An Open Letter to My Dearest Mother/My Precious Uterus

Dear Mom,

I know you are not reading this, and you never will. Because you don’t even know that I blog, because it scares the shit out of you after all those blogger killings happening in our beloved country.

But that’s the premise of this whole thing.

Are you worried about me mom? Think before you answer. Are you worried about ME? Or it’s just MY UTERUS?

If I showed you this writing, you will scoff away and say how could I be so irrational and ungrateful! How such horrific ideas got in my mind!

You have the answers to these all. And the answers come from the question I asked.

If you were honest, the answer should have been NO.

You don’t love me. You never did. But you love my uterus. You love me as your “daughter” because I carry a uterus, the baby making device. Sounds gross and inappropriate?

Then tell me, why do you and your husband (my beloved father) and the rest of your immaculate relatives constantly force me to focus on and eventually commit to things that I don’t want to, IN THE NAME OF FERTILITY, IT THE NAME OF THE “PRODUCTIVITY” OF MY UTERUS? Since I was born, you loved me because I will someday fulfill your dream of becoming someone like you who will use their uterus and give birth to another human being and at the same time be a great provider to that human being, its family and have a successful career “on the side”. Yes, that is what you thought, you might want to disagree and say “I only wanted the best for you and still do.”


Your love for me was conditional. Just like your mother’s love for you was. And her mothers for her. You are “trained” to love your daughters for that certain organ they have, not for the person they are. Because if you did, then you would not be constantly angry, sad and frustrated with me for the decision of not participating in the “baby making” race. For not wanting to be a part of the marital rituals and whatsoever.

Those ideas shock you, scare you. Because those do not go with the “plans” you had for me. The plan of being a breeder, a producer of human life.

I am not saying that procreation is bad. It is a wonderful thing! But not all the wonderful things are for everyone. No matter how much you agree with that part, according to you this “wonderful thing” should be for everyone. Because, otherwise, according to you, my life has no purpose. Otherwise, I will become a sad cat lady in ten years and will be a burden to everyone. I will become someone everyone will want to avoid and will have no time for.


Because you are willing to make it so. You are only willing to love and support me if I  have a husband and a baby in the “given time”. You are only willing to stand by me and have my back if I’m married, with children. Only then you and your beloved family is willing to “include” me. Otherwise, you vow to make me feel miserable, you will want to make me feel that “I was wrong” even if when I wasn’t. You will want to implant seeds of guilt, frustration and loneliness. You will support an environment that will be harsh and unappreciative and coax me to isolate myself and then you will rub it on my face that how my “bad decision” has got me here. ALL OF THESE BECAUSE I CHOSE NOT TO PROCREATE.


So, no matter how you want to argue, how you want to remind me of the sleepless nights you have spent when I was ill, how much money you have invested in my education, it was never for me. It was for my uterus. You just wanted a “better future” for the carrier of the uterus that you gave birth to.

I am sorry if this hurts, infuriates or irritates you. But I have no other logical explanation for your never ending irritation with my life choices. Your mask of “tolerance” during my presence often drops and I can see you simply wish I was someone else. But I cannot be someone else.

I wish I was never born.

Long live South Asian patriarchy! Long live procreation! Long live hypocritic aunts with PhD, who loathe women in 20’s with no husband and children!

I invite you all to tie me up to stakes and burn me the way your beloved ancestors would do.

Even I don’t want this life!


The good for nothing uterus bearer/The girl you call your daughter


How I am a Narcissist by NOT Being a Narcissist/Harvey Dent Can Call Me His Dad

I am not the most “counter-narcissistic” person as I appear to be. Actually I am the WORST KIND OF THAT LOT!

My fayboo posts are quite private, I don’t often post status updates, my instagram isn’t filled with selfies and the number of my daily tweets is hardly over 5 most of the days.

On the surface, for a 25 years old person, I am quite “non-narcissistic”, right?


