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This is it

Hi!
I'm Ashutosh Matai, a 20-something-year-old that enjoys programming, reading and tackling problems.
Yep, you read that right - I enjoy facing problems.


No, I'm not a masochist (laughs nervously), but I am someone who has seen a handful of things go down. I've been under crippling depression and anxiety, I've lost sight of my life and seen a lot of family drama. Suffice to say, in my 20-something-years of existence, I have truly learned.

So here's my two cents, accompanied by the occasional poem. I hope you take something of my experiences and make your own lives better, for you, dear reader, are in for a hell of a ride.


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Immaterial

I bought a dress, said she Black as the colour of the grime on your arms As you parley with the foreman for a quick break Only to sneak across the road from your workplace And steal a glance at me. I bought some lipstick, said she Red as the colour of my velvet lace To match your bloodstained handkerchief As you wipe your wounds dry I watch you yonder. I bought an earring silver, Silver as the stars tonight, silver as the glistening mist That settles upon the grass, come dawn, As I watch you leave yet again, To tire endlessly, afresh. I bought instruments and objects, galore And yet I have no use of them As I watch, nay, I stare, You toil intensely, anew, every single day. What use, pray tell, have I of riches, When they cannot buy me you?
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Psyche

Thoughts, wretched thoughts, Why strike me down so? Keep me awake, keep me aghast Thy torment is unparalleled. Emotion, dissolute emotion, A man must avoid at costs unspoken. Tear my walls, churn my gut, Thy burn has no soothing. Impulse, Desire and Yearning, O sisters three, mistresses of my nights, Much too fickle, reinless and free, What remedy cures thy sting? Maladies of the mind, Incorrigible disorders of the heart, Chain me up and rip me to shreds But do not let me succumb to hope. Hope, O merciful lady of mine, Blissful ignorance I crave from thee. Afraid, terrified, horror-stricken I am. Capricious thou are, I know not when Thy nature be true, or false, I know not, I cower from thee, distrustful. And yet it is precisely to hope that I cling, I flirt, frolic and find myself fond with thee .
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