A Bundle Of Contradictions

I know that you've,  Been punched in the gut;  I know that you've, Been kicked in the butt; 
I know that you're,  Too tired to fight back;  I know that you're,  About to crack; 
But darling, I know,  You're much stronger, I also know,  You can stay in the game much longer;
You got to keep believing,  In your talent, your hardwork, your brain,  You got to stop let the conniving,  Suck your soul, make you drain; 
I know that you've fallen,  Nine times,  But I know that you MUST,  Get up for the tenth time; 
Life's given you enough,  Sour, fat, yellow lemons,  I think it's about time,  That you use them,  To whip up,  The world's tastiest lemonade; 
I know, people have criticized you,  Called you worthless,  Called you useless,  Called you a freak; 
I know that, you've failed,  Times so many, That failure seems like,  A nasty old frenemy; 
But my dear, I know that,  You're bursting with talent,  I also know that,  You don't want to waste it;…

(I’m not really sorry for the overused clichéd title. It’s what this post is about and my creative juices are finally recovering from the two-year-long writer’s block that had hit me)
The number fourteen has no particular significance in most cultures, except the Chinese one.
According to the Chinese, any number with four at the end is considered unlucky because the pronunciation of the Chinese word for the word ‘four’ is eerily similar to the word they use for ‘death’.
That’s why, instead of naming all the floors in a building like most people normally do, the Chinese insist on not naming the fourth/fourteenth/twenty-fourth or any other floor with the last digit ‘four’ with their respective names. Instead, they chose to name the floor after the next digit.
I know the paragraph written above is highly confusing. So the conclusion is: the number ‘four’ is like the number ‘thirteen’ of the western culture.
I’d known about this titbit since I was eleven (all thanks to a book on Chinese hi…

A few words before I begin with the main subject:
I'm not here to preach about how one must live his or her life. People, I'm just as confused as you are. I just wanted to tell you about how I (try to) define 'life'. 
I hope you guys would love to share your inputs with me. 
***
What do I make of the word life? 
I think it's a very complicated mess.  
I think I can (somewhat) try to explain it by connecting it with a road map. 
(Well, everyone does say that life is a long road trip) 
When you're born, it's really simple. You're walking down a straight lane, a metaled road. There are no bumps and you know what you're heading for. 
Slowly, as you reach your teens, little bumps start forming on that supposedly metaled road. By the time you are sixteen or eighteen, the seemingly straight road is divided into a variety of other roads. You need some time to think what's the best suitable path for you. 
After choosing that path, you're walking. In…

She’s so nice, Her soul is devoid of any vice, She’s so kind, Has a crystal clear mind,
Poor little good girl, Is forced to live in a dreamworld, Where there are people with heart of gold, Where she’d meet a perfect best friend and a person, who’s going to be there forever,
Poor little good girl, She doesn’t realize that her world is swamped by many a queen bee, Who are oh-so-completely plastic? Who think that she’s somewhat spastic,
For not being able to talk like them, Replace talk with ‘blabber’, why don’t you?
Poor little god girl, She doesn’t realize guys no longer see, If her heart’s truly golden, They only look at how much makeup she’s slapped on her face Poor little good girl indeed
Poor little good girl, She doesn’t realize that swearing isn’t her style, So out of naivety she does that for a while, And regrets it all, later on, Poor little good girl, She is frustrated with the plastic dolls around her, Who only ‘pretend’ to be completely ‘delightful’? Deligh…

"It's easy to preach, but it is not easy to do."
~ Someone Who Wishes To Remain Anonymous Every person in this earth thinks that he or she is the best judge. He or she has the right to criticize, he or she can compare two works and comment. It's a free world. You're not hurting anyone except the person whose work you are criticizing and comparing.
Criticism is like a coin with two sides (actually, every coin has two sides. I really don't know why people say that phrase). Some say that criticism is a door to push your limits and excel more than ever. If you are brave enough, mentally strong enough to challenge that critic, you work harder to convey your work in a better, more efficient manner. That is a very good point. Criticism helps you evolve more as a person. After working harder than ever, in the end, you can go up to them and say, "Are you happy now, you sad little twit?"
No, don't say that directly if the critic happens to be someone yo…

Isn't it such a common perception that attractiveness and beauty are synonymous to each other?
I don't know why this perception lies. To me, 'attractiveness' is physical appearance while beauty is a magic generated from the depths of one person. Attractiveness is high cheekbones, pointed nose, lovely eyes, full lips, tall stature and perfect weight to suit that height. Any person can have any one of these. To me, attractiveness can be measured. Beauty cannot.
Beauty is not about perfect looks as many (almost all) people tend to think. It's this uncountable thing that comes from every single being surviving on this planet. Attractiveness is just a part of it. If you think a person's beautiful from the inside, automatically, you'll find that he/she is attractive from the outside.
Inner beauty of a person is like a magnetic force. This beauty attracts pulls you towards that person more than exterior looks. It binds you too and this bind is very strong and it …

An old poem. Thought I'd better blog it!

The Silver Bird I was sitting on my balcony, Feeding Ruby, my bunny; I heard a voice I wanted to explore it. As I had no choice I went to the forest like garden, She was there by the birdbath. Singing a sweet song About what’s right and wrong She was the Silver Bird I went to grab her, But instantly, she flew. Her color was matching the sky’s hue. This was grey! She flew so fast that before blinking… She was gone. I still don’t know where she is. Yet, I hear her sweet song, About what is right and wrong. She truly was the Silver Bird!