Set my Secret free.

HERE

Every summer my Mother and I talk about the little things like little people in a little town. Talking less and debating more, but hearing out each other nevertheless. Today I have a million and one thing to tell her and, God forbid, all hell will break loose.

I’ll be graduating in a month, after I turn 21 first and nothing tastes of independence more than telling her about the intricacies of certain things in my life. You’d think it’s easy because they say the truth will set you free, but it also shatters one into a million little pieces.

I’m not afraid about her reaction and the multiple coaxing to change my mind thereafter. I’m only very afraid that she will fail to see him the way I do. And the view from up here is breath-taking. Touch-wood.

I hate keeping secrets, especially mine.

I hate Goodbyes.

HERE

Have you ever been content with life, yet sad at the same time?

Yes you have.

Do you like that feeling?

No you don’t.

I play the same songs over and over again because it gives me a certain kind of satisfaction.

I like the monotony in life. Predictable is always safer.

But that doesn’t mean I am boring. Or perhaps I am, but I have followed my impulses too on more occasions than one and the outcomes have turned into memories.

I don’t classify them to good or bad because that is unfair.

So even when I whimper about a static life, chances are, I’m just trying to sound 'cooler'.

Because I don’t love anything more than knowing He is always here, with me.

Affectionate, Egoistic, Protective, offensive, Funny.

But always here.

And now he is leaving for 5 prolonged weeks, giving me all the time to come home straight after class.

Ph should be delighted.

Not Troubled.

SOURCE

When life is better, it gets boring.

I don’t have any more crises to agonize over.

Occasionally, Ph makes me wonder if it is possible to love and hate a person at the same time, but I choose not to dwell on it for long, knowing it’s for the best.

This stillness takes me back.

As a kid, I had a book with sketches of a woman and a man in each page.

The man would always be standing next to the woman.

One night my Mother asked me to stop drawing ‘such images’.

I stopped eventually, but not because she asked me too.

It never occurred to me why she said so then but now I do.

It was too ‘indelicate’ for a kid to harbour thoughts of a man and a woman and put it to ‘art’.

I’m not a sex maniac now, and never will be but I can never comprehend the drawings.

Hopes underneath the litle lies.

SOURCE

Tonight I’ll be talking to my Father about the vacation that I’m planning on going with KS and his brother. I need his cash and he is not likely to send me off with two boys that are ‘bad influence’. I need a credible excuse (read lie) to deliver, and I'm praying that he doesn’t ask for too many details, he isn’t all that gullible of a parent. So also not my Mother. After that I need to tell Ph and I’m apprehensive about her reaction. She knows about KS and I and pretends like she doesn’t. Because she wants me to believe that she trusts me. After I told her we were only friends and she stopped questioning. Even when there have been numerous instances where she has got a whiff of our liaison. Like one morning she realized I wasn’t home when I had sneaked out to spend the night with Him on the eve of his 21st birthday. It's like we are both waiting for an intervention of some kind, meanwhile faking everything till we get there. A small part of me wishes for her to she ask me just one more time so that I can tell her the truth, of the magnitude of his existence in my life. While the other prominent part is not prepared for any speed bump. Not Yet. And perhaps lying is easier than the possibilities of having being told that this Love is a mistake. My heart wouldn't be able to bear it. You would know.