enigmatic adolescents

Conundrums of an Ambiguous Drama Queen

No Swimming Here

I’m going to tell you a little story. Truth be told, I’m a pretty average person who has had a few bumps along the way, who hasn’t? I’m what people call an introvert. It’s not a bad thing. I’m the book nerd, the loner, and the lost cause. You probably like the same things as me; coffee, grilled cheese sandwiches, Sylvia Plath’s poems and being happy. I’m the kind of person who would, without a doubt, choose staying at home over anything else.


My favorite person to interact with is Aidan Foster. He is a tsunami but he’s also the soothing touch of cold water. He’s my only companion. He’s been in my life for over a year now. Aidan Foster is the only one that knows what my father did to me. He’s both the cloud that covers up my sun and the sun itself. The only reason I feel like I have control over my life is because he taught me how. I despise him when he acts out but he’s all I have.


He always makes me do things that I’m afraid of. Just yesterday he made me go to the coffee shop and get a job as a barista. It’s so hard being around people constantly but it’s just my second day today. An ex-classmate walks up to me, “Hey, long time. It’s so nice to see you up and about. Where were you all this while?” I let out a nervous chuckle and tell him I was working on a project. Who am I kidding? I was at a cuckoo farm.


Aidan stands right by me through the day but he never speaks to anyone. His sole motive is to support me. He sits quietly, watching on, making sure I don’t run away after an hour or two. Interacting with people is so grueling and I’m completely spent. I sigh, happy that the day went by without any drama.


We take the garden path to get home. Bright orange leaves and a cloudy amethyst sky surround us. As I introspected about the day, the soft lavender seemed to be in perfect harmony with my thoughts. “You did good today. I’m so proud.” Aidan says. My heart flutters. He never really compliments me.

As soon as we’re alone at home, he scowls at me, “Why did you ignore me all day?” I want to tell him that I was focusing on work but he starts again, “Every single time I try to help you, you go and betray me like this.” “What betrayal? What happened to you? I thought we were okay now.” I begin to cry. We’ve had the same conversation way too many times. He screams, “Just because we spent three months in an asylum together doesn’t mean we’re okay now.”


I can’t stop him from screaming. My heart pounds louder and louder. There’s a screeching pain in my head that steadily increases. My skull might tear open any second. Aidan doesn’t stop talking, he curses at me. My fingers entangle in my hair and I crawl to the floor and bang my head against the side of the table to stop the pain.


He pulls me up, suddenly calm again. “I’m so sorry,” he weeps, “I don’t know what got into me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chants. I murmur to myself, “He isn’t real, he isn’t real, don’t let him get to you, he isn’t real.” Aidan comes closer and whispers, “I’m real. As long as you’re real, I am too. Your hands are my hands, what you see is what I see; your life is my life. You are me and I am you.” I let his words sink in. He hisses at me, “You can’t get rid of me.”


We had learnt how to live together without making each other miserable. I can’t take it anymore, this is getting out of hand. “Aidan, you need to leave now. I’m sick of you.” He laughs, “And go where?” I quietly walk out of the house, he follows me, pestering, “Where? Tell me where?” I don’t say a word and keep walking towards the lake at the far end of town. The skies turn dark violet. It’s a good day to fix everything, at long last. As soon as I reach the red flag saying, “No Swimming Here,” I point downwards to the middle of the blue vacuum and say, “There.”

And I jump.








The Babadook explained using psychology 


The central theme of the movie is a mother who lost her husband in a car accident while on her way to give birth to her child. The child is disturbed and has problems in having functional relationships because of a “monster under his bed.” 

If we keep the Babadook being a force, or whatever you may call it, aside… He is actually the mother. 

Here’s why. 

Sigmund Freud said that disorders arise from repressed unconscious motives and desires. 

The mother had deep unconscious resentment towards her son which she denies and doesn’t let it resurface because a mother is supposed to be nurturing and has to have unconditional love. 

From the point of view of a psychology student, I think that she has what we call, “Dissociative Identity Disorder” or popularly known as, multiple personalites. She has two conflicting identities where one wants to protect her son and the other wants to hurt him for killing her husband.

The child understands that the mother has some hatred towards him and that is why he extensively prepares ways to save himself from “The Babadook.” 

So, the monster’s nothing but the mother’s separate identity. From now on, i’ll refer to her nurturing protective identity as the the mother and the resentful identity as the Babadook. But both are still the same person. 

