unfettered thoughts

yes, that’s my sexuality. my sexuality has been fluid as far as I remember. The education in a missionary residential school insinuated that I was wrong and unnatural for loving a boy. Getting called out in an assembly line was the death of me back then. I kinda chuckle nowadays thinking of that.

I have been assaulted all my life. I have internalised almost all of it as natural. Liberal colleges told me that’s not natural. But they also insinuated may be I’m gay because I got assaulted so many times.

I had been worried about it since. I don’t find loving men unnatural, I don’t think it’s because of continuous sexual abuse either. The first time I remember of it, I was five years old. He wanted me to play with his dick. The last time I remember it, I was twenty-three. I didn’t want to. He overpowered me.

But hey, I loved all those men. I don’t love them anymore. But at one point I did. This love was not sexual either. It’s just that I found them intriguing, pretty, interesting. Maybe I was also jealous of seeing them own their boyhood. Something I have struggled to come to terms with till I came out as a tranny. But I do feel great seeing men owning their boyhood. Maybe that’s why I have so many trans-masc friends. Like yes you go boyo, enjoy that gender I never could, never felt at home.

I have had a change of sexuality multiple times. I have been all the letters in the LGBTQIA+. But I do realise now that I was actually always in love with gayboys. Just faggoty twinkcore manwhores. I just think they’re neat.

One of my most favourite bands are Arctic Monkeys. All of them are twink bottoms. Their songs aren’t inherently masculine, but are for yearnings that can fit any gender. No wonder they had been a staple since I found out about them in a 2004 book of facts.

Enrique is another of my early love. Looking back at my teenage, I was definitely into boys with a scruffy no-care attitude. From Ricky Martin to Enrique Iglesias to Emraan Hashmi. All of them sported a similar look. I had been a mad fan of Ricky Martin since the ‘98 livin’ la vida loca song. My village is mad about football, and this song played on the radio way too much. So when Ricky Martin came out as gay, I got to know this possibility exists. And if he can, then may be I also can?

Music and Boy Bands has also been a staple in my life apart from the famous gay pop artists. Yes I am a Britney gay, and yes Gaga too. But man have you seen def leppard or any heavy rock band perform with their open shirts, heavy make-up and tight pants? I used to run a John Mayer fanpage on Myspace during school breaks, on a dial up commection. I even got free tickets to his concerts, as well as Gaga’s too. I could never go, but that was a huge deal when I was fifteen.

Then I had a emo phase. Everything was black and doomy. I blamed it on Growing pains and lack of puberty. But then again you need to look at Davey Havik or Patrick Stump to realise, I may have changed genre, but didn’t change my choice in men. As I went through a much later, medicine induced puberty, My choice also changed. I switched over to bumbling boy bands. From One Direction to DNCE to Fun to Maroon5.

As I went to college, I suddenly had access to fast internet for the first time. I dived deep into movies. I was already thirsting over Daniel Craig and Emraan Hashmi. Now I could check all their movies out. And there was another new obsession too. Internationally acclaimed ubermensch Moritz Bliebtreu. He is only comparable to the other ubermensch Shahrukh Khan.

All these men had an outer softer personality. Not all of them were good. John Mayer was literally a groomer. There are issues regarding Ricky Martin as well. But back then I didn’t know all these, and these men were the one I was obviously in love with.

I don’t really have crushes. I don’t have love at first sight. I don’t understand why people put so much weight on sex. I mean sex is fun and all, but I wouldn’t want to have sex with everyone. I just wanna watch them from their side as they go about their lives. I remember feeling that way for only one cis het woman so far. And she was nice about it. I wouldn’t pursue a relationship with her, but I did call it a crush. That was again in 2019.

Going T4T is the best thing I have decided for myself so far. I feel seen. I don’t have to hide. And I get to love a twinkcore gayboy everyday. To be honest, I didn’t even realised I liked gayboys. He did. He told me so. And upon reflecting on his words, I realise yeah, the patterns are all there. I like gayboys. I think they’re neat. I think they’re fun. I am in love with one and I think he is the best.

Urban upper-class people are really really unhygienic.

It is also a caste thing. All urban upper class people are dirty and unhygienic more or less, but upper the caste, the more dirty they are.

For example, when brahmin or khatri/kayashthas come stay at my place, they leave it in a wreck. And they always have that audacity to not pick up after them.

Or they’re just way too casteist so that they expect the lower caste person to clean after themselves.

For example, like any household, I have a dustbin, to keep things clean. I have a separate dustbin for dry waste, and a separate bag for wet waste. I take into consideration leakage and smell, and use appropriate bags for that. And it’s always upper castes who are disregarding that despite telling them multiple times. This is what they do: they’d put wet waste in the dry waste dustbin. Worse than that, they’ll throw around plastics and wrappers around the house, instead of putting them in the dustbin. They’d take the waste, and they’d throw it away in such a way in the dustbin that it sits between the liner bag and the dustbin.

Couple days ago someone put wet waste into a dustbin I recently cleaned and was drying, that I have mentioned to not throw into. It was also hidden from common sight. And there already was a dustbin in the outer room to throw food in. Yet someone specifically sought out that dustbin, put their waste into it despite seeing it hidden away and without liner and never told me about it. Thus I am now dealing with an infestation of maggots.

