those who spent their lives wrecking their hands to mould me into something better, tried fruitlessly to break me without pain, to break me and make me into something that would be accepted by this world. they showered me with love so i won’t know, won’t remember how much it pained me or how much it hurt them to have gifted me this painful self-critical view of myself and this world.
while they are growing old, weak and distant my love for them looks like a failed seed that never grew nor flowered. the years that i spent with them has made me ungrateful. i have become the fish that never thanked the water that kept it alive, thinking that is what water is meant to do.
with time as a fail to become what i thought i am, as i realize that doing or even knowing the right thing to do becomes more impossible as you get to know this world, i begin to understand the enormous love they must have had for me to hold my hand and walk with me in a world that they had never seen only for my sake, knowing that their courage and their tears are destined to be forgotten (or worse- questioned).
and my love? my love, it grows in opposite direction of sun, my love for them grows into the soil my heart in a world where they won’t see and won’t know. i will remain cruel and indifferent even in my own eyes. so i hide my muddled feelings and walk around those who have made me what i am whatever that may be.
when saw my skin, i saw only cracks cracks that would have looked worse if i could see better. i wanted to look away but all i could do was think- age is creeping up on me slowly and cruelly and you are not here.
i think of all the things i can never have now. things i meant to do everyday things i put off, delayed because you needed time. all the things i denied myself because i wanted to wait for you.
but the weight of things i have given up seems to have increased exponentially since you learnt to change your mind.
so me and my could-have-beens we sit at different tables in the same world, looking at each other with disappointment. how ridiculous is this that i am waiting, even when there is no one to wait for, even when i know that running away was the only thing you could be relied upon for.
*i do not like saying last night because once i only used to speak of it as ‘yesterday night’ until someone told me that it’s wrong, even if it means the same
so last night i thought how it is something you’d say “it means the same, but you are wrong”
sample conversation (based on reality, read too much into lines, sounds more neutral that it was, maybe not much of reality then)
my heart feels so empty can’t you love me bit more while i try to fix myself i promise you one day you won’t have to try but i need you today i need you to try a bit for me can you wait a bit for me
you will remain empty till you hold onto yourself only contrary to your belief you cannot fill yourself with you you can only be full of yourself which might be the case that you fall under thought i am not professionally trained to point out the wrong in people’s heart but there is so much wrong with you that i can’t swallow the judgement i have passed on you i cannot help you grow up i have a life, i have a dream i have a need for someone who can be there for me without asking such things from me…
and so went our conversation and obviously you were right you were right to such an extent that i would be just making a fool of myself if i tried to negate the facts
so being the emotional being that i am i hated you for being correct, for being so cruel, for speaking coldly about me, for letting me know more about- self-indulgence, self-pity, victim mentality, and emotional manipulation. and if i cried now, you’d be proving your point. if i complained, you’d be writing it down as a case study to support your claims.
and because of my stupid unrealistic love and my distorted sense of reality i sat there in front of you saying “i am sorry”.
you are right i need to get rid of what i am to get anywhere in life, to get over you.
Across the street lived the giants. The green giants- who waited for rains to cry, who waited for the night to speak.
Thankfully the windows in my temporary home were small and few. Thankfully it was always cold, that awful cold that makes you want to sleep for a long long time.
So I slept and slept. I ate whatever my mother cooked. I waited for her to tell me what I am to do with my life. While the kids I never spoke to, went into the home of giants to put them on fire, I slept. I slept and cried in my dreams. Because tears on my real skin would make this sadness more real. Real sadness demands reasons and explanation. Real sadness demands proofs.
I slept to dream, to stand among them- the ones who have learnt how to live and die quietly, to forgive easily. I waited for the day I would grow roots, the day when I could smile at my falling leaves. I waited for the day I could become one of them and not the cruel outsider that I am now.
From my broken heart comes out another bird. Ignoring me, abandoning me it flies beautifully, cruelly into another world away from me and something feels a little less in me. I am not complaining. I always wanted to feel a little less. I was glad that in some way a part of me is finally free from me, that some part of me could finally breathe.
you and the me that i was, that you hated once, but not as much what i am right now
you and your rough sketch of me that looks like bits and pieces of your past lovers
you and your ticking clock, both waiting for me to change
you and you habit of making me wait, of walking out on me
you and your empty seat that you have already forgotten
you with your air of arrogance that i pretend not to see for the sake of loving you
you and your smile that sometimes (most of the times) have nothing to do with me
you and your calls out of blue, calling me love, calling me heartless, throwing me away and calling me back,
you and your words, your voice always asking for more
you and your insistence of loving in past and hating in present
you and your love that wants never to be associated with me
you and your cruelty of always forgetting (only) me, forgetting the hurt you cause
you asking me to love you back in spite of all, asking me to speak only in sweet words, never asking me how i made it through the pain you gave me last time, never wondering what do i want out of this love, that has no place for me
please don’t ask me how my friend is doing. we broke up. we broke up the most decent way friends can break up. without deceit, without betrayal, without cruel words or bloody knife on our backs, without stories to hurt each other with, without attempts to patch up things, without deleting each other’s number that we never bothered to memorize. i do not remember her till someone says her name and when the sound of her name finds me through a stranger’s lips, i do not feel bitterness. i not miss her. a part of my heart is glad that life didn’t turn her my enemy but a part of me wonders how she turned out to be nothing in my life. when i see facebook notifications with her name, when i get a reminder of her birthday, when she calls me up once in a blue moon to ask a favor for “her friend” without bothering to ask how i have been, what is it that am i supposed to feel? i think it should hurt in some way. i am waiting for it to hurt. i am waiting to realize the meaning of this loss. i am waiting for the day I miss her. i want to miss her so much.
I place broken glass of every color at your feet. I know how you loved the way they looked. I will re-create every beauty that you asked for, I will make them incapable of the danger that you fear. So that you can walk in this unsettling world, walk over every broken glass. I can draw a faceless person to walk by your side, so you don’t have to feel sorry when you forget their names or when they forget you. It is a world you can never be in but I will draw it anyway, because this world that I don’t want for you is the only world that can make you happy.
so the saint i read about walked this land, looked at this river, looked at this sky, and stood where I stand.
in the cases of glass there are letters, there are feelings i cannot understand. they say he made this place with love here his everything ends, where his nothing began.
but the glass turned into mirrors his writing became face of mine. i was pricked by the bitterness that were not supposed to be in his words.
how can he say the things we say? how can his cruelty be pardoned for his principle? why can i not call him hero like i used to, like everyone still does? why his truth makes me shrink away from every other truth? why does his life disappoint me so much?
i came here seeking nothing but i left losing a lot and doubting a lot. on my way back i left the what he once gave me and finally picked up what i should have.
If you were to find a love that could make you complete, I hope you find it with me. I hope I become better before you start looking for this love. So that being myself won’t mean being cruel and uncaring. So that loving me won’t be a sacrifice.
I want to have you without breaking you and without breaking me. But how often does life work out like that.
When you became the question of my life, all I could do was hope because what I had was not enough for myself. What if you were to ask me something that would remind me of my poverty?
I am afraid that this is what you are meant to do in my life- remind me again and again that I am lacking in so many ways.
But all I can do is try try to become someone who has lesser faults. Because giving you up is not something that I would ever want. But some nights I wonder how long will I last before I collapse under the weight of your wants and mine.