fawkes

I sat on the hammock with both my legs on the ground, not trusting it to carry my weight. It looked sturdy enough but I've fallen before. I learn my lessons well. The world was slowly losing light as I watched the birds overhead, busy flying about without any care, and I wondered, what it would feel like to have that kind of limitless freedom. I tried to imagine myself with wings, my feathers all ruffly and out of place from flying too far, too fast, and too carelessly.

My aunt was busy sweeping the yard, collecting leaves, twigs, and weeds. Trees shed. It's not just dogs, you know. I watched her collect everything and piled them into a pit in the backyard. She lit them up and burned them, right under the flowering mango tree. It's an old practice, where I am from, to "smoke" fruit-bearing trees. It keeps the insects from destroying the flowers that will soon produce the sweetest mangoes in the whole world. The kind of mangoes that just melts in your mouth. It's THAT good. Seriously.

I felt the heat as the flames engulfed everything that was thrown into the pit. It was beautiful, how it licked the leaves very slowly, almost passionately. Like whispers in the night between lovers huddled under the covers. It was as soft as butterfly kisses on the neck. But it was deadly. It consumed everything within its grasp and turned it into nothing. The flaming embers beneath it were the only remnants of its existence. The flames danced with a fervor that only intensified the already humid weather. I could feel the heat from where I was watching it peacefully swinging on the hammock.

I watched the fire slowly die after it has consumed everything in the pit. There was nothing left for it to feed from and the flames died out and it took with it the heat and the light. I looked around and I realised that I hadn't noticed the evening has crept upon me unaware.

I found myself thinking about you. Not surprising. Maybe our love was like the fire. It was all consuming, passionate, the flames dancing as we both fueled it. And then you stopped. It was just me feeding it, but I couldn't keep the fire from burning out because I had nothing left to feed it. In my desperation I jumped into the pit thinking that perhaps I could keep it burning, but it did nothing to keep the flames from dying out. And before I knew it, there was nothing left of me but embers of my skin, a remnant of what I used to be. And you were nowhere to be found.

There I was. All burned up. And you? I don't even know where you are right now. I just hope the smoke from our flames end up producing the sweetest fruit we have yet to taste.

this is how i remember you now

Some people are afraid of being left alone. When the distractions disappear, when the room is quiet, when their thoughts are loud and deafening, that's the moment people fear the most. That's when the monsters come alive, when the scars bleed again, when the memories become too tangible. There are days when I hope that I am one of those people who fall apart when they are alone. Unfortunately for me, I almost always feel you when I am around a crowd of people. 

I see you in the faces of the people I see everyday. I see you in the way they chuckle. That snort of half derision and half humour. I see you in the way they look at me, as though it were your eyes staring back at me and not theirs. There are times when I wonder if they can see you behind my own eyes, the echo of a long forgotten shadow, with no shape or form, like the darkness that plagues the eyes that have been exposed to bright lights. 

I see you in all of my bad days amidst the mood swings and the angry snippets of words I throw out into the void. I see you complaining in moments of indecision and uncertainty, taunting me and lecturing me about how there is no such thing as "anything" or "whatever". I see you while I'm walking alone in the mall or whenever I'm crossing streets. I see you holding my hand or touching my back and leading me to the other side of the street only to be slapped by reality when I turn around to look for you and you're not there. I see you whenever I encounter couples holding hands while walking and I remember the way you would hold mine. I don't remember how your hands feel like anymore. The last time I tried to hold your hands, you pulled away and I remember how that hurts. Like knife through my heart, sharp and blunt at the same time.

I see you when I am in the middle of a crowd. I remember how I could easily spot you from so far away. I would know it was you just from the hair at the top of your head, the way you stand and walk. You could lose me in a crowd, but I always knew I could never lose you even when you are surrounded by throngs of strangers.

I see you whenever I turn on my laptop. I remember that your hands have held it once before. And whenever I think about that, I remember all of the things that your hands have held once before and I fall apart. Because you still have my heart. 

I wish I could say I am happy and that time has healed me. There are days when thoughts of you are kept at bay and away from where it can hurt me. But whether I am surrounded by a crowd or alone in my room, you are always there. You are everywhere. You are in everything. And all I want is an escape from the pain. I remember you said that you are happy now and I sincerely want to say that I'm glad you are, but I cannot go on deceiving myself. It hurts. Because the only person who can make me happy again, is perfectly happy without me. 

And so here I am. Surrounded by everything and everybody and feeling empty and lost. I am without hope. I know you are not coming back. So why am I still waiting?

run away little girl

12 September 20:24 2014

The scent of citronella was surprisingly sharp on my nose. I did not think such a detestable, fruity, citrusy odour could ever be quite so objectionable to my olfactory sense, but it does seem to be keeping those pesky mosquitoes away from my lower extremities which, I find rather convenient, much to my relief. You wouldn’t even guess it was coming off a funky stick-on with an adorable picture of a red lady bug and the words “bye bye” underneath it. The fact that it was a mosquito repellent did not exactly play a part in me picking up the patch and plastering it on my shorts. It seemed like a good idea at the time, until the ever increasing harsh aroma wafted off of it and made its way up my nose mocking me and making me rethink the whole funky stick-on idea. I feel a headache developing somewhere in the vicinity of my right temporal lobe but let’s keep this thing on and see how long it will take before it drives me off a cliff.

