Disposable Dreams 0.2

  2211

“…but that’s just how life is”, she said,

“You are tied to thousands and thousands of weightless balloons aimed at the sky and sometimes one pops, your heart does a little dance, you think you’re about to fall but in the end it’s just one balloon and you keep on reaching the sky. “

 

 

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A horrendous story of Gatsby and Anxiety

There I was, soaking myself in bubbly water, reading Gatsby and thinking about this thing growing inside my head that I hated.

I don’t know what is it about Fitzgerald that made me want to drown in that goddam bathtub or why it made me remember or why I’m deciding to tell this horrendous story with untasteful humor… as with most things in my life, I just don’t know.

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Moscow with Mom

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 I’ve always wanted to visit Moscow. I’ve heard a lot from grandparents raised in the walls of Soviet Union about the great cultural heritage that lies in the streets of the city. This summer I got to visit and pretend to be a cool Russian kid dressed up in Gosha Rubchinskiy. 

    I’m a sucker for nostalgia; I feed off of it. So walking around in a trench coat listening to mellow tunes while my hometown was burning from heat was a nice breather. I got to listen to my mom’s childhood stories about summers spent in the city with my grandparents. It’s a shame I didn’t get to experience it first-hand. 

  It’s hard to describe the city itself. You know how New York is overwhelmingly hectic? Well, Moscow is the opposite. It’s underwhelming… in a good way, if that makes any sense. It seems like the city is constantly mourning and everyone is always sad. It can be the dull weather or the Soviet influenced stone-cold architecture, but either way it’s weirdly comforting. It’s cold and it’s warm; it’s gigantic but you don’t feel lost; it’s a constructed contradiction just like myself and I like it a lot. 
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“Tolerable Letters to my Tolerable Friends or not-so”

(1 of 1)The more I think about it, the more I realize, I barely write about experiences. Or rather, I do but they are more of incidents that happy-ending stories. I write about people, and encounters with them; I write about valued humans and relationships. I’ve always found them intriguing.

I think, the less of the special ones you have in life, the more you worry about losing them and the constant notion of people leaving never disappears. More importantly, being scared of actually telling loved ones that I’m afraid of losing them is the illness I have. Because that makes me vulnerable. And people never like vulnerable. I guess I like being liked by people.

Continue reading ““Tolerable Letters to my Tolerable Friends or not-so””

tell me the stories

collage.jpgYes, I want to hear it from you, I do. I want to hear it from you now, because I never got to do it when I was supposed to.

I want to hear how you fell, like I did. I want to hear how you struggled and how your body crippled at the mention of my name. I want to hear how your heart finally got there; how you jumped out of a taxi cab out of a sudden realization, like I did. I want to hear why you hesitated. I want to hear why you took those steps. I want to hear every single reasoning behind your hidden, mysterious episodes. I want to hear about the occurrences in your brain I never got to experience and I want to hear why I never got to experience them. I want to hear it. All of it. From you.

And I want to know how many of us are there who didn’t get to hear.

 

 

         featuring some images I found on tumblr

Bottled Up

I’ve spent years hiding away my feelings underneath my pillow. All I’ve ever done is bottle things up inside me only to explode, every night, into an erupting volcano of emotions. I always thought complexity of one’s brain was something very rare and attractive. Making things more difficult was always an appeal for I thought there was absolutely nothing valuable about minimalism. I liked chaos.

 Now? I crave simple and easy. I want people who are straightforward and honest. I’m over the “I’m too shy to really say what I mean” bullshit. I want to be as frank as I can; expressing everything going through my brain to a T. I refuse to close myself in anymore. I am going to open up. Open up to people and tell them how I really feel and what i really desire, open up to new opportunities with a mindset that trying new things is what’s going to lead me to new paths in life, open up and be as lighthearted, as expressive, as honest as i possibly can. Simple is the new black, kids.

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