Another upper caste person boiled potatoes in my rice cooker, and didn’t consume it, didn’t throw it away, just kept the whole rice cooker hidden. I wasn’t home for two weeks and I have repeatedly told them to clear out any dirty utensil and get rid of all wet waste. We literally went out with a liner bag of all waste to throw it out. And they chose to hide the cooker itself. As a result my aluminum rice cooker has holes now, as the rotten potatoes melted the bottom.

There is one thing almost all urban upper castes do that drive me fucking insane. They touch any and everything with dirty fucking oily grubby hands. They eat with their hands and with that dirty oily food-residue hand they’d touch all and everything, from bottles to glasses to the food itself and continue like nothing has happened. That’s how you get diseases you fucking morons. I will talk about my personal ick about touching oily things, but like you literally are touching dirty shit and going back to eating? Like what kind of family culture are you coming from? Why has your parents failed to instill basic hygiene in you?

When you disrespect my personal boundaries, I understand! You, coming from an oppressed caste, all you know from your family is to order people like us around. But I don’t understand why your parents can’t teach you basic hygiene. But then again all plagues that has happened in Bengal always happened because of brahmins and their unhygienic practices anyway. It’s just sad to see those practices didn’t go away.

Also cooking, they’d ask to cook, and then ruin my whole kitchen. Use all utensils without a thought, make a nuclear mess out of the kitchen upto the drawing room, and not clean afterwards. As if we are there to fulfil their whims at fingersnap. Oh they also threw away multiple of my steel spoons. I mean who does that?

You know, more often than not it feels like they do it on purpose. Someone wouldn’t flush after pooping in my bathroom despite telling multiple times. People would keep burning my shit despite telling no multiple times. They’d not respect basic hygiene I expect. Would destroy my house, and then later complain about it being dirty. I mean they wouldn’t do it with their parents. They do not do it with their friends who are of the same status. But they feel it is okay to do to me.

And what really grinds my gears is that they always blame their ADHD for this. Yes, ADHD can make you forget things, but you know, not enough to do the things I mentioned above. That requires entitlement. You’re not ADHD, you just want to avoid responsibility and you expect lower caste people to clean after yourselves.

Lower Class – Lower Caste friends of mine do not do that. They ask about putting things, are considerate, pick up after themselves, they also help clean afterwards. It’s just the upper caste-upper classes that are this disrespectful and I am tired of it.

I feel it’s the empathy and basic humanity that Upper Caste – Upper Class people lack for people below their status. And no matter what they say, these are the views they hold inside, and treat people like shit. They do pretend to be nice and sweet but they all are vile. Behind that sweet behaviour, they’re hiding their entitlement and hatred and jealousy towards us. And they’re not even doing a good job hiding it.

In the alley behind my house, connecting it to the main road, I saw this woman in her fortys violently swing her purse at some unseen enemy. As I drew near her I saw the enemy to be tiny kitten. I live in a residential zoned area, thus there are lots of independent houses in the area. I thought she is the owner of one and trying to get rid of a cat. But instead, she drove the cat inside a house and started walking towards the main road. I was stunned.

She came to the main road and was greeted by another woman holding a Shi Tzu. I don’t even think Shi Tzus are real dogs. They feel like cats cosplaying as dogs. She started talking to the dog and took it in her arms and went back.

That’s when I also went my merry way to love juice to have a barbiecore strawberry shake.

Hey, you, Yes, you, with long hair, And countless scars on the hand and thighs Stop listening.

Stop listening to the other people. You know, they aren't real, no matter How real they sound. And I know, you can't really “stop” Listening. So please ignore What they ask you to do.

I remember the time, When you would dress up, Put colors in your nail and lips And stand in front of me Appreciating your body. And then, I saw burns Slowly, but steadily Cover your body. And just like that, You stopped visiting me. I waited. And then I saw you In a green robe, with pipes Pumping out poisons that you took.

You said, they asked you, And the doctors gave you heavy Medicines. And it was okay, for a while. You never did dress up pretty again though.

It has been years now. And They are back, the voices. You know, Everytime they say Something, I hear it too. And I want to tell them, How wrong they are. I want to tell them how Worthy you are, how you Make everyone around you happy And how you're not wasting Your parents money. And how jumping off a building Or jumping in front of truck, or from A running train even, isn't the answer.

But, I guess you know that Deep down, that's why You're fighting, to stay alive, To drown in work, to keep busy So that you can ignore them voices. I would suggest you to go visit A doctor. And wouldn't you say, that, Dependency is better than not living at all?

I wandered lonely on a misty Morning to find myself Sleeping by the lake And getting wet in the dew.

I was lost, probably Because I knew not Where I was; in life. But I was at peace As I left my worries at places, I would never visit.

I won't come for the Crooked baniyan tree Or the empty cornices Of my house. I won't ever hide In the running shower For the better part of the day Anymore.

I undressed, in the wet sand I laid down the layers Of my clothes, and My mind, alike. And I walked, not Knowing better, but I knew, there would be No return, and I let The current to guide me.

I don't know how long I walked, and the Sun was setting in the Horizon, and the water Around my waist was Gloriously red. Blood red.

This was something I Built castles in the Sky about. About the end, and About death, and All things morbid. And not that I Have never tried This myself before, But I couldn't. I just couldn't. But this moment just Seemed fitting like Never before, like Everything is going To be alright.

And then it was dark, A very bluesy kinda dark And my eyes hurt, And I could ignore it, As I was at peace. And at that moment, All I wanted to tell My twelve year old self, Is that, “the end Is peaceful”.