Archive for the ‘ Uncategorized ’ Category

In Regret

What a heady feeling it is to be impulsive. To act without thought, to hell with repercussions.

But like every thought, every action has a ripple effect. And sometimes this ripple effect turns into a tornado which no matter how much you try, you cannot control.

I’ve been known to be impulsive. On most days I’m even okay with it, in fact I embrace it.

But today, today I live in regret. I lost my closest friend, my safe haven to an impulse, a stupid impulse which I should have kept in check.

I lost the boy who got me flowers, who wrote me Hey There Delilah, who catered to my every whim and fancy for a boy who could never be mine, who now seems more like a stranger than ever.

I’ve never regretted a single moment in my life, but I regret that.

I’ve always pursued the elusive, the hard to get, all the while taking for granted those people who keep me sane. Enough. No more.

I wish I could come to you and beg you to forgive me, one more time. This time I promise to keep your trust. Missing you is like a physical thing, the pain is tangible.

But I won’t. I cannot will not beg you to let me in. I loved you which is why I let you go. I know you can’t be just friends. But I want you to know, I regret, regret the mistake I made.

Doing more only to do less – do we glorify busy?

Its time for a change.

Campari and Sofa

Stop the glorification of busy.My friend Gavin was telling me about a conversation he had with some Dutch colleagues. Gavin, and his compadre Georgina, find that the sheer volume of work they are confronted with on a weekly basis is just un-doable within the confines of a normal 8-hour work day. So they regularly put in 10-hour days at the office. And another couple of hours at home picking up emails. This causes all sorts of problems: they’re tired all the time, their spouses feel ignored, they don’t want to go out at night or over the weekend and they lose touch with friends.

Hmmfff…”, said their pals, “In Holland, if you were to work like that we would think you were not coping.”

“Am I”, he wondered, “not coping? Or am I doing more than I should? And if I am doing more than I should –  what should I stop doing? And…

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After all you feel alone because you are: Writing as Compulsion

“Remember what it was to be me: that is always the point,” writes Didion.

Djelloul Marbrook: The Body Language of Poetry

The great poem escapes itself, like fume from an alembic. It hangs around to haunt, but it cannot be put back into the bottle.

Vox Populi

Don’t gesticulate with your hands or make faces when speaking, the teachers at my British boarding school told me. It’s vulgar. I’m sure that this enjoinder at such an impressionable age imbued my poems with reticence and austerity.

But poetry has a body language. The poet’s way of breathing supplies oxygen to the body and to the poem. The poet’s way of walking and talking is inherent in the poem. I knew a poet who walked like the prow of a ship cutting through waves, the bone in its teeth, as sailors say, and that how her poems walked and talked.

The body language of a poem is also shaped by the script used in its writing. If it was first written by hand the poet’s hand, the stops and starts, the way I’s are dotted and t’s crossed, lives in the poem. If the poem was first typed, the…

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What we talk about in our twenties

Things change. Things stay the same.

And when we talk, we make the words matter.

write meg!

Sunset

Over the weekend, I had an interesting chat about chatting.

What we talk about with others.

How we handle social situations.

I’ll admit to getting a little anxious in big groups, and sometimes I feel like I have “nothing to say” — or nothing interesting to say, anyway. Because I write a personal newspaper column, most of my “good” stories become fodder for my work. It may not seem tough to write a measly 450 words twice a week, y’all, but trust me: it gets challenging.

Sometimes I sit around in my pajamas and eat cookie butter out of a jar. Other times Spencer and I watch “Manhattan” and surf eBay and hang around drinking coffee, then do some laundry or pull weeds or whatever. All necessary tasks — but not exactly compelling.

When my sister and I had the chaos of planning two weddings last year, we always

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Thank you mom!

When you read something and all you can do is sigh, that is a well written piece.

*sigh*

The Cipher story

People, who think all they have achieved in life is only due to their own hard work and determination, lie. Of course, it is important you work hard and believe in yourself but it is almost impossible to achieve great things without the help of others. Preparing for Indian Institute of Technology’s Joint entrance Exam (IIT-JEE), has been one of my biggest achievements in life and it was just a dream which seemed rather impossible when I set out for it. Now, when I am about to complete my degree in engineering from an IIT, I feel really lucky and grateful to the people who helped me reach here and the most important person among them is my mother. Had it not been for her love, support and belief in me, I would have never cleared IIT-JEE and would never become the person I am today. As an average student…

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A Letter To The Daughter I May Never Have

That you find beauty in yourself regardless of what anyone else tells you. What I wish for you, is to follow your heart even when TV and boys and magazines tell you otherwise. What I wish for you, is that when you’re 27, you actually know what you want, and you don’t feel like a nomad with too many ideas that you don’t have the funds to carry out.

amanda trusty says

My dearest daughter,

I’m writing this to you at age 27, at which point I still don’t know how to change a diaper.

And I have to tell you right away, I live in a world where planes crash unexpectedly, and love doesn’t always win, and I eat pesticides for breakfast. My neighbors fight when they’re drunk and my friends have cancer and twelve-year-old students sell pot out of their lockers at school. I’m sorry darling, but this world is no place for a child.

I’m looking at a beautiful bouquet of flowers on the kitchen table that your potential daddy bought me three days ago and they’re wilted because I forgot to change the water. The sink is dirty and the recycling bin smells like sour milk and Coca-Cola. My home is no place for a child to grow.

But goodness it would be so gorgeous to meet you…

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Ghost

"...Meanwhile in my head, I am undergoing open-heart surgery......." --Anne Sexton

The Cipher story

Nothing is absolute, not even the truth! Here is my view point on everything around me.

Amanda Trusty Says

it's time to shed some bright ass light on emotional eating, body love, and the roar we wish to see in this world.

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