mujhe beemar bana de
this day, I pray to be sicker than ever
(The author requests you to picture a person sitting in front of you, in a coffee shop and monologuing. Something akin to Cigarettes and Coffee by Paul Thomas Anderson. How it begins, you know?
and then, then we will talk
about making sense of the matter.
Once the coffee is poured, and the
tip of the cigarette is lit, and
placed in the ashtray, then, we
will address the matter. We focus
our attention when the time comes.
And then…)
…Woke up at five in the morning to walk my first walk of the year. It was too dark, drank a beer and went to bed until seven. Walked through narrow desire paths with the sun blooming every fifteen paces or so, through green leafy curtains looming over me. I couldn't gauge when the chill turned into the kind of heat that creeps inside your jacket and makes you jumpy. Drank another beer, walked back to buy the first milk and bread packets of the year.
When I walked back, I wasn't hoping for a miracle, so it was easy to get through the day.
The bed was the same. The same songs on repeat as I scrubbed my kitchen clean and did the laundry. I kept hoping for a portal to open up and eat me up. I don't want to exist at all, forget refurbishing the existing self to something new.
Last night I went to bed by nine, because I had nothing to do. I couldn't bear bearing witness to myself acting like a child, waiting to feel special and loved by friends. I do think I have proof that I am growing up; not once did I feel why should I text first, the phone works both ways. This is not where the evidence ends, or even begins. It appears in the aftermath – I abandoned my abandon with which I love people, and simply did not text anybody.
Part of it comes from the disgust my phone arises in me. I don't want to see anything on it anymore. The other part comes from the permanence of sadness that is settling within me with each passing day. It is going to be hard. Living, you know? I wake up everyday with a heart that is a rock heavier than the previous day. My gut, my heart, my uterus, it all feels the same. Everything hurts all the damn time, and nobody cares. I still get up, put on my lipstick and go to work. Everyday. That is a lot of days.
Some days I think of what Haider said weeks ago, something about me holding on to this job for so long. Did he say good for you, or proud of you?
I cannot recollect. But I think of it, and it serves as a reminder. To hold on I guess.
I feel like a ticking time bomb, but nobody else seems to notice it. Will they hear it when I go off? What if I'm the only one in the forest?
Maybe the phone will come handy then, to inform, to circulate my demise. Scatter my virtual ashes.
The first dream of the year is special. It sets the tone for the entire year. Hatsuyume is what the Japanese call it. I had a fairly decent dream… House-hunting and all. A nice house too, what I found. But maybe it doesn't mean what I want it to mean, maybe it means uprooting myself over and over, throughout the year.
I am past the point of believing that love is supposed to save me. This version of me that exists now, it is in conflict with everything I have been. I have nothing to offer to anybody anymore, I don't think I want anything anymore either.
But it's all about resolutions isn't it. I have a few. Notebooks to be filled. Name to be known. To be resolute. To not write juvenile pieces full of complains and despair. To stop letting the past affect me. The year is done, I have an excuse to move on. Move on, girl. Please.
Anyways, yeah.
(Curtains)
I started writing this piece because I could not go for a walk right now. Somewhere in the middle I fell asleep and woke up to a lizard by my bed, on the window. The entire day's weariness came crashing down and I started panicking. Now I'm on my bed with the lights on, after waking my coworker up to help shoo the lizard out. I'm still paranoid, still on the verge of tears. A small thing seems to be balancing everything on itself, and Fate/God/Universe/Chance plays a hand, topples everything over. My reptilian card caused the toppling, and now it's past two at night, with work at nine in the morning, and no sign of sleep.
I may be a different person in all the ways I mentioned, but I'm still hopeful in all the wrong ways. As long as that is constant, I will be hungry for all the wrong things and sit in the corner at parties, even if the party is for me. It's my cake but it's still not enough.
I was listening to songs that are like lullabies, and this one lyric just perfectly summarised everything I want. I cannot tell you exactly, but this is what I want.
उस तक पहुँचे ख़बर, आ मिलना है अगर, मुझे बीमार बना दे, ओए, रब्बा
let her know the news, come meet me if that's your will, make me sick my lord, oh make me truly sick!
Next time I see you, I'll be talking about the colour green. Or something else that will come up, like it invariably does.
Love,
Heera
💗💗💗