for Business School, but nothing is working right now. I will probably cry if I hear 8 miles now.
I don't need a savior, I have no need to get away, and I don't need fixing.The world I am stuck in needs all thesemore than I will ever need anything from it.

as always the FOOL

There are quite somethings I never got to wrap my head around.
How come no one ever compliments me on my jewelry but goes bat shit over some cheap plastic bangles and an acrylic ring on some other chick? Well at least there is no harm done, my single set of jewelry and accessories will always be worth more than your trashy lot of plastic trinkets.
How come no one ever appreciates the music I like and challenge everything I listen to? Why do people try to pass me off as a flossy wannabe who only started music with Justin effing Bieber three months ago? You hating my thirty years of genetically embedded harmonics can't get you original CD-s, so yeah don't bother.
I still don't get how the same people who are with me almost 40+ hours of a week with less study time than me end up getting better grades than me. I end up being the back end of the class' percentile marker because I really don't have any clue than to study hard. I tried the 'smart' version, it paid out in negatives.  I am clueless as to how everyone seems to pick up everything at the exam while I end up scattering the tiniest things I grasped.
And finally why am I the only one with the Book of Life that's the fifth edition while even the dolts off the street have the streamlined 1001st edition? What am I doing wrong here?
I am not only born in the wrong place in the wrong time in the wrong species, I am born in the wrong dimesion altogether.
I am two milimeters close to breaking down into a drooling pile of insanity never to sound coherent again, but I am still going on acting as a functioning fool.

Thankful

No, this is not the god-forsaken beauty pageant list of thank you-s, this is the real deal.

I am thankful that I do not have an extended circle of friends. Unlike my parents before me, I keep my associates away. Every time I passed an institute, I never re associated with the filthy jerks. I hope to keep it that way because I would never want to hurt someone else because of them. Since I don't have anyone close to begin with, I have nothing to worry about. At least I am saving myself the heart ache for exchanging extremely bad words both externally and internally.

I am even more thankful that I am a fat ugly bean bag. Pretty B****s get every thing spoon fed to them and they can't even spell 'incompetent' right without busting a nail.

I am also thankful that Karma exists as well as cancer, plane crashes, and undetectable birth defects. What would we do without them! 

I am definitely thankful that I am becoming materialistic. Nothing beats great shoes, jewelry and money.

I am thankful finally for the internet because I can rant without causing my identity any damage.

I will  be even more thankful for the day when I can directly tell the F***ing A-holes what they really are because nothing really matters any more.

Living in a Pre-Truth

I learnt the word Pre-Truth from the show Big Time Rush. Super awesome show where there are these hockey players who become popstars. (It also helped that they were my age and pretty good looking white people...guilty as charged)
Now Pre-Truth is two steps away from a lie but definitely not a turth! You lie and then make sure you make it the truth, that's how it works.
One of my semi pre-truths is I hate men. I have proclaimed that this species has been off my diet since first grade. It will be all the more exemplified when I actually blurt out to Mr. Popularity that I have some sort of thing for him. The result is definitely no big puzzle. I will be shot down the second it gets out and will live the rest of my life as an even fatter dolt than I am. He will be soaring in the glory that he is born into and I will have squandered away the limited gifts I was able to develop.
Yet my brain is in constant movie mode with the things we could be doing together, having together and just being together. It is the Pre-Truth my neurons project and wants me to go forward with.
I have tried reasoning, there is no way in hell I'd get on with someone who is too religious (although I think that's what makes him who he is), or has extended families with extended friends (all the more reason to go after someone who's in everyone's circle, my possessive streak is death defying) and someone who just isn't mentally available for most of the times to a single person.
I guess while writing this, I found some parts of what I was looking for. I am just lonely and probably had my first sexual awakening which was ten years overdue. I can't override biology but I can get a hold of what I should not be doing. I need to hang in there for another two months, then it's bye bye bridges (for the 4th time).

The Endless Wake Shift

I have had a sever panic attack followed by crying which ended up in me staying up all night. It is not that unusual for me, I tend to have one or two of these every year, but this one was the worst. I cried over stupid things and remembered even stupider things.
The worst part of it was my internal rough talk monologue is not working anymore. My usual tough talk follows the line is of how my Mom had to be tough to leave her medical career behind to raise me. Those sobering words now make me breakdown since I can't even stop crying over incompatible people and things yet to be seen. And staying awake for 24 hours never helped anyone especially when you cry in eight of them.
There is this Ace of Base song called The Sign, I need to listen to it more because it is the only anchor I might have to get up and get going. As they tough talk in the Marines, I need to unf**k my s**t.

