Inspiration – it comes from the strangest situations…

! This post was written long ago. What you're reading is not necessarily how I feel about things in 2017. This blog was started by an 18-year-old in 2001. Please, keep that in mind before you freak out.

Last night, I learnt that a friend whom life hasn't been treating well and who's had way too much going on for only three decades of life is in trouble. Serious trouble. I tried to comfort him with some goofy remarks and a person whom I don't know that well, but have mutual friends with jumped in. While the said friend I have a level of understanding that only grumpy people can have amongst each other; the other person was clearly trying to disrupt everything I was saying, centering the whole matter around HIS supposed problem with ME, as if the friend whom we were comforting wasn't there at all.

Then I spent good 30 minutes speaking to the friend. He's a person hard to deal with, but I deal with him well, perhaps because I am technically twice as hard to deal with - being female, hormonal and the tyrant type in some way. I like talking to him. I like reminding myself that people were begging me not to talk to him, that he's this, that he's that and that they all ended up being the unstable, unfaithful and inconsiderate ones, while he ended up being the exact opposite. He lives in what I think is the worst place on Earth, yet he doesn't strike me as a typical head-in-clouds-legs-on-a-pedestal person from that place.

I sat down and started writing a fairy tale. I am not good with prose and I have not written this type of a piece since childhood. My Wrong Star characters were given the leading roles and, as always, it was all happening in the Nowhereland. But I used the said friend as one of the secondary characters. Of course, there was some exaggerration, but that was the way he would be like if he drifted into the semi-imaginary world, that was how I reinvented my perception of him.

I am not sure if he'll be flattered by this. A lot of my friends get inserted in things I write and there's a girl whom I have not spoken in six months who's appeared in at least seven of my writings, as some sort of a stock character. I just do it. And when someone's in my story, that either means I appreciate them and respect them to the point where they made me realise something about life, or that they're so gross and grotesque that they're now my personal villains. This was obviously not the later.


This afternoon, the third person came out of nowhere to yell at me, as he apparently spent the whole night thinking how much I offended him. Hey, I wrote a large and complicated piece while you were thinking about it and I technically have nothing, absolutely nothing against you; I just come from the background where it's OK to tell people what you think and hope they'll be brave enough to take it, discuss it and clear up the differences. And what were YOU doing?

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