ritika jyala

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

There’ll be a moment when you realise you’re 27 when yesterday you were just 17; and you wouldn’t be able to tell how a decade passed away and your life got divided into before and afters. The fury of youth will subdue and nothing will really change but everything will feel different when you look at old photographs and blurry videos taken on cheap mobile phones. Scents will remind you of childhood and certain friends you don’t talk to anymore, hangouts will become reunions and mom’s burnt pie will become the best food you ever had. And I know on some days you won’t be able to show anything of those 10 years but I hope you remember to breathe, and let go of the knot in your chest. I hope you go out in the sun and live a little, because tomorrow is 37.

Edit- I added the visualizer for this piece on my YT, check it out here

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned

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Mama I don’t want kids, I say. For the hundredth time. Mother has this look on her face, it sits still- something between disappointment and bewilderment. But who will take care of you, she says, when you’re older? And that is a rotten feeling. To believe that a child is only as good as what it does for its parents. To believe you are only as good as you give. To believe you owe someone, only to feel love. Who deserves this? Who deserves this wretched snarling beast sitting in my chest, whispering, shrieking- give, give, give.

-Ritika Jyala, The Beast that makes me Give

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2+2=5. “When a lie has been told enough times, it becomes real.” Two and two is five. Every morning I tell myself I like who I am. How many times do you repeat the lie?

I don’t hate myself. I love myself too. I’m surrounded by myself, hounded by my own cries, caged inside my own ribs. I love myself. My body is my temple but some days it feels like the ruins of Petra. I love myself. I just don’t like myself all the time.

On rainy days full of blues, I’m tired of this body, of this mind. 2+2=5. If you could sell all your bad memories, only on the condition you’d have to give away the good ones too, would you still do it? Are you your memories or are you the vessel that houses them? Are you the product of your thoughts or the manufacturer? When you repeat a lie enough times, it becomes part of the truth, expands and births itself anew.

Two plus two is five. Am I the voice in my head or the notes of my heart? Am I the lies I tell myself? Lies of consolation, lies ot condolences. If I love myself, why do I keep seeing my corpse at the bottom of the ocean, on a road, slumped on my chair, buried in the dirt? If I like myself, why do I keep hearing four, four, four? Two plus two is four. Where do lies end and god’s honest truth begin? Because lord I’m tired of not knowing.

-Ritika Jyala

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Anonymous asked:

hello! i wanted to ask: a while back i saw a post on tumblr that was an excerpt from a piece of writing. i dont know if it was a book or poem. it was about a daughter and her mother's pain in watching her daughter self sabotage. it was written by a WoC i'm pretty sure. i recently discovered this account and saw the title 'The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire' and it sounded like the title the excerpt was from. just wanted to know, was that you? sorry if that's too vague!

Yes, that definitely was one of mine. I believe this is the post you are referring to. It’s one of my favourite pieces that I ever wrote, not with the finest language but definitely with raw emotion. I’m glad you loved it too<33

asks answered

There is a sadness inside me, something I can barely name, and I know it doesn’t matter because teenage girls are all sad. Do people burn with age? Because I’m 18 and already a forest fire, what will I ruin next? And it’s easy to hope for happiness, it’s easy to dream in colour, maybe that’s why I’m half fiction, half girl. Half here and half not quite- half human, half thoughts.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from Half and Half

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