Well, families are always complicated for starters. Committing to something you are born into is not an easy job unless there's nothing you want with your life that isn't already there within your reach, within your family. And for most of us, we are on the side with little or less luck. But there's always something to look up to.
...combined with a tired body. That. That is the definition of hard work for me. Definitely the life that I dream of..
Not luxury. Not Fashion. No such BS.
Just pure brute strength and clear intellect, hand in hand, living with Mee in a beautiful home surrounded by nature, birds and ofcourse cats!! And occasionally I would go to town festivals and enjoy the sunset with a crowd too ignorant to realize it's beauty. To be alone I would excuse myself in the name of ice cream, or to tie my laces and lose myself in the crowd and then sneak away to a quiet invisible corner and watch the darn sunset in all its hues of orange and mourning red. And every four days I would commit myself to the community by aiding and abetting the miserable, the one's who've lost hope in life... and rescue little baby girls and orphaned kittens and nurture them until they are big and strong. I would teach the girls to take care of themselves and find jobs to live their lives and the kittens would grow up into little daredevils who would sneak away from home every now and then and bring me a fish from where the river and the waterfall meet, close-by. I will not marry by chance but by choice and we would fight, me and my husband, like little children and then cry in each others arms and hug each other to sleep only to wake up to see each other's faces and remember the fight all over again but then ...the sun creeping through the dainty white curtains would tempt us to forgive each other so that we'd have company to enjoy the rest of the day (with)...
They came, one after the other, until my eyes couldn't number them. Beautiful women harmonizing in rich baritones. Their mutli-coloured saris stirring my oppressed shrouded heart. And then a drum beat, a slow beat first and they broke into richly clad butterflies gliding on air, crooning a tragedy of yesteryear's bigotry. The beating picked up a rhythm. My heart somersaulted in my throat.
I held his hands tighter. He tapped his one foot, then the other. His eyes, a rich colour of soft tender browns. I felt my love bursting through. And then their breathing intensified and now they were graceful gazelles prancing flawlessly and the rhythm and the ghungroo and the sweat blended into an expression of freedom.
They twirled. Hips swaying, their mehendi bony hands taking form, Kohl doe eyes half shut and I was drunk and I felt drunk and my heart impatiently stirred again as Liberation, fresh as vermilion, unknotted the last taut fear in my uterus. Almost in a trance, I blurted out,
"I have a fig tree for a uterus. Does that make me less a woman?"
The air crackled. My nape bristled and my uterus kicked. Sometime ago, the divine beating had stopped and I felt all eyes on me, holding their breaths.
But I was deep staring into a pair of cold judgemental eyes clouded in disappointment before the last remaining dregs of brown like coffee disappeared into a thick veil of contempt.
imagine a bird. broken beak and bleeding gums. claws towelled in blood. feathers scattered on the floor. bruised hope. failed attempts. staring into the oblivion. crashing into the terrors of the dark. feeling blue. flap flap flap. staggered breath. unable to take flight. imagine it as a last fleck of hope stomped down by a passerby. no more fluttering. only silence.
that bird is me. i'm that bird. and i'm dead tired of the inability to love myself. it's almost tragic. i continue to torture myself with toxic thoughts - enough to give me a cardiac arrest. "calm the fury. be happy. what part of it do you not understand?". i long for an answer. i genuinely do. i am spaced out. on the edge of death. and the urge to give up is brewing stronger with every passing day. i don't know where to begin. i wonder what it'd be like to love unconditionally just for a day. to feel the same being reciprocated. or even the half of it. but the reality is so much to bear. i'm flat out exhausted and there's not a scrap of energy left in me to soften the gelid body - residue of a soul that was long dead.
i keep dreaming of dying when all i really wish for is to be free. from the guilt hovering my mind. the noose around my neck. sometimes i feel hands around my neck. it's suffocating. i can visualise myself lying on the floor. in fragments of anxiety and anger. i am breathing but i'm not alive. i can't tell the difference, honestly. i'm losing everything i once daringly built. and i can't put an end to any of it. cause i'm my own destructor - with daggers in both my hands and a crown made of thorns working against me.
my heart is a giant pit and there are too many wounds and holes to fill. while i eagerly wait to watch my petals blossom, i'm breathless. and convinced that i'm gonna wither away. it's one of those nights when i wish someone could sing me to sleep. it's been so long i've closed my eyes. i fear i'll never open them again if i do.
i want to draw a heart and fill it with colours. blue. pink. purple. and yet, all i manage to draw is a pair of eyes with tears trickling down. and smudged mascara concealing tales of its own. i lost a track of triggers. everything makes me insecure lately. pricks my will. i catch myself crying and i don't remember why. my head hurts. my jaw hurts. my chest hurts. everything hurts. everything. i'm not sure if death could get any worse. i carry the weight of my sadness and it keeps feasting on me. there's a knot in my throat. it feels wrong. everything feels wrong. it all feels so heavy. i never knew how to take care of my heart. it's a shame that i still don't.
i took myself for granted. it has become a habit now. i traded my peace for nothing. from the moment sun rises to the moment it sets, i'm waist deep in my thoughts. consumed by the wave of overwhelming emotions. and i don't know what i feel anymore. it feels like i'm lying on my deathbed. chin up, back straight. they say "stop crying" oh well. i can't talk. i can't move. my bones are damaged. and so am i. it's terrible at night. there's a noise haunting me, nudging me to prod the dagger straight into my rib cage. i try to look past it, hoping for it to disappear. but it's still here. mourning for a mysterious death. and i think to myself, "how long will i pretend to be alive before i ultimately boil and die?". there are no answers. only silence.