The Babadook makes the book and the mother throws it away. But the Babadook puts it back together. So, the Babadook adds the pages with the mother killing the dog and the child because this is her deepest unconscious wish.

During the final struggle between the identities, the child helps the mother to acknowledge the feeling she had been suppressing for very long and the mother “wins” and is in control of the Babadook because she accepts the resentment she had towards her child.

At the very end, the mother feeding the Babadook is a symbolic representation of her acceptance of her resentment. 

Lonely Nights

I stayed up all night, thinking of you and missing you. You didn’t give me enough time to love you the way I could. Now, I just miss you endlessly. 

I opened my mail, searching for those messages I backed up for days like these. I had never needed to revisit those wonderful memories. 

But, tonight, I cannot help but crave that time that we had together. I read those loving words that came so easily and how, in less than a year, they had been replaced by constant (and really stupid) bickering. 

I tried not to cry, but one can only bottle it up for so long. Then, I let it all out. All the sadness and the pain of the bittersweet journey. 

Now, i’m done crying over you. I’ve used up each and every drop of tear that was assigned to you. And this is the first night that I only seem to recall and retain the good parts. I’ll now remember you just as a great affair and a dear friend. 

And this is the beginning of my new life. Because when I thought of you, I said to myself, “I loved you so much.” It came as a shock to me too.  

I loved you. Loved. 

-To anyone out there struggling to move on, look inside yourself. You have immense strength. You will get through this. You will be okay. And love will find you. 

Pop Song.

She leaned against the wall of her room, her head slowly moving from left to right to an old Beatles’ tune. She bit her upper lip and her hair covered her face, she didn’t bother tucking it back behind her ears like she usually does. He sat at the edge of her tiny bed and stared at her, in awe and bewliderment. Everyone thought they were crazy, people had seen them scream at each other in public and minutes later, kissing like it was the end of the world. They had this deranged and consuming love, which both of them loved as much as they hated it. He knew everything there was to know about her and she knew everything that he wanted to tell. Silence was astonishingly comfortable, they preferred it to talking. She often said, there’s nothing that a warm hug can’t fix. Our bodies can communicate with each other without having to use words.
Her eyes were closed as she slowly moved to the melody, she completely strayed from reality. She wasn’t thinking anything, only feeling… feeling strangely content.
He stared at her, thinking of the first time he heard this song at a party in his best friend’s basement. He saw her the first time that day, dancing exactly like she was right now. She was wearing high waisted dark denim jeans and a Rolling Stones’ tee shirt, which looked like it had been cut short deliberately. Then too, he was amazed by simply looking at her. He could see it all play in his mind, how he went and stood next to her and started to dance. Unlike most, she didn’t think he was a creep for coming up to her. They didn’t talk… just danced, danced and danced. There was no need to be somewhere else or with someone else. In that moment, they felt like they had just finished a warm bowl of soup on a cold winter night.
He felt as if he was in both moments simultaneously.
The same song played in the background, he felt the same but he was in two different moments all together.
He wondered how one little pop song could hold so many powerful feelings.

-Thanks to the movie, Before Sunset for inspiring this.

Love Letters.

Dear someone,
I like it when you stare at me and then pretend you weren’t looking at me. I like how your eyes turn from brown to this shade of gold in the sun. I like how everytime we talk, you reveal another side of you.

You’re all shades of the colors of the rainbow, or even more. You’re the voice in my head, always there, soothing me, even when you’re not. You’re the ink in my pen, giving me a means of expression, expressing what you make me feel.

I like how when we first met, you didn’t talk much. Now look at you, can’t shut your mouth. I like the way you hold up my chin to make me look at you in the eyes, and then kiss me. I like that little tinge of red in your hair. I like the scars on your bare chest, they signify you from the rest.

I like you, every inch of you and who you are.

Why don’t people write letters anymore? They should. Letters have the ability to show someone what they look like through your eyes.
To me, you, my dear, are what happiness looks like.
I like being in love with you.
I really do.

Voices and Hallucinations.