8th Grade All Over Again

2003 was one of the toughest years of my life, I was 13, hitting the bad end of my studies and my dog was killed off in front of me. I was too fat, too dumb and just didn't belong. I was too much of an idiot to see outside of the TV and failed miserably in Maths (by my standards). People wanted me to do big stuff and wanted to see me fail doing them.

Everyday I wished I was in a different side of reality, read that as everyday I wanted to die. Add all that up and multiply it by a million, that's how miserable I was with my 8th grade unrequited crush on a girl.

It's a very cliche plot in an all girls school to have a girl crush on the most boyish, most athletic young man substitute. I was on the deep end of it. I was better than her in one thing- my grades. I was on the high road to a competitive education and she was school's Miss Popularity. I was the bean bag in the sports class, she flitted in and out of volleyball, running and everything that made her cool. I cried when she lost a match and got my ass handed to me at home because I scored 7/10 on a Science Test where some other high achiever was given a 9/10 ( only 'cause if you pay the teacher you get the coming question, simple business).

I haven't seen Miss Popularity for real in almost 8 years. Facebook does NOT count, ever. By the time I graduate from my formal education and fully settle for my next life, it will be full friggin 15 years. It's not that I don't want to see her again, it's just that I won't.

Flash forward to 2016, I am still way too fat but I got attitude. I cut off my hair for a boyish crop but I still look like a High Schooler. The only reason I can't wear my high school uniform is because I'm now a 42C instead of the 38B I started with and I grew almost 5 inches since that time. If I wear that again, no one will ever see me as anything but a high schooler.
But the babble I have in store is of a different timbre.
I am at the worst end of my studies and at the bottom of my class. My grades and educational achievements retired the second I got into University and joined Economics. Geting into Business School was another weird one time only streak of neuron reload, right now I am at the lowest of my education status. And this time I am crushing on a guy.

Add my panic attacks, my super low self esteem from grades and cgpa, and multiply by a billion; that's where you get my co-ordinate of despair on this plane of insanity.

The day I first set my seeing eye on him, I just ignored him. Guys like that never associate with bean bags like me. But it just doesn't play out like that, ever. His parents had to name him after the sun, and like the ever present star in our solar system you cannot ignore that sodding power house. He is Mr. Popularity and has everything- the grades, the looks (used to, according to my Mom) plus the can do anything attitude most privileged upper class guys are born into.

I have no clue whatsoever on what keeps drawing me to Mr. Popularity. I blame my haywire libido on it. I haven't associated with proper males in ages. Majority of my undergraduate male class mates weren't on my radar because social class is an actual thing. You cannot be 26 and not date, if you go for that path you are bound for misfortune in the shape of a human flag pole. Note to future womb critters: please be sociopathic serial killers.

It's not exactly the same situation as 2003 but I am crushing over someone and it is BAD. I am a wreck for my own respiratory system because I am breathing for at least three different personas. I am no longer on the high way to grades and education but I do have a knack for music now. Miss Popularity wishes she were in my shoes because where I am is the place everyone would want to be.

I just know for now that I have to stop myself from doing something EXTREMELY stupid. Not that I have always been smart but at least I need to stop from doing something I would regret, like getting into the Harry Potter bandwagon because of Miss Popularity.  I hate the whole franchise at a visceral level now. People I have known since birth still want bad stuff to happen to me, but now I openly announce that cancer should visit them at stage 3 or they should feel lucky if their grand child isn't autistic. Karma is the only true measure of life, period.

I am still waiting for that 'Someday' when I can look back at all these and actually cuss at my old idiot  self. For now I just want Mr. Popularity to get a good girlfriend or to die. I am not strong enough anymore to suffer through another 8th grade 'crush' and burn.

What am I NOT going to do?

As I stare at the blinking cursor of my Business Strategy class note, I have come to realize that I am two steps away from breaking into panic mode. For the third time. Today.

It's been an ongoing thing, a work in process where everyday the question -What am I going to do? barges in and smashes through everything I am working on. It can be the middle of the night at 3am, it was while I was listening to Ginza by J. Balvin, the next now one just died down a bit I think.

Couple that with the ever growing pressure from something deep inside my barely awakened libido-I'm now partially on auto pilot, partially fueled by an alternate vista that plays along side my reality. I wonder if this is how drugs take hold, but I am not sure what I am on to begin with.

The confusion grows every minute, dies down in a few seconds but cumulates throughout the hours, and finally weighs me down like a year; all while I'm in class trying to discern between Niche Market and Broad Differentiation.