Going Away.

HERE

I sat on the floor abruptly without noticing the scissors slip out of my slim fingers. The childish sketch of mine stuck on the card waiting to dry and the pink beads half stuck on the sides, forgotten. Two nights ago, a lot of things changed. The way I felt in that moment, I still do. It circulates like the blood in my veins, at the back of my mind.I didn’t know there were so many things more to know about him when we both moved here to this dead city, which gave us so much life in return. Not that I wasn’t happy to discover all over again. I’d never know how he smells like in the mornings, how the fish he prepares tastes just like my Mother’s, how he watches the news every day. All these things I’d never know if we were just our 16 and 17 year old self back in our little town.

Now I wake up in the morning and suddenly it hits me, everything’s going to be different. It’s like sitting on a time bomb counting the days for it to explode and I know I’m not going to die but the wound will impair me all the same. I think I should pray but I don’t. I’m sitting here trying to find the reasons why I’m so afraid when I shouldn’t be. I’m wondering how I should begin telling you about it. I’ve told him I’m getting drunk on his birthday.

Between Mothers, Angels, and sluts.

HERE

Keeping someone else’s secret terrifies me more than my own. My relationship with KS remains embedded to where it began, while I watch everything around me and ‘us’ grow diversely. I’m uncertain as to whether I am gradually turning into my Mother or if everything around me is really as blunt as my feelings render. Most of the conversations that I have with my Mother turn into a debate. Last summer the first thing she said to me when she met me at the arrival terminal of the airport put me off and within the first 5 minutes of landing on home ground; I wanted to fly back in the same aircraft screaming. She made a senseless remark about my smoky eye makeup.

Thousands of conversations have taken place over the years and I can barely remember one where I thought her opinions were unbiased on popular demand. And after every ‘debate’ I’ve warned my older self to never turn into a cynic. Last night I got a first peek into my impending (horrifying) transformation when I convinced myself and Mimi that her ex-boyfriend will be sorry for going after a ‘slut’ who looked and sounded so much like an angel to him. Only that night, her antics were not too celestial. 

I’m a Tad too late but dropping in New Year wishes and also a Massive Thank You to everyone here for reading my blog and leaving lots of Love each time. It means so very much to me.

Thank You.

♡

When Dreams meet Reality.

I don’t remember his features but he was a fine-looking boy, someone who looked like he came right out of a movie, and would be incredibly out of my league. Imagine my surprise when he came with his brother, who was striking in his own way, and his father to talk to my Father.

I had nothing to say except I kept thinking about KS. I couldn’t wait to get out of the beautiful trap and tell him how this incredibly fine boy wanted me and how my parents were rooting for it. Silence made up for all the things that needed to be said. Then he walked into my dark room and in gradual speed extracted all the truth out of me. He decided to walk away at the unraveling of a ‘startling’ fact that I have someone else in mind. I begged him not to tell my Father and I don’t think he conformed. I’m not sure, but I remember being terrified at the thought of confronting my parents.

I woke up realizing how I had been lying to myself all these time telling myself that my biggest fear was mediocrity when there’s always been something else under the rug.

Once upon a time.

Here

Fragments of my fears resulted from all the summer evenings on the front yard of my Mother’s sister’s house 4 hours away from my town.

I’d sit down with my Mother, her sister (my aunt) and her daughter beside the Hibiscus shrubberies and listen to repetitive counsels on the importance of a ‘good’ life partner.

When I was young, my Mother would tell me bedtime stories – Gulliver’s Travels, Little Red Riding Hood, Buddha etc. She would sing lullabies too on many occasions.

Eventually the stories stopped as I grew and they were replaced by ‘vital’ advices every now and then.

It was on a winter night when I sat on the floor facing her on the bed that she told me a story just like the Little Red Riding hood except here, I wore the Red Cape.

She elaborated on the big bad wolf and how I should turn around and run if I ever encountered one.

My Fear then substantiated because I was already in Love with the big bad wolf, and he was beautiful.