You took my breaking hand and told me stories of a world where humans can be built again, where all that darkness that has seeped into me, into you can be cast away with a kiss and mornings with warm breakfast, a hunger of two. You placed your old sweaters beside mine and that dark cupboard became a symbol of an enticing spring that would never end.
Within all that beauty and warmth how was I to know that you were meaning to leave, willing yourself to make that exit, even when you welcomed me into your arms. How was I to know that this darkness in you, in me would continue to only grow in new directions making us fear not the breaking, but our breaking to be seen by each other.
I remember you waking up early and trying to put the clothes of “forever”, ironing out the new folds in your skin so you can continue to love this life made of dreams. I remember you placing my name on your tongue, in the body of your thirst in a whisper and then crying silently knowing you cannot love this anymore.
Yet I kept my eyes closed thinking of springs, and sweaters, and a home filled with two of everything. I kept my eyes closed giving you time enough to find the strength and the numbness to embody the person you were long ago. I feel your weight at the edge of the bed, I feel your sigh and your hands still filled with care thoughtlessly placed on me. Love is so beautiful, isn’t it, even in its end.
i think of parasols. i think of wearing my miniature body made of colorful frills, holding my own soft innocence, not like something that can be and will be lost but like something that will never be destroyed, like something one never gives a second thought about. i think of never knowing fatigue, never resting. my skin only knowing the sun. i think of classrooms fitted with air coolers i think of home and its beautiful cold floor i think of places i knew i could always return to once i was done with my playing, once i felt my hunger. i think of the time that i lived not knowing not understanding the appeal or the need of shadows.
i think of stones. their small happy weight in my hands. the deftness of my fingers and my wrist as i played. my palm holding them together, scattering them, collecting them. my palm feeling the coldness of the evening, knowing time through them. i think of the stones that grew on the sides of broken roads beside my source of earliest magic -the touch-me-nots, the insects made of velvet, and the lost fireflies. i grew up in a broken forest wearing stones as brittle as me.
i think of fruits. their colors that i loved even when i didn’t like what they were. they tasted too mellow, too tame, too transient to me. their juices just carved a bit more hunger in my stomach. my stomach that was already learning to ask for more and more. i carved their colors in my notebook. i dreamt of drawing them up on my skin. this was before i knew what a tattoo was, before i learnt the dangers of carving things in you that you can’t possibly love.
The words are brittle the ones they ask me to eat. I was told this is how you forget but it really doesn’t work. It always leaves a mark on me, claiming a bit more of me. My throat would have shined, would have dazzled the world, if they could see the shards of glasses that are stuck inside, that decorate my wind pipe. Only I know how my voice and my hunger makes its way out of this maze. Like the thief in the movies avoiding the lines of red, I move within my body slowly, carefully, afraid if what I might encounter next. Next to this fear… words and speaking and performing in front of this world seems easiest part of existing. My words pushed out into the world are always wounded and broken. And they lie on the ground, in the hands that feel strange, already losing half of their bodies, their meaning already taking its last breath.
To speak is to see myself die in the hands of other and yet be spared, only to live a bit more, only to utter the next word.
Another piece of glass added to my collection. Another drop of blood shimmering at its end.
The last stranger at the funeral home brought in the worst rain of the season, the coldest wind of the night along with your last letter. He leaned against the window and called up everyone he won’t be able to meet today looking at me all the while. As if he knew every word that I was reading. Probably waiting to see whether I cry at the same lines that he did. His eyes look like the ones who have got used to crying for things that cannot be undone, for a life that cannot be. I wondered if he loved you. Maybe he did. Maybe you knew. I hope you did. He sat beside me trying not to grieve more than a mother, trying not mourn like a lover, making himself invisible with every word i read under my tearful breath
“…even when I sat at the dinner table with my brightest smile and deepest hunger, i couldn’t convince me that i needed to exist here. even the warmest embrace of this world could do nothing but break me. i knew opening my heart could only bring floods and all ends of all kind. i knew all along of this end. forgive me for pretending otherwise….”
I drowned the flowers one by one. The poison of beauty now runs through the rivers on this land, they fill his backyard in every season of rain. A child with his smile drowns another boat of dreams, the flood is a field of paper, the flood is all that is left of me. She stares into me, waiting for a reflection to surface. She walks into me to see where I end.
She tells me about the boy she can’t love and the boy she can’t blame as I dissolve and submerge the red gates of her house, the garden of forgiveness, her school shoes, all roads to her friend who doesn’t smile back anymore, the spoons that remind her of hunger for farthest worlds and people.