“These voices are creeping me out.” She texted him.
“It must be your parents, don’t freak out.” He tried to calm her down.
She knew what she was hearing, it was not her parents, it couldn’t be. They had slept hours ago. It could be the neighbors but it was 2am and it was dead silent, execpt some noises she could hear. She suspected someone was talking about her, talking about waking her up. She could hear hurried footsteps up and down the small winding staircase leading to the terrace close to her room.
“I’m not kidding. Someone’s here.” She wanted him to believer her, but all he could think was that she was just imagining it.
“I have to sleep now. You’ll be fine, just try to sleep, okay?” He left.
“Don’t you dare leave.
Come back.
You can’t leave like this.” No response.
She finally decided to get up but couldn’t gather the will to actually walk up to the door and open it. She had spent many a night, holding her pee because she was too scared to walk to the bathroom in the dark. This wasn’t an irrational fear, she was sure she had seen people in her house before. She often wondered why this only happened when the sky was pitch black, this thought sent shivers up her spine and made her feel cold. She had never felt this unsafe before.
She finally got up, her hands trembled as she put her hands around the door knob. The door creaked open and she looked around, she could see a lady… An old lady. Her face looked vaguely familiar. She could hear every contraction of her heart and every gush of air she let out through her nose. It was was just her grandmother.
She let out a sigh of relief.
“Dadi,” she called out.
“You scared me. What are you doing up so late? Go back to sleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep because I knew you couldn’t either.”
They smiled at each other, this had happened before too. They simply looked at each other for a while.
She felt this sudden urge to cry and with ease, tears started to roll down her cheeks. Her grandmother hugged her and caressed her head, she soon fell into a peaceful trance.
Next morning, she woke up in her bed, with dried up tears on her cheeks and smiling, but it quickly turned upside down.
“I wasn’t dreaming.”
“But my grandmother’s dead.”

Power Cuts

There has been no electricity since the moon rose high.
We lay on the terrace, the cool breeze kissing my cheek.
It’s hard to sleep when behind you is an open door leading to nothing but darkness.
I take a deep breath and listen.
I can hear the loud whistle of the train. I can hear the rumbling noise of thunder. I can hear the wind, dancing.
I see my rabbit run around, I see him getting scared.
I look at the orange horizon and the sky going darker right above me.
I watch airplane lights in the sky moving at an unbelievable speed.
I close my eyes and hear my parents breathing heavily as they sleep in this pleasant night.
But I can’t seem to keep my eyes closed, I imagine apocalypse.
Power cuts and the-world-is-ending thoughts at 3 am… Hoping the sun would rise soon.


We are not unique or different. Various things might pique our interests but in the end we’re on a quest of being different which makes us similar.
We may not want to believe it but we’re all tiny pieces walking around in this world looking for love and money. We live in a perpetual state of denial and keep telling ourselves, “I’m unique, there’s no one else like me.”
We deny that we’re all a little broken, we all hide those shattered parts of us yet go around fixing each other.
We deny that some things cannot be explained and we don’t accept the mysterious nature of our purpose in life.
We deny that everyone will grow old and die one day… We try to delay the inevitable with all our will.
We deny that forevers are not actually meant to last forever because someday, the person you loved deeply will be gone.

Four Letters

Past; a four letter word that follows everyone and puts its dark cloak around us every chance it gets.
Love; a four letter word that everyone is afraid to ask for.
Care; a four letter word that everyone seems to hide when they need to show it (the most).
Pain; a four letter word that everyone undergoes, it’s inevitable.
Time; a four letter word that is just an abstract idea.
Fine; a four letter word often used to lie to others (more often to ourselves).
Sane; a four letter word that doesn’t make sense. (who made the criteria for sanity, anyway?)
Fate; a four letter word on which we blame all that hasn’t gone our way.
Fear; a four letter word that leaves us despair but keeps us aware of what is happening around.
Hope; a four letter word that guides us through the abyss.
Evil; a four letter word that resides within us.
…and Life; a four letter word can’t we simply can’t fathom in the little time we have here.


How does this mind work? How can one repeatedly think about the tiniest inicident that happened ages ago? How can this mind retain these thoughts and play them over and over again? How can one little decision change everything?
Life is a question and the answer is in living. Not every question is answered and every answered one leads to more questions.
The past lurks around the corner to pin you down in the dead of night when you run out of things to keep yourself numb.
We’re all hurt, rebelling without question and struggling. We’re all a part of the labyrinth of unanswered questions and pain.
We’re perpetually sad and happiness is temporary, the day we learn this fact our lives would be easier. Maybe simplicity isn’t what we can make happen, complications are what we’re destined to create.
We all fall deeper in a chasm of endless abysmal.