Creativity isn’t always beautiful. There is a desire in us as artists to share what we feel inside with the world; how can we do so when we can’t find the words ourselves? There isn’t always an easy road with which to release my emotions to words. It can be quite painful. That doesn’t make it any less meaningful.
“There are days when words and feelings pour out of me like a volcano. Aggressive and fierce, I stab through the lines on the page and rip it apart like my brain is ripping me. Then there are days when I can do nothing, My creative juices are dried up- I am breathing in coarse sand, I cough up ideas but also blood. It lines the paper all the same.”
Today I’ll tell you about Aarav Chopra. Why is he here now and not Ali Wadood? The answer is simply really, but I’ve lived a long story as Ali and I’m just closing the book on that part of it all.
My name is Aarav Chopra and I hold zero shame taking on my mother’s maiden name. Removing myself from the clenches of my past and finding peace in my true calling I feel home again.
My step dad cared for me as a child and for that I can not repay him. But, what am I to do as one who can’t even go the movies alone at the age he left. Let’s not dive into that too much. I’d rather give him the benefit of the doubt anyways. Maybe he had a better life to live and I hope he lives it to the fullest and, however he pleases. Here’s why I leave him now, I don’t wish a bad fortune on his name. I aim to no longer carry it. I choose to dump the skeleton left in me and become reborn as Aarav.
I may just reincarnate my living self in this life. Sending what I was away for the legacy in my mother’s maiden name. She is the sole purpose for me being here in this country. I’m a natural citizen of the United States of America. Extremely proud of it.
My lineage was to go away after us boys. My brother and I, the ones he changed. My uncle having only two daughters who are set for their true fate with love and new families. I control my fate and choose to more life with the Chopra name.
“What’s in a name? For which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Shakespeare said it then.
I’ve had it tattooed on me since I was 18. I knew then I could change and still be the man I am. Now I will hope to carry on the true immigrant journey. My mother is my rock and a she is a dual citizen in this world. Pretty bad ass Ma. Just know your son is keeping your name and we’re both here to leave a mark on this life.
I won’t let the family go. I won’t let the men who left us name me forever in a journey they’ll never bury me in. I’d rather honor the family name that brought me here in the first place.
Society has a real strong focus on self-love and how you only need yourself to be happy, and I get that, I really do. Society also acts like the relationships you have with others don’t have a toll on you. I started thinking about all the men I dated over the years and how badly they fucked me up. I decided to be so petty and call a couple out.
S: This was my first “real” boyfriend. I saw the world in him, that type of jazz. Turns out in the end he was a total piece of trash but any who. This was the man who simply couldn’t take no for an answer. This was the man who pushed me, and ripped my pants off of me after I said no a million times. This was the man who helped destroy my self-image by teaching me that the men who were supposed to love me couldn’t possibly respect me. This was the man who showed me how much I was really worth to him. How could I mean so little and how could someone have so little respect for me?
M: This one was probably the person who fucked me up the most in life. Well maybe even second. This was the man who promised me the world, promised me a future. This was the man who made me feel safe. This was also the man who left me by stating that he simply didn’t care about me anymore. This was the man who helped me destroy my self-image by proving to me that the worst thoughts I had about myself were real. Nobody hated me more than I hated myself. The thoughts inside my head kept me up at night, constantly thinking that I wasn’t enough, the love I had wasn’t desirable.
The men I dated have ruined my self-image in so many ways, whether it was calling someone fat who was a lot smaller than me, telling me how being assaulted made me broken, putting their hands on me with anything but love in mind. The people I have met in life have really fucked me up along the way. I started to see myself the way these men treated me, I dated so many cowards that treated me like trash that I simply began to believe love wasn’t real, love was just something Hollywood made up to make a couple billion dollars.
I dated so many men who simply didn’t know how to love me, and it made me believe I wasn’t worth loving, my self-image was already fucked up from having anxiety and depression but the relationships I had with these men just put fuel to the fire.
I write a ton about self-love because I spent years not being able to love myself and with men who just couldn’t love me. I saw these broken men and tried to fix them, and that was such a mistake. I was trying to fix these boys who didn’t want to be fixed, who grew fond of making a joke out of me.
Self-love takes a very long time after dealing with abusive men and awful relationships, I have not mastered self-love yet and if you haven’t either that is okay, you’re not undesirable just because you haven’t mastered self-love yet. I promise someone is going to love the shit out of you. Keep going.
Warm tear drops kiss my hand on this cold night. The sky is tinged with a deep purple, a quiet purple. Even amongst the stars, there is only silence. I envy anyone who is able to find direction using them, to see a compass in darkness. I merely see what is before me. Three in a row, four on the outskirts forming a misshapen rectangle. Two more, faded, somewhere in the middle of it all. Orion’s belt. I could never forget constellations after my first time recognising them. Only, this time, I felt forgotten by them. Neglected. They are still. You feel silent to me today. This water is cold as well, in the deep end of it where I sit. Water is supposed to feel warmer on the skin after some time. I have been sitting here for a while, a long while. Waiting. I have been waiting. The moon is nowhere to be seen. Not a slither of its light shows for as far as I can see.
Tonight I am in darkness surviving off the somber glow of these stars alone. Tonight, I am small and the universe is too vast to consider this humbled being. This search for guidance has rendered me unnerved. Unheard. I am screaming, from my lungs through my eyes and I know I am not loud enough. I am gentle. I am excruciatingly soft. The wind will travel skies carrying my cry to the heavens and I will still be waiting for You to answer me, my Lord. I cannot hear You or see You or feel You in this moment, however long this moment may last but I believe, fiercely.
When you are at the saddest point in your life you feel as if there is nothing left. All you have are memories. All you have are hopes and dreams. Now those things you held dear are no comfort. They feel like talons dragging across your brow. Yet, when you are down for the count all you can do is look up. The sun flickers on your tears and there it is hope. A hope of new beginnings. Such beautiful beginnings, parts of you had to die, in order to see them. I guess my ass is a zombie then? ‘Cause I have done more in death than in life.