There really is no way around certain days in a person’s life, much to my dismay. Birthdays for example will force its way in your face regardless of how violently you focus all your energies into ignoring its existence or forgetting it altogether. It will come around. Once a year. Without fail. It has arrived for me today. I know I’m supposed to be all happy and excited about it, another year of life and blessings – excuse me for a moment here while I resist the urge to purge the birthday dinner my mom so lovingly bought for me. I am not being an ungrateful brat. I am simply heartbroken and up to my neck in sorrow and grief and no amount of chocolate frosting could ever heal a broken soul. I am grateful but I do so hope that karma would grant me some slack and just leave me be and allow me to revel in my brokenness. Just for today.

I have to get up every day and attempt to look alive when I am dead inside. It hurts all the time and I am not allowed to show it. I just want to be free in my experience of misery. Dear world, just let me cry.

the broken remote

Uncertainty is fearsome. The thought of not knowing the inevitable is anxiety provoking and oftentimes, it is accompanied with clichéd responses aimed at giving a person some semblance of comfort whilst patting them on the back muttering something about how patience is a virtue. What a bunch of bullshit.

It doesn’t delay the passing of time, nor does it provide us with clarity as to what lies behind the different doors that we are bound to face. I do not understand how patience can be construed as a virtue when all of our lives we are being lectured about how life is short and how time is gold and that it isn’t something to be wasted. There are two groups of opposing ideologies both revered by society as being infinitely wise yet not realising how cruelly contradicting they are. Do we sit and wait and be virtuous or should we hasten up the journey cramming everything in a second because life is short and death awaits us with an escort of regret smiling ever so scornfully to mouth the words “neener neener” because we haven’t done everything that we sought out to do?

In the midst of this human tragedy stands the girl who tries to fix her broken heart gathering up enough sanity to try and figure out how she is going to take the next step when the love of her life refuses to come back to her. Tears fill her eyes because somehow, crying is the only activity that her body can afford to perform at the moment. Her brain knows the answer and so does her heart, but what good can it do her when the love of her life chooses to torment her with the words “I don’t know what I want… I’m confused. Maybe. Someday. I don’t know. I need some space and time.”

Life is cruel. Somewhere, there’s a newborn baby taking a mouthful of air for the very first time and I am very jealous of the novelty of their life and the blankness of their slates. I wish I could live my life over, do things a bit differently, make smarter choices, stop and think and breathe. Maybe I wouldn’t be in so much pain. If we could all do that, maybe the world would be a happier place. If only life came with rewinds. 

pancake-less

The silence is broken by the pouring rain, the clang of kitchenware, the music from my laptop, and the dogs. The earth breathes out cold, damp air as the skies cry out in response and my sensitive feet freezes over. The absence of electricity drowns down my enthusiasm at getting my schoolwork done. The impending doom of Monday is hanging over my head and that dragging feeling of having to go to work makes the lazy monster creep out of its shell desperately trying to weaken my resolve at productivity. Damn you weather.

I absentmindedly sing along to the music. The angry wind starts lashing out and the trees respond with the same intensity. Knowing no fear, I sit calmly and listen. A sense of blissfulness wraps around me while the cold air bathes me in pain. The door slams.

pathologic procrastination

My head is filled with jumbled warnings and flashing red lights signaling the impending deadline I have to meet. My table is strewn with papers and note cards and stapled photocopies of documents that I need to work on immediately. The sense of urgency is weighing down on me yet my body refuses to snap out of this stupor. This all-too-familiar feeling of laziness and dread, of want and need, of sleep and sleeplessness.

I switched my phone on and checked my calender and a new wave of dread washes over me like cold sweat. I could hear the clock ticking and my professors' faces flash before my very eyes - tutting at me because I missed the deadline. I am having a nightmare and I am wide awake. I am Alice in Wonderland and I see the Cheshire Cat with his impish grin following me. I hear his voice in my ear saying something about festering wounds. Someone wake me up!

Put it off tomorrow. No, do it today. Leave me alone, why don't you?

the negative committee

This heavy feeling is weighing me down. I used to love entertaining the idea of permanence and stability. I looked forward to achieving it and my actions reflected that desire. The effort I put forth was magnanimous. I wanted it.

Now, tears are slowly sliding down my cheeks. This frustration is becoming far too overwhelming for me. You took away that sense of wonder that took me too long to nurture. It was finally there - I was finally there. You destroyed it.

There was a time when I would have welcomed the tiniest sliver of encouragement you could send my way. Somehow, I never expected you to encourage me to give up.