On despising mint chocolate and finding you

Find  someone who hates the same thing as much as you. I for one have always despised mint chocolate for reasons I don’t think are hard to understand. How can something as warm and comforting as chocolate pair up with something as umm well green and toothpasty?

I hate it as much as I hate the sky without stars,

as much as using an umbrella in the rain,

as much planning for the weekend way in advance,

as much as travelling alone,

as much as the idea of being alone,

as much as the idea of never finding love.

Though, one day.

One day as I walked down the empty boulevard wondering why I was walking down an empty boulevard considering how cruel the sun was that day I wished for some kind of repose.

And right ahead was a dear old ice-cream parlor. An old fashioned one complete with soda fountains, malteds, cherry floats and simple sundaes crafted from home made flavours. It had a little poster which said, “Try our brand new ice-cream flavour: Chocolate chip with mint”. I quietly ignored the not so generous offer and looked onward. A young man with dreamy eyes was telling the waiter how much he hated mint chocolate and why he does not understand the popularity of the flavor. I watched him rant to the waiter who didn’t seem all that interested, though I was. The parlor was just trying out new ways of getting more people to enter in. Anyway, once this man was done expressing his disappointment over the ever so repugnant flavor of mint chocolate I decided to join him at his table. Sitting like he was lost, though lost in a good way, gazing at the vintage posters on the wall with a slight smile on his face, made me wonder what was it on his mind that made him light up like a lighthouse on a dark beach, like  the only flickering streetlight on a lonely road. He looked like hope and hope was what I needed. He saw me approaching and smiled as to welcome me to his table

It’s funny because the first thing he asked me after we introduced ourselves to each other was, “where’d you grow up?”

And two hours down the conversation I’m telling him about the first time I learned how to swim, and how I almost drowned my trainer and he was telling me about his first kiss when he was ten and how the girl was taller than him. He opened a part of my soul that needed some sunlight, he made me talk about the brighter side, he reminded me of the days I used to be perpetually happy as a child, he brought my weary heart home.  Oh and, how could I forget we talked about how chocolate mint ice cream should be banned from the face of the earth.

Dusk began to set in, he drove me home and as I counted the streetlights that passed us by, I wondered if this was the beginning of something.  For our laughter sounded like synchronized chaos, you know like raindrops or crashing waves, all in their own skin, nothing forced. Raw and powerful.

When he left me at my front porch he kissed me on my forehead and he told me how happy he was about the fact that my forehead perfectly reached his lips. Now boy oh boy, don’t ask me what this is,but all I know is that he hates mint chocolate and I hate mint chocolate and I will never admit to him that I found in him what I was searching for.

 

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An ode to poetry itself.

Magic, a higher being, the super natural, super powers, a psychic sixth sense.

All of the above are phenomena whose existence we question.

However they exist, they exist in poetry.

As naive as the world is, consumed in their routines of work, running their  little races and failing to stop and notice the magic that unfolds every time a poem is born,

Born out of sadness,

Born out of happiness,

Born out of anger,

Born out of beauty,

Born out of love,

Born out of boredom,

Born from the heart.

To love or to destroy but most of all,

To make a person or entity immortal.

The marriage of words just to convey how the oceans roar on the beach yet gently cradle the tiniest of creatures in its deepest current is magic incarnate.

And to possess this ability is a responsibility.

A responsibility not of protecting and nurturing the art but letting it run wild and free of any reins.

Like a flock of birds migrating, or a lioness hunting her prey.

Free falling, tumbling, tripping, breaking into little sparks of glitter from the rainbows.

Contaminating this monochrome world.

The next time you read a poem, it’s okay if you feel victimized by its emotions.

It might make you fall in love, or make you feel beautiful, you may dream of the impossible or you may cry. Get consumed in that moment for it is okay to feel and fantasize, we are human after all.

In constant search of a saving grace.

Memories from the back benches

 

More often than not, the friends you make in school turn into distant memories. Jokes once shared and fights once fought is something you ponder upon with a weary smile wishing you could relive them. Just like how I wish I had with me right now the only best friend from school who made me feel as alive today as I was when I was a fifteen year old  girl in a school uniform.

Saunak, here’s to you:

To being the best song-writer in the entire universe: I’d often complain about the rarity of my name. It is so unusual  that no song has ever been written about it. There have been songs about a Carol, in “Oh Carol” by Neil Sedaka, Jane in “Diary of Jane” by Breaking Benjamin, Cecilia in “Cecilia” by Simon and Garfunkel but no song has ever been written about an Aurene and never will be because it is so damn unusual. So being the amazing soul that he is, he wrote about me, and he was the first. So, I finally had my song, “Aurene” by Saunak Shrestha.

To being multi-cultured to such an extent that till date I’m confused where he is actually from: When he was new in school, he was the talk of the town for being, “the cute guy from Nepal”. Then, I learn he’s half Japanese too yet he decided to join an Indian school. Never mind, I miss talking to him about stories of his home that would make his eyes go all dreamy or like the way little puddles gleam during the monsoons. The way he’d talk about his sister Sujeena, his best friend Elvis who he misses, to the snowfall in Japan, to how insane the nightlife is in Nepal. He fed my soul.

