Nude Pictures Vol I

I opened up my e-Mail to see a message by some random guy telling me how he admired my "hot figure so sexy". Not thinking much of it I ignored it and carried about my daily routines which consist of redditing and watching old French films.
Next day, I got another similarly worded e-Mail by that guy. Somewhat creeped, I decided to ignore it yet again.

Then, I got a message by that guy on Facebook. 
"Hi I like you I wanna make friendship. 
I saw some sexy pics of you in the bathroom do you wanna see?"
This was what he sent me, albeit with more spelling mistakes and horrid grammar.

I was pretty shook up but I still chalked him up to various other Facebook creeps a moderately average looking girl faces in her life. (pls note modesty)

Later that night he sent me some pictures but I didn't open them because I wanted to ignore him so he would go away. The next morning he sent me another message.

Today, I opened these messages just to get rid of the annoying notification. I saw 4 photos that hadn't loaded yet. I wasn't aware that he sent me pictures too.
They loaded.

And I saw.

Pictures of me. Naked. In sexually explicit poses.
Pictures I clicked as a 15 year old teenager at the height of  her sexual discovery.
Pictures I would never want even my boyfriend to possess.
Pictures of an unconsenting minor.

My heart was beating fast. All blood rushing, time was frozen.
I kept staring at my breasts, my hands, my face, my body.

I'd only read about this happening to other people. All looping around the same thread of words around their minds like beads of a holy rosary.
"Why me?"

How did he get those pictures? How did he find my identity?
How dare he?

Immediately, I started thinking about the girl in school whom everyone stopped talking to because her nudes leaked.
I thought about The Fappening. I thought about the girls reported in news who end up killing themselves or running away because their pictures got distributed.

Is this what I'm going to be?

Acceptance

This was an essay I wrote in answer to the question - What major issue do you notice in your community? 

I wrote it keeping in mind mostly the teenagers I meet or observe on a regular basis around me or online. I edited it here and there to make a bit more relevant to this blog which is why the ending looks a bit off, I might take care of that later. I hope you like it.

I believe acceptance can be applied to the root of almost every problem in our community, or the lack thereof. Whether it be with one’s own self or towards other, I think lack of acceptance in our society stems a lot of difficulties in the bigger picture.
Lack of acceptance within one’s own self gives rise to self-hatred and unnecessary self-pity. it is popularly known that both these vices not only cause a distorted view of our own self image but also of others. Those with hatred and feeling of helplessness inside themselves see it manifesting itself into everything they see around them.
we cannot struggle with reality. we have to learn to accept it. Acceptance does not mean that you are happy with the way things are, it means you are at peace with it and willing to change it for the better if you can. Self acceptance leads to a new life with new possibilities that did not exist before.
Social acceptance is accepting others as they are, including their varying personal beliefs, ethnic backgrounds, religions, and political standpoints. Problem with lack of social acceptance is that most people fail to recognize that not everyone will abide by them in their personal ideals.
When society lacks acceptance, it gives rise to wars, spats, discrimination, racism and other negative factors.
The only way to tackle this problem is by chanhing the people themselves. This can only be done with the help of education and byraising awareness.  Education eliminates ignorance, which helps us too see the world and everyone in it with different eyes and appreciate things we never did before.

Awareness, like education, will also make people distinguish between what is true and false. 

Vivid dreams

I have been having extremely strange and vivid dreams and it has only begun in the past few months. They are often repetitive. Often I have such intense dreams, it feels like I'm watching a movie and I can also remember them for a long time afterwards. The book I'm working on is a spin-off of an extremely imaginative and interesting dream I had. I even made a painting out of some kind of a design I saw in my dream once.
I also experience a surge of emotions in my dreams. I see new people and places everyday, and I literally mean everyday. In real life, I'm mostly dead, emotionless and sociopath-ish all day so it's a nice change.

A guy kept shouting "por favor" at me in my dream today.

Someone call Sigmund Freud.

Rhonda Jones (Short Story)

I always knew there was something strange going on with Rhonda. Maybe it was the ever present distant look in her eyes that made me ponder so or maybe it was her frequent absences from school.  Nevertheless, it came as a shock to everyone when she blew out her brains with her dad's .44 Magnum.  She did always talk about going out with a bang. 

I never could have thought of taking it in the literal sense, of course. 

The signs are often laid out in plain sight, demanding to be heard, but not a soul pays heed.