She asks me how deep will be this pain of losing herself, how long she would have to smile through this hate. I flow into her heart, wondering, if there I could turn back to the flower I was, if the end of my hate could be the end of her pain. If I could be her answer of hope.
the leftovers of last night fill my fridge. “never to be ruined” is what i would want to believe. but i do not have the patience to wait and see. i do not have many things in me- lacking of sorts, but not as deep in feeling. it is fine as long as it doesn’t reach me. it is fine as long as it doesn’t reach me. i step away and sit down it the unnatural unnerving glow of all that was delicious once. on the floor beside the broken fridge door i wait for my hunger or desperation to return. i wait to see what i loved in the love that is dying without me.
there are mornings when i have forgotten how to forget. i open my eyes only believing the dream just broken. there are mornings when i hate myself for waking up and my body for needing reality so much.
“i cannot give my heart to you”, i remind myself to say this as i gulp down a glass of chocolate milk, in case someone decides to fall in love with me today. it is unfortunate that i have to force myself to say these words, when it is so much easier to utter “yes”, especially when i have hunger only for love.
as i untangle my earphones i almost step into another puddle of my previous life. there is something odd about finding my tears again. i stand there, wanting to be of comfort to myself but the one who is still drowning, drowning for years i do not want her, i do not want to catch her disease of hope.
there are days like these, when taking a step forward is the most cruel thing to do. when being human is risky, is the first step towards defeat. when healing comes with a downtime, time that I must answer for.
on days like these i find myself losing my sight, and it is in that darkness that I find you. how lucky you are that you will stay like this stay beautiful, stay mine only here, only in my moments of madness and helplessness.
P.S. i am always amazed at how easy it is to give up on myself that to give up on you.even when you were the worst of us.
to be human is to float like a single cell life devouring pieces of digestible meaning, splitting and cutting oneself without blood loss into something more manageable. to be human is to lose your legs to the ideas of nation, families, and lovers. to be a human like me is to look at herbivores, carnivores, omnivores, scavengers… and wonder what hunger feels like. it is to order love at every other restaurant waiting for the taste of pain to grow on me, while i mimic strangers stranded on far away tables and hope what i am learning is not another dead language.
I am doing an award post after a long long time. What resulted in this delay? Something as simple as losing track of where I had saved the text file where I had made a list of posts to respond to. Sorry about that. 😦
Now PritAmDas had nominated me for Sunshine Blogger Award sometime in November last year (as I said, it’s been really long time). I am thankful that you remembered by blog to nominate. I am flattered to think that my blog (my work) is worth keeping in mind. Here is a link to the post:
Earlier I used to stick to the rules of awards and all. But now I am a total rebel. I only do the portion of answering questions and almost never nominate anyone these days. The thing I like most about awards is the questions. Because sometimes in answering questions I end up knowing lot about myself and you can also get to know what Nayana is like when I am not writing depressing poems. (I want to reassure you once again that my life is not as sad I write.)
So here are my answers to the questions from PritAmDas:
What do you do when you are bored of doing the same thing again and again? It is in my nature to not get bored of doing same things again and again. In fact I like routine more than adventure. So that will never happen. But there are days I don’t like doing anything, nothing interest me. Those days I don’t do anything and such days also pass. Those days very very rare though.
Do you sometimes step backward and observe? If yes.. what?? Yes, I do that a lot. I step back and observe myself, life in general, people whom I thought I knew and understood. It is a painful and enlightening thing to do, but ends up making me feel helpless because it makes me realize I can never completely know anyone, not even myself.
What you do to make your loved ones happy? I try to be in good mood, spend time doing what they like, talking to them till late night. In short, being myself and being nice is enough to keep my loved ones happy. They are pretty simple and awesome people to be around.
Tell me when you have gone out of control and behaved like a freak? That happens quite often. I mostly act like a freak when I am hungry. I overreact, shout a lot, get angry, get irritated with small things (and sometimes it is funny to witness because at that point I have no idea what I am saying and can spew lot of non-sense). So it would be correct to say, depriving me of food or being near a food deprived Nayana can be harmful for anyone’s peace of mind.
If you would have given a time machine what would you do and why? After watching all the series and drama with time travel trope, I have reached a conclusion – Time travel does no good to anyone. I do not want to change anything or meet anyone. I can’t handle the complications that come with time travel. Maybe if I can see something in past without going in past, then I may like to see how Nalanda University looked like. I have been always curious about this from childhood and not sure why. But that would be it.