I believe those reality show celebrities are less narcissistic than me. And actually I am the worst kind. They are a bunch of narcissists and they admit and own it. I am the one who pretends to be otherwise and tries to make the statement that, “I don’t care”.

But I sure do.

Well, yes, I don’t care if my hair is out of place or not, or I don’t give a shit about makeups and clothes.

But I care. I care for my image, I care for my appreciation of myself, I do give a heck ton of shit to the fact how “cool” I am appearing to myself. I take selfies and webcam snaps a lot posing with my buck teeth because I think “posers” make duckface. But my ultra narcissistic brain fails to register that showing buck teeth is a personalized brand of “duckface” and I am nothing but a closeted poser as well.

Actually I am a poser who is also a giant fucking hypocrite. I am shit scared that I won’t be as “cool” as I thought I am and constantly check my “coolness” level.

Yes, I don’t want everyone’s attention. But I am not free from the vice of liking attention. I want attention from certain individuals. Worse, I also want certain group of people to hate me. And when a bunch of them don’t hate me and actually appreciate me, it drives me mad!

What did I say? It’s way bloody worse!

So, when I take a peek under the hood and see the true burned to scariest texture possible part of myself that juxtaposes the seemingly “cool” and “not giving a shit about stuff” self, I don’t cringe.

I find an odd sting of thrill. A thrill sprouted from guilt ridden sadistic madness.

I am a threat to my own sanity. And I am a threat to the face of truth.

And this piece of shit (blog) was a poor attempt of making an excuse for this said trait of mine by admitting it.

If I were a dog, I’ll be put to sleep by now.

And I love how incoherent my writing has become! \m/



Duct Tape for Soul/Duct Tape for Sale (?)

How do you remove eggshells?

Wait, don’t answer that!

Tell me, why do you pick on your scabs? Even when there’s a stingy pain when the wound isn’t equally dry everywhere.

Because things like that hurt but we (generally) can’t stop cultivating our weird curiosities, even knowing that there’s nothing but new flesh colored skin stuff is underneath the scab.

And now tell me, how do you remove your eggshells?

For me it does take only a dent on the shell, and I started picking shells from the dent’s center working towards the periphery.

Well, I’m about to make a very poor analogy, so I’m not even going there. I’m kinda DONE with “going all the way”s and “trying, because there’s no harm in it”s. I was just trying to come to a point where I can “artistically” say, “And that is how you pick up the broken pieces of your soul and do something awesome with it.”

Because that is what happening in my tiny stupid head right now -_-

I’m still disturbed. My spirit is crushed the worst way possible. Even Painkiller couldn’t fix it like it does the other time, no postcards or musical embodiment of whispers that my soul make couldn’t do much either. I kinda succumbed and admitted what they warned me about.

So here I am, sitting with the broken pieces of soul, that soul I threw up in the air and crushed on the floor, broken into shreds of sharp pieces, a few got into my eyes too.  I’m still unsure what to  do about it.

I, however, know one thing for sure though.

I will survive this, and reconstruct my soul from the pieces again.


The question is, emotional duct tape (no the duct tape doesn’t have emotion, it’s the duct tape that heals your soul when you are bruised by your emotions) help you to take the shreds of your soul and doomed spirit and help them to piece those together and create something.


My inner demon is kinda laughing its lungs out seeing me writing these pathetic shit. I know the demon is right. But I don’t really care. I am going to use this broken spirit as an inspiration to make something that will give me a reason to believe it was worth breaking the spirits.

There’s no phoenix. I’m not going to come back to life from ashes after burning myself in my own flame.


Chronicles of a DROOL/I am (supposedly) mad at Youtube Red (wow)!

Warning: Too many indented parentheses and random references involved. Don’t read if you’re allergic to those. 

So, it’s proven that when I’m not really charged up, I can only bring myself to writing when I’m too scared, too enraged or too sad (or probably getting paid (like I do in my day job (where I must write shits I don’t give a flying fvck about!))).