To being extremely talented but never wanting to show it off: He plays the guitar and writes  better than anyone I have ever met yet he would guard this talent like a top secret government file because if it got disclosed all the countries in Asia would enter into a nuclear war with each other.

To panic  calls: When he started dating the cutest girl in the entire school and when I too found someone, Sometimes our better halves never really got us, and I knew I could rant about it all to him and for some godforsaken reason it would make me happy when he’d complain about her to me. It made me feel like I still took up quite some space in his life.

To conversations about life in general: I have never in my existence of 19 years met a man, or a woman who has talked to me  in a way that would inspire me , it was just our conversations and us. The conversations with him are what I have always cherished through school and now in college because they grounded me, reminded me of what a free spirit I was and maybe still am.

I pity myself, because I often forget where my roots are. Some people who don’t know me well in college believe me to be an introvert, maybe sometimes reserved. I have quite a few friends in college but I make sure never to get too attached, a defense mechanism I use to keep me from falling too deep, because if I do I drown and then there’s no one to rescue me.

He however, gave me a friendship of a lifetime, one that I have never regretted, one that built me. While the world thought I was plain, this was his definition of me when I was at my lowest: “Aurene you were like this positive energy. Like every day I hate mornings and people smiling and I’m like the hell is wrong with you all its 8 in the god damn morning and you’d just jump inside the class with a smile and your weenie the pooh voice and the fresh look on your face looking like the fucking sun from telly tubbies. You’re one weirdo, no judging cause so am I but like I miss that. Don’t change you. Stay same for all of our sakes.”

When he said this to me my eyes welled up with tears which I held in because I couldn’t recollect being that happy, I couldn’t even picture that scene of me in the morning. I guess being older than 15 was the worst mistake of my life. But this is exactly why I will cherish this friendship until time immemorial because he reminds me of the brighter side. They say out of sight is out of mind, well I haven’t seen him in years. Yet, I have him as my source of positivity reaching out to me from across countries and oceans. Mind you he’s not perfect, I know I make it sound that way but he’s had his share of screw-ups too but if life were kind enough to give me one last wish, I’d say take me back to that classroom where I found my best-friend. Let me hear the school bell ring again, please let me sit with him at the back of the classroom as we whisper about everything life has to offer, under the teacher’s over-powering voice. 20140609_212023

 

 

What it’s like to be a zipper girl

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You can’t choose to join the zipper club, the zipper club chooses you!

Five years ago, my parents left me in the trusted  hands of a surgeon. After fifteen years of being a heart patient my heart began giving in to the disease and now it was time to be a heart survivor.

As the nurses wheeled me into the operation theater the thought of my chest being slit open, or the possibilities of the surgery being fatally unsuccessful didn’t scare me. Here’s what did: the fact that I would have a big fat zipper scar running across my chest.

I remember telling the surgeon, just as I began slipping into the calm of the anesthetic, “please let me have a small scar”.

He didn’t!

After the six hour long surgery I couldn’t move,  walk, eat solid food, or speak but all I thought about was how V-necked tops and bikinis would look terrible on me. A tear rolled down my cheek.

I regained my physical strength after a couple of months and ever since life has not been quite the same. For a girl obsessed with beauty and fashion this was a huge drawback. Every time I went shopping and tried a dress or a top in the changing room I’d drop to the floor and weep bitterly.

“You survived”

“You’re a fighter, Aurene”

“You are so strong for your age”

“You inspire me”

BULLSHIT. If I can’t wear that vintage polka dotted bikini ever!.

Fifteen year old immature me believed scars were for men. Every time I googled scars here’s what the search results showed me.

“Why women dig men with scars”

“Scars: a symbol of masculinity”

“Why women love men with scars”

At fifteen I was feminine in every orthodox sense of the word, Pink was my favorite color. I was a fan of Justin Bieber (still am) and I never endorsed anything “ungirly”. The surgery scar was a huge liability to my feminity. I’ve met people who thought it was disgusting to look at, some told me I pass on “negative vibes” with my scar, and some just pitied me.

After a few years though my perception towards having a scar began to change, I cannot credit a significant event or figure in my life who helped me overcome its “ugliness” but I guess I grew up. I’ll have you know, I won two beauty pageants with the very same scar on my chest and honestly the scar was my greatest source of motivation and confidence. I strongly believe even if I had the most flawless chest with no incision scar separating my breasts I would never have won a single pageant. Anyhow, here is a little message to all the women who have a scar be it as a result of mastectomy, a C-section, recovery from self-harm, a heart surgery like mine or maybe just skinned knees.

God does not mass produce us, each one of us were created with individual attention, once we are born he is still creating an shaping us and every scar is just another one of his wonders so wear it like a medal. I used to hide my scar with a scarf but today I flaunt it because it’s defines me in words I can never express. The norms of beauty are built by society itself but who makes up society than women like us, we’re here to change the norms.

Pink is still my favorite color, and lush designer make up melts my heart more than a man ever could but today when I walk into the gym with buff muscular men with badass scars to show I never, ever feel left out. Here’s to badass zipper women, Welcome to the zipper club!