What is your favorite TV series? This is very very very tough question. There are so many and even attempting to list them would be a crime. So I can share with you the series I finished watched recently and loved a lot and that would be The Package. It was a really good series about a group of people visiting France and their tour guide. It is sweet and emotional. After watching that series Mont-Saint-Michel is now on my to-visit-before-I-die list of places.
The series that I am watching again currently is Moonlovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo. It was such a good series. I am watching it for third time and it gets better every time I watch. My favorite character is Wang So.
What do you think love is? In present society? Love for me is to care and to be cared for. Love is to be stubborn and to not give up. Love is to know that this person will always stand by you no matter what. I know it doesn’t apply for everyone because for everyone love means something else. As far as present society is concerned, I do not want to comment or judge how people try to find love and be in love and how long their love last. Not only because I consider it rude, but it is insensitive as well. I have not lived their life and can never know what makes them do what they do. And to blame and criticize an age or a generation is not something I like to do. (I only complain about such things if they bug me personally)
If someone truly loves you but you don’t know due to some reason what would you do ? If I don’t know, then there is nothing for me to do in that.
If you like memes then what was your favorite and if you don’t then why? I like memes a lot, but I do not use them much. My favorite ones are that of BTS. Because they are my favorite artist/celebrities ever, so theirs are the only memes that I have in my phone. Here are some of their memes. (Not sure if it is everyone’s cup of tea, cause some of them requires context)
Have you ever done something awkward and when asked you have denied? Then what you had done? I mispronounce words all the time. But when someone points it out, I deny having said anything wrong. I put it on them that they heard it wrong. I don’t admit my mistakes that easily,(even if I know that I have done something wrong ), that is a whole big issue of my life.
What makes you feel special? When I achieve something, finish something by my efforts, I feel that I am capable of doing something in life- that makes me feel special. I consider myself not so talented, and the only thing I am good at is hard work. When that hard work pays off, it is one the best feelings in world.
At this moment I realize that by this post I have bombarded you with lots of drama pics and BTS memes. Sorry for that, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Now since we are at the end of this post, I would like to thank PritAmDas once again for nominating me and liking my work.
Also, FrejaTravels had nominated me for Mystery Blogger Award. I want to thank them as well for it. Again I apologize for the delay. I have answered their questions in the following post : Mystery Blogger Award. (You may have to scroll a lot, till you reach “Edited on 12 March 2019”)
Edited on: September 3, 2020
Ishita Gupta has nominated me for this award on June 2020. I am really thankful to her considering me in her nominations. Means a lot. Do visit her wonderful blog.
So here are the answers to the question she had posted (I tried to answer them as truly as I can):
What do you love to do, except blogging? I love reading (mostly fiction), listening to music, watching series/movies/anime, learning languages (I am not at all good at this, as I do not have the discipline for learning on my own. It is difficult to make a a significant progress without discipline.). Apart from writing poems, I rarely do anything in terms of creating, most of what I like to do is to consume art.
Is there anything on your bucket list, which you could share with us? First thing on my bucket list is attending BTS concert. (and also to watch them succeed in life and reach the highest potential of who they can be as an artist and as a person). Other things that are there on my bucket list, that are a bit more abstract and without an end. They would be having a library full of all beautiful books and having the best collection of music, every music that is of my type, I want to know about it, to fall in love with it. I think this obsession of collecting things don’t stop with books and music, it applies to every good movie, series, animation, MVs. I think it would be easier to say I am hoarder of art and I want to enjoy this hoarding. 🙂 I am that weird person who experiences a work of art and ends up thinks the world has a bit more meaning because of its existence. I am melodramatic like that. (As I write this answer I am listening to “I LUV U” by Henry. It is a beautiful song. You can check it out if you are interested. Don’t forget to enable captions. :))
Is there any place in the world, that you desperately want to visit? Or someplace that has already captured your heart? I don’t think I have a place like that in mind. I do like the idea of visiting Korea or Japan or other countries and places that I have seen on screen. It would be nice if I could but I don’t have the yearning to go anywhere. It is almost like, if I can go, well and good; if not, then it doesn’t matter. I think rather than just visiting a place, I like the idea of living there. When I see a place that I have not been to, what goes through my mind is “What would it be like if I woke up everyday to this city? How would it feel like to go to school here? How would it be like to experience every climate this place has day by day?” I think more than sight seeing or seeing just the good and the bad of the place briefly, I am more interested in knowing how living in a certain place feels like. I guess I am curious about how other people live their life. That being said, I like to travel, but only in the right company. For me it doesn’t matter where I go, but with whom I am going. With wrong people, even the most beautiful and fun place can turn loneliest or frustrating place on earth. (I have a feeling that I have answered this question all wrong.)
