Why not to be a robot.

Did you ever feel like you're here for something?
Like, when you're 90 and dying and when you look back, you don't want your biggest achievement to have been working for the biggest company, or earning the most, or having the most to boast about.
You'd like to have contributed something to this loony-bin we call The World.

We came into this world with nothing, we're going to go out with nothing. If, between those 2 stages of having nothing, even if we have the most, it won't matter in the end. What would have mattered, is how many people remember you, how many want to continue your work. Your effect on the world.

Your words can touch people. Your music, your art. Your influence. Not your code for the highest-paying client, not your degree from the best college. I mean, yes, I'm no one to talk about this, I'm a 15 year old fresh out of school. But I have to make a choice in my life, and I know what it's going to be.

I want to go into the world, reach out to those less fortunate. I want to help them, I want to improve their lives, I want to improve their children's lives, I want to improve their grandchildren's lives. Not by giving them corporate greed and money, though. By making sure there's literacy, there's education, there's medicine. By making sure there's happiness.

Peer pressure can drive the children into all sorts of wrong habits. If I can have enough of an influence, we'll have writers, artists, musicians, so many more people, having a constructive outlet, having some contribution to the world.

There's no point being a human being, if you're going to be a crappy one. If money's the aim of your life, if you look down creativity, if you have no time for anybody but yourself.

Don't try to change the world single-handedly. Try small things. A kind word. A gift. A book. More importantly, your time. Your effort, your love.

The world isn't a perfect place, it probably never will be. But we can definitely try.

It's all wrong.

So. This is a poem/song I wrote because I was supremely mind-freaked. And there's nobody on this page anyway, I'm not wasting anyone's time. I hope.

We were once far too young to make sense of the world,

So we stayed at home, in our bubbles, played till we learnt,

Every act has its price,

Every move needs some dice,

Every piece of advice,

Can go wrong.

Every sky has its rain,

Every friend brings their pain,

And then life's not the same,

It's all wrong.

We were once far too young to make sense of the change,

Babies were ever-so-cute, but grown-ups were strange -

And we grew and we learnt,

And we built and we burnt,

We were happy, we were hurt,

We were wrong.

And we slept and we dreamed,

Of a future that seemed

So easy to believe -

We were wrong.

We were once far too young to make sense of it all,

We flung ourselves, up in the air, ready to fall -

We were young we were sweet,

We were strong we were weak

And our hurts and disease,

They were wrong.

And we misplaced our trust,

'cause they all said we must-

Starry skies and gold dust-

It's all gone.

We were once far too young to see time had passed,

Happiness just came to us but we didn't make it last -

We were bullied, and broken,

The skies wouldn't open,

And we clung on to Hope and

Moved on.

We were sunshine and daisies,

And willows, and hazy

Memories told us bravely,

“Stay strong”.

Now we are far too old to be free from it all,

Some would like to see us rise, others, to fall -

And they lie and they might,

They might cheat and they fight,

Everyone thinks they're right

But they're wrong.

Every cusp has its brink,

And stuff floats and stuff sinks

And there's no room to think

And we're scorned.

Just for the hell of it

Yeah, there's no reason I'm writing this post. Maybe it's because I'm bored, maybe it's because I just feel like writing whatever the hell comes to my mind (which is now lyrics, because I'm blasting Eluveitie through my headphones) or because i just came back from, undoubtedly, the worst French class in my month-and-a-half of French classes.

There are 2 types of people. Those who do things just because they want to, and those who do what they want to provided there's a good enough reason behind it. Being the antisocial nut I am, I fall in the second category, surrounded by first-class people (yeah, even my sense of humour takes a hit when I'm in a bad mood. Sorry for the lame joke).

So. For French, we're supposed to present a skit, the 8 of us. I had a good, un-Philistine-ish idea of a parody in French, whether it's Sholay or Shakespeare I'd let them choose. Instead, we're doing a melange (which, by the way, is a French word) of Bollywood characters. In French. It's weird. It makes no sense. I'd rather do nothing than put this up, but I'm countered by my classmates saying that it's "just for fun".

