Serendipity. Its how I met my friends.

We spent really good times together. We laughed and cried together. Sometimes even had little arguments but we never even for a minute hated each other. It was like every little argument we had was deleted, over written, forgotten within seconds. It never really mattered. All of those little harsh things meant a lot but they never left a mark on our friendship.

Our love was strong beyond those little things.

I never had many friends in my life before. I’m pretty shy actually. Always wanted to have many friends but I never actually approached anyone. Liked a girl and wanted to be friends but always hesitated thinking I’m not good enough. I was that girl who sits in a corner, all alone, at recess. Never played much either. Always wandering about the playground alone with no one to play with. Everytime I tried to get along with the other kids I just made a fool of myself. I used to think that I’m just an embarrassment to myself and to my family. I met a girl in 6th grade. She was really intelligent. We became friends. We used to do everything together. She lived near my house. We even did group studies. Just the two of us. Celebrated our birthday in the same day. It was perfect.

And then one day there was a new girl in our class, much better than me. Higher grades. Prettier hair. She was confident too. That new girl stole my one and only friend. It was 8th grade. I made two new friends. Broke up. Made a new friend but it never worked out. And then in 10th grade we moved to a different city with new people, new school, new girls. I was a misfit once again but it didn’t matter because to me that was all I was ever going to be.

Then I finally became friends with a really amazing girl. Once again I was not the one who made the first move. It was her. A wave then a smile on our first day of 11th grade. Both went unanswered. Because I could never imagine that a girl like her would ever wave at me. To be honest, I don’t remember her smiling at me. I was that hard and unusual for my brain to intercept that someone would ever smile at me. It always thought that it’s probably meant for someone else. One and a half month went by and she still persisted. Sometimes I wonder what she saw in me, that she waited so long to be my friend. Then one day we sat together, like it was God himself who wanted us to be friends. Best friends.

We talked a sorts of stuff. At first our friendship was like a test drive. Looking for similarities and differences. We were polar opposites. She liked one thing and I liked the opposite. Like salt and sugar. Or salt and pepper. Whatever it is.

She was an open book. Ready to be read.

“I’m a closed book.” I said.

“Are you even a book? If you are. I bet it’s probably empty.”

How harsh but true that was. I really was empty book.

Covered in tears. The binding, so dry and stiff that it had cracks. There were times when it was soaked in fresh and salty tears.

How can you write a story with just one character?

These differences helped our friendship to grow stronger. And then she taught me how to get out of that corner and play with the other kids. That’s when I met my other friends.

There’s a lot of us now. The crazy one. The smart ones. The innocent ones. The insane. The sane. The intellectual. All sorts. I love them all. Each one means something. Each one fulfils some specific need. No one is less important than the other. No one means more than the other. I need all of them in my life.

It’s pretty astonishing to think that they love me as much as I love them. Sometimes I think it’s strange how all of a sudden people love me now. How I have so many characters in my story now, that it’s hard to mention them all, that it takes up so much time to write about each and every one of them. But I guess that’s how life works. I guess this is what growing up really means.

We start loving people not only because they love the same things as us but also because they don’t. We learn that we make friends not because we’re supposed to but because we have to. Because we need to.

I guess this is what Serendipity really means. It’s that unexpected good thing that completes your life. Out of nowhere you feel wanted, appreciated. Serendipity is what makes you want to live in this world. It gives your life meaning.

Since the creation of the universe everything was destined. So, just let me love you. -j


A real isn’t perfect but a perfect life isn’t real.

Growing up we’re fed on dreams of being a princess. We dream of living a perfect life, real love and luxury.

But once we’re old enough and we enter the real practical world. All those dreams and hopes are brutally murdered right in front of our eyes.

The perfect life we dreamed of turns out to a myth. The luxury becomes a lie.

Once we enter the real world, our vision, that was blinded by illusions becomes clear. We see how the world that was portrayed to us was not actually real but it was just an illusion. It was something the ‘elderly’ people wanted us to believe in. It was the world they wished to live in.

Maybe they thought that if we grow up dreaming and hoping for a perfect world it may actually become real. How badly they were mistaken. How easy it would have been If they had told us what it was really like to live all alone yet not alone at all in this wild and crazy world. If only they had told us that no Prince in a shining armor will ever protect us. If instead of telling us merry tales of love and peace they had taught us how to fight our own wars.

She was an Empress, with many Knights to protect her. I wasn’t a Princess, No one ever saved me. Being rescued made her weak. But, living among the villains made me stronger.


In this Earth, In this soil, In this pure field. Let’s not plant any seed other than that of love and compassion. -Rumi

What a beautiful world Rumi lived in. I envy him. I envy his world.

That ‘pure’ world is surely no more. Now even the word ‘pure’ sounds fake. Unreal. It’s like all that true pureness died with Rumi. That pure soil is now poisoned. Dead.

All that’s left is the thorns. The rose is no more.

I’m not saying that he lived a perfect life. His life was also filled with hardships and sufferings. But all good people go through alot. Don’t they?

Every Rose comes with many thorns.

The love and compassion Rumi believed in was too good to be true. The love he talked about is now contaminated with hatred and above everything,that compassion is now fake.

People only love when they need something. When they get a reward for that ‘love’. Now that ‘love’ comes with a time limit and a price tag.

All that’s left is the hate. The fake love. The discouragement. The heart breaks. The disappointment.

Rumi lived an age when it was spring and flowers of love bloomed everywhere. Now that spring is gone. Now, it’s autumn and all of those flowers are gone. Dead. Everything is like dried up leaves, falling. Decaying.

Today, we paint the dead leaves green again. We do the same with love we paint that dead flower with colors so bright and lively that it seems to come back to life again. But it’s infact dead. Fake. Too good to be true.

Rumi’s world was an ocean filled with love. But it’s now contaminated. A drop of hate and all that love is gone. Only a few drops of pure love are left but they won’t last long. Same goes for people, only few souls believe in pure love, and they’re hard to find. And they’ll soon give up because it’s too hopeless. Because they can never receive the same love that they give.

When we look around all we see is the hate. Because all the love is gone. All of it is fake. All that this world, this ‘pure field’, has left is disappointment. Discouragement. Fake friends. Fake people. Fake love. Timely relationships. Temporary compassion. And everything with a big price tag.

People will stab you in the back. And ask you ‘why are you bleeding?’


Do not look back, my friend. No one knows how the world ever began. Do not fear the future, nothing lasts forever. If you dwell on the past or the future, you will lose the moment. -Rumi

The past is a ghost.

But what is the future? It’s one of our dreams. It’s all of our dreams.

When we get tired of the now. Or in other words, when we’re too scared to face the now. We look at our future. We dream of a better, brighter future.

When the storm of the truth and the harsh reality tears us apart we look for refuge. The past is too haunting, so it’s not a suitable hideout. Then we end up seeking refuge in the future, in the dream that we create for ourselves.

The future is an illusion, so beautiful that it’s believable, so pleasing that it’s acceptable.

We don’t know if we’ll live to see the rising sun again. But we live within this beautiful lie. This beautiful promise.

It’s an illusion. Doesn’t that make it fake? doesn’t that make it nothing?

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m not.

But there’s something I know for sure, that this illustration, this dream, this lie is what helps me wake up in the morning. This is what keeps us going.

We should not depend too much on this beautiful lie. It may not be a lie but it may not be true either.

We should live in the in-between.

What’s the in-between? Now that’s another story.

Never lose hope, my dear. Miracles dwell in the invisible. -Rumi