Ultxian - Riya

the literal boogey man shows up at your house one day and is like “aww mianmian u named ur kid after ur old nickname” and your lovely wife is like “bro shut up” wyd

@ everyone who said ‘if you liked The Untamed, you’ll probably like Joy of Life’, you were right and I hate you

once again I am the kiss of death to my favourite character, once again I am fucking distraught over the use of zhiji (oh my god, they were zhiji), once again I am overly invested in a character I am absolutely sure is up to no good (look, I don’t trust the second prince as far as I can throw him, but I do admire his commitment to the No Shoes Lifestyle)

My ancestors, watching me dump an entire stick of cinnamon, two cloves, an allspice berry, and a generous grating of nutmeg into my tea, sweetened with white sugar and loaded with cream, while I sit in my clean warm house surrounded by books, 25+ outfits for different occasions, and 6 pairs of shoes, in a building heated so well I have the windows open in mid-autumn:

Our daughter prospers. We are proud of her. She has never labored in a field but knows riches we could not have imagined.

aaj ki chai is from this scene in tapan sinha’s ek doctor ki maut (1990). shabana azmi’s understated but poignant performance as seema, the wife of a brilliant doctor whose single obsession with his research brings selfishness and callousness to his marriage is so visceral, especially in small moments like this one. seema fries puris and make two cups of tea as she waits for her husband to come home, a familiar scene in the homes of many, especially within india. her husband talks about his research, the people he met, and lists all his complaints for the day before being cajoled into sitting at the dinner table. she serves the tea and the plate of puris and sits by his side, shoulder to shoulder, as a companion. then she talks about her conversation with her sister while gently reprimanding her husband for never calling those relatives back. he agrees to please her and then quickly grabs his cup of tea and two puris to leave for his lab. and seema! shocked and baffled, she tells him she’s not yet finished with her tea only to hear that familiar indifference–”then finish it”. and shabana azmi with all the subtlety she’s know for, moves from shock to bitter acceptance and then quickly back to the briefest expression of hurt. 

and she drinks her cup of tea alone.

one thing i like about tapan sinha’s work in this film is that seema is her own person, not the archetype of a wife in indian films (even noncommercial ones) who only exists to mutely support and share the burden of her husband’s dreams. later in the film she expresses how that callousness feels and affects her, especially against the expectations of what she thought their marriage would be like–one in which she is cared for, one in which there is companionship. i feel like i know too many women in marriages who drink their cup of tea alone. or put too much hope into what differences a cup of tea can bridge. 

Do you know what having bpd is?

Having bpd is crying because someone has given you a gift.

Not because the gift is too beautiful. But because they paid attention to your words. To what you said. They watched you and saw how you look at things.

Because they thought of you, saw you smiling with it, and got it for you.

Having bpd is calling them an idiot because they got you a gift.

Not because it is too expensive. But because you are so used to feeling so worthless that someone spending money on you just because you wanted something sounds so selfish and so wrong that you feel the need to fix it. You feel the need to apologize, to make up for a fucking gift, because you are not that much of a thing to be given gifts.

Having bpd is being stunned to silence because someone has given you a gift.

Not because it was a surprise. But because you never even expected someone to think of you. You never consdiered the possiblity of being on the receiving hand of a holiday. Never thought people would be grateful for your existance too, not when all you see in the mirror is a disgusting void.

Having bpd is not being able to thank your friend.

Because you don’t know how to thank people when they consdier you as a human being and consider your feelings and thoughts while buying you something just to see you smile.

I have bpd and I am crying over here just because I got a gift, because I still don’t think I was worth it.

do you ever think about how brave lan zhan was to tell wei ying the name of their song. even though wei ying was too feverish to remember it, lan zhan had the courage to confess his love to wei ying. even if it wasn’t a direct ‘i love you’ it’s still a portmantau of their names, wangxian, a song about them – a song for them, written out of love and devotion.

making dumbest decisions 101

and maybe i am a little bit in love with all of my friends. how could i not be when they place their whole heart in my hands and trust me to carry it safely home? lazy days spent in comfortable silence, tearful nights spent giving each other a reason to live. the exhilaration of learning your little quirks melting into a future where i know you better than the lines on my open palms. mutual understanding to be forever gentle with one another. inside jokes that follow me long after you've gone, reminding me to slow down and laugh a little more. your eyes are the lens through which i can see the world with love. your embrace is the shelter under which i find strength to continue on.

somewhere, there's a party