That must give away a hint why I’m writing today. I’m either scared, enraged, sad or got paid really big bucks to write about something I don’t care. Well, I’m recovering from a weird pang of guilt ridden sadness. With a lots of hand biting involved. (Someone please take me here (yay! procrastination alert!))

So what caused all that magic?

A poorly written facebook comment for the win! I have been wondering, why the premium service of Youtube (aka Youtube Red) is available in only a few countries and even purchasing the contents from google play wasn’t a very widespread option. The questions actually started gnawing me since Rhett and Link announced their scripted show will be available in Youtube Red. Since I live under a rock, where neither Youtube Red or purchasing Google play contents aren’t an option, I voiced my thought, will there be an alternative to these two means. AND I MADE THE MISTAKE THERE.

I asked if there will be any ALTERNATIVE ACCESS to their work other than those two ways.

Filthy squeaky squib! (yes, that’s me (though pottermore told me I’m a Gryffindor))

Because that statement can easily be taken as me being someone who hates the fact they are making their work available in premium facility.  And it happened. And two of my most favorite youtubers responded to my query as they should have.

They have a reason. The hard work and investments put into a scripted show of that standard can’t be arranged by only Youtube partnership earning. It takes more than that! So, when they asked me to stop being the drool, they were right.

I don’t know whether being called out by two of the people I’m inspired to exercise my creativity and have faith in it or the feeling of sheer stupidity of asking them a question that isn’t actually relevant to them caused this nauseating sadness in my head, but it’s not alleviating, or will anytime soon.

Well, yes, I shouldn’t have asked them this question. This question should be directed to the Google or Youtube authorities. Why aren’t premium services available in most of the countries in our sweet little blue-green-brown planet?

I know there are way bigger issues to resolve. People are in mortal danger in many places on earth at this moment. And here I am, a moronic squib from a third world country is whining about the unavailability of premium services! The rest of the world have every right to judge my rant. But I’m a squib, I don’t have any sense of shame or anything. So I’ll just put it here for your amusing activity of judging.

Does being born in a country that is falling behind in development and and has weird border laws, comes with gifts like not being able to access and support the people we care about? Maybe it does according to the reality.


Come on Google! You are letting the good content makers to air their incredible works in your premium facilities, YAYYY! But a premium facility that is accessible from only 98 countries? Now that’s a bummer.

Yes, there are lots of political and legal bindings are involved. But isn’t it 21st century? Aren’t we supposed to slay these Jabberwocky-like constraints with vorpal sword of global equality (is that even a term?).

I guess I’m ranting like a four years old, who just broke her hot wheels and blaming the floor where it broke. I’m mad at myself and trying to blame others.

But man, it’s Google! If I can have faith in anyone who can bring things to common people’s reach that were previously claimed by snobbish circles, it’s Google.
They made Android happen!

I believe they can make premium content available anyone for the world who are willing to pay for it!


Please say you can bring humans together from all corners of the planet in appreciating the effort of creating art! IN SUPPORTING CREATIVITY!

And I might be wrong and kinda biased and loony since I’m still a guilt ridden shameless squib, but I think unavailability causes piracy and other illegal harms to intellectual property. I know it because I live in a country where piracy used to be a cruel and sad reality. For example, in nineties and early to mid-2000s, big budget hollywood movies were pirated and cam-rip DVDs were sold in streets. Then when cineplexes started offering those movies, a big chunk of people started going to watch the movies. Youngsters and adults started including movie tickets in their budgets. Watching blockbusters in cineplexes together has become a regular practice. Black market DVDs don’t entice majority anymore. Even the people who would torrent the movies, would go to theaters or cineplexes to watch it in big screen. Availability is the key man! If the original content is available for purchasing in just price, majority of people will prefer that to poor quality pirated contents.

I’m leaving my thoughts for the consumption of universe. I hope someday the world would unite to support artists and make their works accessible to whomever may want to purchase. Because, without art, inspirations will run out. Creativity will halt. Science would not progress. And we might find zombies emerging from gas stations.