Do you like reading? If yes, could you share 5 of your favourite books? I love reading. Giving recommendation for books is a really tough task. If I pick one book, it feels I have wronged some other book. So what I am listing here is not the best books ever (that list doesn’t exist for me). This is a list of book that I have either read recently or the books that are coming to my mind right now:
“Alex” by Pierre Lemaitre
“Difficult Women” by Roxane Gay
“The Perks of Being a Wallflower” by Stephen Chbosky
“Crank” by Ellen Hopkins
“HYYH The Notes 1 (The Most Beautiful Moment in Life #1)” by Big Hit Entertainment
The last book “HYYH The Notes 1” is a part of Bangtan Universe storyline, a part of the story that is still going on. To completely understand and enjoy this book you would have to be familiar with this storyline that has been progressing (for few years) with music videos, songs, notes, etc. It is a rabbit hole and will take a lot of time if you want to get to know it. Just a disclaimer, that starting with this book without knowing the rest of storyline won’t be wise. But that being said experiencing HYYH story in overall is a very rewarding experience. Getting to know the incomplete story through music and lyrics and beautiful visuals and written word is a beautiful experience in its own. It makes you feel all kind of emotions. Some videos that can help you to introduce are this, this, and this.
If given a chance, would you like to change something about yourself ? If yes, what? I would like to be more confident person. I do have many faults, but I am used to them. I have to some extent realized why my faults exist and how I would rather be the person that I am, because it all makes sense. But the one thing that always causes issues for me in life is my lack of confidence. I am not sure if I will ever have that. I always thought it would get better as I grow up, but things just went worse.
What is your life mantra? Working hard. Dedicating myself to whatever you are doing. Living on emotions. Maintaining harmony. Loving passionately. Trying my best.
Do you have any weird phobias? Or any phobias? I fear every thing. I think everything can cause harm. My mind sometimes work in “Final Destination” mode. But it is not like I am running from every place, living in paranoia locked up in home. It is more of like my mind just won’t stop processing how things can go wrong, how potentially harmful everything can be. It just keeps me on my toes and makes me distrustful.
What does an empty room remind you of? It reminds of all the things that I could fill it up with. Of all the things that could change this place into a warm place one would look forward to return to. Empty room reminds me of potential of what it can be turned into.
What is your biggest pet peeve? This is the first time I have been asked this question. I have not yet given it that serious thought. But if I had to list one thing it would – people who try to force their opinion on me. I all in favor of independent thinking and I am fine if someone has a totally different opinion than mine. I am ready to discuss these differences also. But what I hate is when in that discussion people try to tell me that I am wrong and they are right and that I should adopt their thinking because it is right. We all have a certain idea or conclusive thought about a certain topic because of what we have been through, how and what we have lived through, what we have observed. When I meet someone who has totally differnt opinion than mine, I never try to convince them they are wrong. I try to get them know more, I try to understand what makes them think so, I want to know the life lived behind these ideas. I try my best to understand them without toning down my opinion on that subject. Even when they are wrong, I may tell them what lead me to have a certain belief, so they can decide for themselves if they need to revise the ideas they have. Byut what people do is they start this discussion, turn it into an argument, turn this into a stage from where they can shout out their propaganda and won’t back down till the other person gives up and backs off. I hate when people act like they will accept these difference of opinion and start these discussion but are just setting up stage to preach their own values, disregarding my experience and voice. (That is one of the reason I never start these discussion, because I know where it will all lead to.)
What’s your spirit animal? Panda.
What motivates you to write? My love for literature and art actually is a hindrance for my writing. Cause they have resulted in such high standards in my mind that nothing I write is good enough. Because of these standards I sometimes feel like destroying everything I have written till now. What makes me write is curiosity. I am curious of how I will end up writing if I continue to write. Also, there is something about writing that is addicting. Even though it is hard work, even though it sometimes turn into pure torture. But I keep coming back to it. On some days when I can overlook what literature should be and shouldn’t be, I look back at something I had written, something I had forgotten about and I feel a sense of happiness in having created something that feels so true. But that feeling lasts only for few moments before my minds switches to analysis mode and I end up seeing everything wrong with what I write. But I think having those few moments of happiness are something I could never have felt if I didn’t write.