Rhonda Jones wasn’t a goth or a punk, she didn’t have a disarrayed family and she wasn’t a lonely nerd. Rhonda Jones was the charismatic, beautiful all-round achieving girl that people think only exist in movies or in dreams. Which is why people stared unbelievingly when they first heard of her suicide.

She used to live 2 blocks down the street from me. We'd been together since the time she moved into our neighbourhood with her family from Nottingham when she was six. Though, we failed to preserve the close bond we had as kids as we grew older. Before anyone could notice, our frequent playdates that used to ultimately stretch to sleepovers transitioned into rare hello's in the school hallways.

I still remember the sound of the bullet shooting out from the gun when she pulled the trigger.

I still hear the bang in my nightmares and watch myself running to the source all the while thinking how good of a story it would be to tell Rhonda.

I still am struck with flashbacks of the sirens of the ambulance, the shriek of her mother, the silent sobs of her father and the curious prying eyes of the neighbours.

And I still invariably shudder when I remember myself standing under the oak tree that stands in front of Rhonda’s room, wishing with all my might that it wasn’t what I expected, that it wasn’t whom I expected.

Silently, I shook violently as I saw the plight of her body lying lifelessly on a stretcher, blood still pouring out of numerous indiscernible sources - her nose, her head, her mouth. Even her eyes seemed to be crying tears of blood.

That image has been stuck with me forever. Not a day has passed, when I don’t suddenly remember it. every minute I spend laughing with others, I spend in guilt when I'm alone. Thinking and pondering on what-ifs. 

What if I had done something sooner?

What if I had tried to make an effort to salvage our relationship earlier?

What if I had acted upon those signs instead of playfully dismissing them? 

What if I had paid more attention, tried to rise my head up from my ceaseless self-absorption?

I don't know why she killed herself and I never will. All I can hold on to are the summer days we spent under her oak tree when we were children. When we didn't and couldn't care, living in a place stuck in spring with blooming flowers and exquisitely coloured butterflies.

Rhonda Jones dissipated the pain and turmoil by dividing and distributing it to three other people to carry.

Her parents and me.

Shatter and Clatter (Short Story)

7:42 pm

"I'm sorry. Please, Jake. Please stop, I'm sorry!"

"NO! LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. LOOK AT WHAT HAS BECOME OF US! IS THIS WHAT YOU HAD WANTED, BITCH?!"

Shatter and clatter, I hear sobs and shouts. With every syllable escalating in its decibel, I shudder and cringe.

"I told you I'm sorry!" She sobs. Her voice cracking. "Sarah can hear you. She is only a child. Don't do this to her. Don't do this to us. Please stop, I beg you!!"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I HAVE HAD FUCKING ENOUGH OF THIS HOUSE. I KNOW ABOUT ALL OF YOUR PLANS YOU SLY WHORE!"

"Jake, I swear to God I didn't do anything. Ple-Please, Jake, please! DON'T TOUCH ME! STOP IT!"

I hear her gut-wrenching cries from under my blanket. I have heard people say that once you experience something on the daily, you become accustomed to it. I never understood why this particular daily house activity couldn't sink and wear down to the accustomed ones.

2:17 am

"C'mon, honey. Time to wake up," I hear my mum hush to me, waking me from my stupor.

"Mummy it's still dark outside. Why do I have to wake up in the night?"

"We're going to a nice place. Put on your coat quickly, sweetie," she says to me kissing the top of my head.

I can hear her breathing hard and fast. She's almost shaking as she clasps my hand tightly. We tip-toe across shards of broken glass and splinters of wood. Beer bottle glass, whiskey bottle glass, tables and chairs. A shattered photo frame here and there occasionally. All in ruins.

She didn't have to tell me to keep quiet or anything. I was smart enough to understand what was happening even if I was only 5. I'd been dreaming of this moment for a long time now. It's exhilarating to feel that my wishes were finally coming true. Maybe there is a God after all.

Once we are through the gate, mum spins around towards me, grabs my shoulders tightly and says, "Now remember, baby. We have to walk as fast as we can to Rosewell Street. We can't stop at all. I know it's a long way but we can do it. I have a rental there and then we can be free. Sarah, we can be as free as the birds." 
As free as the birds. I don't know why but that line makes me start bawling suddenly. I can't believe it. Our freedom is so close; it's almost like an unachievable dream.

"Mum, I can do it."
"Oh, my little girl, I never doubted it." She kisses my hands.

3:58 am

"I can see it, ma. I can see it!"
"Shh, I know."

It was old beat-up car. Hell, the only other thing I remember about it is that it was blue. That's it. Not that I even cared at all. Though, looking back now, I would like to know what kind it was.

