Do people read my articles? Perhaps they do, perhaps they don’t. Perhaps my digital vulnerability becomes a whisper in the world of ever-growing online conversations. That’s okay. For those reading this article, though, welcome to my thoughts. Unfortunately for my anxiety and fortunately for everything else, I love to ponder. I don’t like to think; I think thinking is too simple to describe my thoughts. Pondering is the best word to describe the intricate functionalities of my brain. Like an old soul trapped in a 19 year old’s body, I love to ponder life and emotions. I love to ponder about love, why the grass is green, and why the grass is always greener on someone else’s side.
My pondering has led me to a love of writing. As I was searching my previous writing pieces, I stumbled upon my varying collections of poems. It seems comical now to read my old work and ponder about why I wrote such lovely words about such unlovely people. Perhaps that’s the point of it all, and perhaps that is why I write and ponder. Perhaps I do it all so I can look back and know my younger self was much wiser than she ever knew.
I want to share the results of my pondering with you. Here are lovely words about people who may or may not be lovely now.
01.27.19
The snow piling high
The warmth of my hot chocolate mug
The chill in the air
Would usually bring me glee
But I am wounded and scarred
Hurt and deflated
As I have no one to enjoy
This snow with me
06.29.21
I feel many times as though I’m ugly.
An ugly star in an ever-rippling universe.
To feel unlovable is truly a fate worse than death for all you crave is a release-
A cosmic explosion where everyone turns their head at you:
You are the center of the universe and you shine so brilliantly-
Like gravity you pull suitors and friends and all kinds of love.
The universe is yours-
No longer an ugly star,
You are the star.
And I sink back into reality.
I’m sitting on a hotel bed,
An overcast sky brings gray light.
Something plays on the television and something plays on my phone-
An escape from an escape from an escape.
Is this not what I wanted?
To travel?
To feel the wind in my hair as the highway is but a fleeting view?
Is it not my dream to go on an adventure?
Why am I seeking home?
Comfort?
Familiarity?
Why can’t I be content?
I check my phone again.
No notifications.
Again.
Unlovable.
I am certainly unlovable.
One friend loves me,
Another friend loves me too.
But I crave romance.
I want to love and be loved as if I was the muse to a love song.
To be treated such that a queen would be as well as an equal.
Is this selfish of me?
To glance at my friends with envy?
Or am I but chained to my own soul-
No escape.
And no one can or would want to free me for who would want to free a beast?
I will check my notifications again.
I’m going out with my parents tonight.
And so the sky darkens.
8.16.21
I’m too scared to send this to you,
So I’ll write it instead. Don’t worry, the candlelight that is spilling over the page won’t blur my words. I’m listening to all my favorite songs today. And it’s all because of you. My day began by looking at a photo of you. You never send me pictures of yourself. To look at first sight at your smile…wow.
Stevie Wonder blasted through my brain and Elvis in my heart. I could feel countless love songs through my bones. They always said to fall in love with a writer and they will make you live forever. I hope my words will continue until my last breath so our story can be told forever. But I can’t tell you this yet.
Not yet.
For the short amount of time I’ve known you, you already feel like forever. But I can’t tell you this yet. I’ll scream it to the stars but to you? My glittering cosmo, I don’t want you burning out.
I might have some feelings for you that transcend the universe’s ultimate meaning of life.
But only if you knew.
8.21.21
I’m at the UMMA. We lost paths and I reached the exit first. I’m truly in love with art and its complex beauty. Such different mediums, all different topics – but people. The soul of art itself is people. How human is it to dream of alternativity and crave what imagination dreams of? For it is my job as a human, as a woman, a woman of color – I am art. I am the embodiment of subjective beauty. My exhibit is confidence. I am confidence. I am every element of resilience and the passionate plea to never give up – more importantly to never stop dreaming. I am beautiful, I am art, I am everything I am supposed to be. May my love story tell the tale of the woman who loved herself.
9.23.21
I am beautiful because I choose to be. Every day I make the conscious choice to be beautiful. There is no need to look in the mirror and nitpick my appearance. I am a confident young woman with the world waiting for me. I am the epitome of the “it” girl. I am Aditi Kulkarni, an emotional, heartbroken woman who has sealed her heart back together. After numerous misgivings, I am who I am and I choose to be beautiful.