Listen to the Silence

Listen to the silence.

Fucking words of wisdom.

Do they even know what silence is? The deafening sounds of nobody to hear you, listen to you, witness your life….the sheer terror of knowing that you are in this alone, everything thing u do., is your own fucking choice and everything you’ve accomplished means a shit load that you haven’t,…and its all your fault.

I wish I could believe in a god, a god who told me that he would take care of everything, good or bad…and that if I did something wrong I would be doomed for eternity, and someone, when I paid my dues, would give me a break.

I wish I believed in a happily ever after, a someone who was out there made for me. Someone who knew by just looking into my eyes that I was the one and I felt the same way.

I wish I could believe.

My name is Nupur..and I am a twenty-something independent brittle women.

My shell is oh so fragile; I feel like porcelain sometimes, looks like marble, shatters like glass. My glass is almost always half full…but that’s the fucking problem- it’s only half full.

Where does this story go? I don’t know, just another list of things that are as directionless as I am. I wish I could be less visible, or maybe just more visible. I wish my hopes and dreams would fade away into the sunset, take a bow, smilingly refuse an encore, “that’s all folks; all good things must come to an end.” Or that all these dreams just crystallized, my castle in the air, suddenly shimmered and snapped into place.

The only place where any of these can happen is the wicked wonderful world of the mind.

* old post, just comfortable enough to post it now*

Update

Reality is really not quite there yet, the studios I went to see in San Francisco were in pretty much the worst neighbourhoods EVER, and the studio itself was barely the size of a closet:)...



looks like it reality is going to take a little more time to catch up with my fantasies;)

the beginning...or the end?

I remember a time, I must have been in the 9th grade, I was just starting to think about what I wanted to be in life, did I want to be a engineer (Hell NO!) or a doctor (yeah right! sometimes a forget my own name imagine forgetting a patient!) ....always the pessimest, i knew what I DIDNT want never quite knew what I wanted.

My father proposed an exciting idea, do you want to be an architect? But what does an architect do dad? An architect brings ideas to life, an architect is an artist talks about the metaphysical, about space and yet, builds with bricks and mortar. An architect belongs to the fields of engineering (aleast most academia treats it as such) but soars in the realm of the artist, never really belonging anywhere. Sounds like me dad, but how do I know for sure?

He suggested I start with something simple. He told me to imagine my house, imagine what it would be like, draw up a plan for it and make a model of it. In ways i still dont understand in about 2 days I made a model of what would be called a studio apartment ( I didnt know such things existed then.) I designed a self contained unit with a corner with skylights for me to work in, a raised platform to sleep on and a kitchenette with a bar/breakfast counter. Its frighteneing in how much detail i remember this.

Next Monday I start work in an architectural firm, designing houses for people, making the same kind of models I made so many years ago. Today I look for my studio apartment in San Francisco city.

Is this the end of a dream? Or the beginning of reality? Did my destiny work its way around, did the world conspire to give me what I wanted all those years ago? Or did I make that happen?

Maybe all of the above. Whatever force got me here, internal or external I thank you now, and I pray that that dream metamorphoses into a wonderful exciting real life.