We run to the car with elated hearts. Freedom is so close.

We have been in the car for barely 5 minutes when mum notices something odd in the mirror. Her brows furrow in worry and concentration. I look back to see it what it is.
It's a red Camry. Our red Camry. 
 I KNOW ABOUT ALL OF YOUR PLANS YOU SLY WHORE!
Oh. . . .

I can feel all the blood drain out of my body. I have goosebumps on my arms. My heart is racing and it's not from the running. 
Is this what true terror feels like?
My mother is speeding the car to escape dad. She's in so much of a hurry that she all but forgets about the still slick road from the rain. Our car crashes into a tree. Before my eyes close, I see a hint of a smirk in the rear view mirror of the car.

Our freedom is here.

I Can Never Fall in Love

I am a very ambitious person. Mostly it is a good thing, but it has turned out to be destructive for me sometimes. It is a main factor that played in my depression. I admit it has made some things better and helped me keep fighting but. . . .

I can't fall in love because of it!

When I start liking someone and develop a crush, I can't stop thinking about them for a few days. I make some mistakes and act to needy in the beginning; it only stays like that for a short period. I may not be as modest as I should but I can't help but admit that I'm not as bad-looking too. So that's why, I almost always succeed in making a guy I really like falling in love with me. Oh, and also because of my sense of humour and wittiness. *wink, wink* *hint, hint*
Except that one time with 'I'. Arghhhhhh. That guy was something.

Thing is, I can go on forever. There was this guy I was totally smitten for. I spent over 2 years infatuated by him. I got him to fall in love with me. The moment that happened, everything was gone. Poof. 
I had absolutely no feelings for him after that.
Nothing.

This always happens. It happened with my last boyfriend too.

And it's happening again with T. Now that I see how interested he's become into me, I can't feel the same connection. 
Once I achieve a goal, I am higher. Every relationship is a project to be accomplished. I have to move ahead. 
I am so messed up.

What My Parents and Friends Called Me When I Was 11-14yrs Old

Right now, I weigh 50 kgs. I am almost 5'4" feet tall. That's an average height. Neither short nor tall.

I am 11 years old. I weigh 43 kgs. I am not quite, but almost 5 feet tall. My mother worries that I'll always remain like this. She calls me a midget. My father calls me fat and ugly. My mother likes to compare me with girls 7 years older than me in the magazines and on TV and comments about how beautiful they look. She does this intentionally in front of me. Because of the average grades I would get that time (not inclined towards study too much that time), my father liked to call me dumb and said I would die and lead a mediocre life as a sad wife who could never achieve anything.

I am 12 years old. I weigh 48 kgs. I have reached 5'1". I have the undefined body of an early pubescent girl with genes of a plump body. I had boobs that looked weird on my body and always drew attention to them. My mother still fears I won't grow taller. She believes that once a girl has had her periods, she doesn't grow any taller. She draws attention to my thighs and says that I'm so short and fat that because of my thighs it looks like I'm walking on huge pillars. My dad says my body looks like clay. Fat and undefined. My extended family members make fun of me in social gatherings. My parents still think I won't be able to make anything of me in my life.

I am 13 years old. 50 kgs and 5'2" tall. I have a more matured and curvy body than most classmates. They call me a fat slut and say I have a bigger butt than Kim Kardashian. The worst part was that I was in the clique of the popular,  pretty girls. There was an omniscient pressure to look perfect on parties and in school. When you become a known person, there are bound to be some who will pull you down.  Especially in school. People would come up to my face and call me fat. They would constantly make jokes on me and mock me. Part of it was I called it upon myself. I was the class clown type popular. I happily laughed at jokes and acted like it didn't bother me. That's what they say in the books. But that only encouraged them more.

I am 14 years old 5'3" and 50 kgs. I have lost a lot of my baby fat but not all. Not yet. I have plump gene trait. My mother doesn't worry about my height as much but still strings on to me being more taller and prettier and being all that she couldn't be. My family members still call me fat occasionally. My brother has suffered some failures in his career and has been real upset. The buried sadness turns to anger. He starts calling me fat whenever I am just about to go out of the house to some party and all and look in the mirror to check if everything's alright. He knows what it does to me. He will hit me occasionally when he gets frustrated (not somethings that'll hurt. Definitely not domestic violence, but brother-sister banter.). 

My friends aren't that bad now (partially because I diversified my friend circle). But I still had depression.

All this time I would swim everyday, bicycle for hours, try to eat less. Anything to look pretty, thin and fit in.