ugly is beautiful. the poor, rich. arrogant is smart, and love is gone to the dogs. welcome, dear all, to life.

A failure for so many reasons. Mainly because happiness eludes me. It slips past me, like water or sand sliding between fingers. If this be what they call the 'journey' to a beautiful 'destination' that life is, then I think I've seen what there was to see. And no more.

Things can change so fast. In matter of minutes, laughter changes to screams and shouts. Prettiness to vulgarity and sarcasm, and love to spiteful hate and vengeance. Is this what love is? More importantly, is this what life is? What it wants us to be? To do?

I don't understand ruthless ambition, and all that that comes with it, with people. I want a simple life with simple people and a simpler form of love. 

Confused.

Three months of beautiful, blissful unemployment are closing in. Days have become longer, and so have the thought process. It draws closer and closer each second, is it time I finally got another one? And though the carefree, the almost TV-commercial-esque happy-riding-in-the-car-with-my-hair-flying-away side says, no, the slowly-turning penniless wonder who likes to think of herself as ruthlessly independent knows the bitter truth.

Life is so beautiful in snapshots that you chance upon, of friends' or random photographs. Click, click, click. Friends laughing, drinking, making faces at the camera in eateries, posing on beaches, monuments, in front of beautiful floor-length mirrors in their beautiful rooms, in quirky apartments, in a fun office with equally funny and carefree colleagues. Are these bouts of happiness? Is it happiness at all? Or is there someone in those photographs feeling lonely amid her ten friends?

I've diverted again. State of mind. Branching out, or is it confusion?

And beyond

Permanency. It is for the brave, for the strong-willed, the strong-hearted. It is for everyone who have found that something that they believe will be there telling them each true feeling, each little secret, and most importantly, one who feels and feeds their need to have permanency. It is on the other hand, not for us, the weak, fickle, and ones afraid of hurt and hurting. It is for that we are here, at this point writing this. 

Loving and losing, hoping of permanency, true love, a lifetime of togetherness and even beyond; all these are nothing but strange words, or wishes, projections, things we have seen others attain and live.