Sure, the basis of all human action is gratification.
What does that even achieve?
Is it worth wasting your time on something, if no one appreciates it but you?
This might sound hypocritical, seeing as I'm being a "selfish" b*tch by taking Arts (because I want to) and not Science (because everyone else wants me to). Is it really that different?

Okay now I'm confused. Excuse me while I put on an Eluveitie instrumental. Those always clear my head.

Yeah. So.
My point is, if you must do something, make sure it's not just for personal gain, because that's stupid.
If not...then, some empathy, at least? Brains, if that's not too hard?
The world is full of people who act stupid, and unempathetic. Don't be one of them.

No, I'm not making any sense at all. Sorry to have wasted your time on this page.

To fiction, breaking boundaries and Zack Addy

Fiction. It can often move us more than real life.

Like Bones : Season 4, Episode 5, the last bit. The last of Zach Addy. We could never, never make it, and we'd never, never break it - not us mortals, at least. Creativity, it's the heart of all emotion.

The moment in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, when Dumbledore dies. I was a 12 year old kid, and that was the first time fiction moved me.

Like when we were doing Our Casuarina Tree in school.

Like the moment when Cersei explains to Sansa that a woman's life is 9 parts mess to 1 part magic.

Lyrics, they can break the best of us. Poetry, it can move the most heartless of us. When the Creator is in that frame of mind - when the cosmos conspires to capture that perfect moment. Pen and paper, or photographic film, or recording device, or instrument, it doesn't matter. But every once in a while comes along a piece of creation so vivid, so blurred, so deep, so shallow, so lacklustre, so colourful - it leaves a mark on the creator and the interpreter. There's no way to explain all this. Sure, it's brain chemistry. More than that, it's a creation, and an interpretation. It's a moment when you see the world through someone else's eyes, and that moment is so sublime, you know it's going to stay with you forever.

Some people don't take to photography - they might be the best artists. The ones who don't like poetry, can find meaning in instrumental songs. The whole world is an open book, where people make an impression, and leave the rest of the pages blank for the rest of the people to fill up.

It's not strange, it's not illogical. It's cosmic.

Fiction, and creation, they stem from emotion.

Emotion is primal.

There are those who understand, and connect with it - and there are those who choose not to. There are those who don't give a second thought to expression of creativity. Theirs are the incomplete lives.

Writers, artists - creators, basically - theirs are the lives you can write books on. Because the more you see, the more you realize how much there is left to see.

There's so much. The world isn't made up of different people - it's just made of different kinds of people.

Who look at the world differently.

Who show it to others differently.

Who then show it to someone else. Differently.

And somewhere in this chain is a moment that changes the world.

Maybe not for all humanity. But the world is definitely changed for that one person who sees the change.

For the one who feels the change.

For the one who makes the change.

Yes, I know this blog post makes no sense. That's okay. You don't need to be rational about everything, you just need to see it through someone else's eyes. In this case, mine.

[Also, I'm still thinking about Zack Addy. A moment of silence for him, please]

Dear all, bored enough to be on this page.
Hi there. Appreciate your time.
I don't really know why I'm doing this. I hope it's not a waste of your time. I'm pretty jobless, it won't be a waste of my time (but you don't really care about that so hell, let's move on).

So hi. I'm Manasi. I'm pretty weird. I love reading and writing, but you probably guessed that. I love Pelican, Eluveitie, Agalloch, a bunch of other bands you don't know. Also, I love Tyrion Lannister, Jon Snow, Seeley Booth, a bunch of other fictional people that I can't really remember. I love purple. And badassery. Not in the conventional rebel sense. But the cool way that only other crazy people like me (ie nobody) can fathom.

I'm from India. It's pretty crazy, different from wherever it is that you live. If you ever come here, I hope you like it. If you're from here, I hope you like wherever you're planning to run off to. But the experience of being an Indian teenager, you can't really compare it to anything else. It's way more crazy than... alien invasions, even. Trust me.

Why should you trust me? What proof do I have? This blog, I hope. Being 15, going on 16, I consider myself somewhat an expert in this matter.

So um yeah. Till the next post, ciao.