Forgotten

It’s time to move on. Time to accept and let go. Time to forget.

Only, it’s not that easy.

Carefully I place it with all the old stuff. Fold the box close and seal it. Once. Twice. Thrice. So that not even the smallest of things peek out. Not even a fleck of dust enters.

It’s old. Has always been. But the fire has been alight all these years. Until now.

The wheels had been working extra hard. Turning extra fast. I was more adamant. Even more on fire. Alicia Keys couldn’t have said it better: She’s just a girl, and she’s on fire
Hotter than a fantasy, longer like a highway
She’s living in a world, and it’s on fire
Feeling the catastrophe, but she knows she can fly away But in the end nothing worked. One second it was hot and the next it was cold. Gone.

The musty smell gives me comfort. The cold keeps me warm. My legs will keep me standing and hands will keep me close.

Dust is in the air. Light peeks in through a crack in the window. And guides me across the room. Glitter swims before my eyes. Particles of forgotten things. Clothes, books, tables, chairs…dreams. The box is heavy in my hands. I’m losing feeling in my arms from the weight in my hands. They falter and shake. White to the core from the pressure. All circulation lost. Just as well. Time to say goodbye. Time to move on.

Moo Moo Milk Man Have you any Milk Yes sir, yes sir 3 Bags full

 

Moo Moo Milk Man

Have  you any Milk

Yes sir, yes sir

3 Bags full

I know when this month begins, because my dad carries in 3 bags of milk with him. And it isn’t just ordinary milk. Nope. Its sweetened to core and what swims in is jello. Yes, lots and lots of jello. While the thought of jello excites, the mixture of it in milk – not so much. Where does this come from? Why does my dad bring this home? Excellent questions, with sort of simple answers. It’s over at my grandfather’s house that this milk contraption is made in abundance. To be distributed within the family and maybe outside (not quite sure) and apparently according to my dad we HAVE to drink it. I still have no idea why. And the last question – he apparently enjoys it OR claims to enjoy it. I just know he won’t have more than one glass, AT ALL!

So, this lovely concoction was placed on my bedside, while i was trying to study ( mind you parents, you’re good at disturbing me while i study…and then you berate me about not studying…hmm) and was politely told to drink. Obviously my nose smelt the drink before it even entered the vicinity that i call my humble abode and familiar memories of the sickly sweet taste of it were rejuvenated. I mentally cringed, because there was no way i was going cringe while my father was in the room as it would only lead to one of many lectures about food.

When i said no, he said it better be finished and how it was important that i drank it ALL. So, i did. Gulped it down. Choked. Then gulped some more. All the while hoping that i didn’t puke. I can feel the bits of jello floating in my stomach, bumping against each other.

Note to self: MAKE THE REMAINING BAGS OF MILK DISAPPEAR! Stealth very much needed.

Words of Wisdom Lay Etched on Her Skin…Stories Untold

My grandmother was a woman of purpose. A self-sufficient and independent woman who liked to do things on her own. That is one of the things that i admire most about her. In her dainty, frail hands was strength and courage. The wrinkles that adorned her skin were stories of the past. Stories that had me sitting in awe and begging for more.

It was my grandmother who taught me the art of pressing flowers. Her love for preserving the beauty, in a different more mesmerising form, was transferred to me. Her love for nature became my own and i found life among the flowers, trees and mountains. The grass spoke out to me, whispering sweet nothings. The trees swayed to the song of the wind and i twirled with a sole hibiscus and the breeze in my hair.

Weekly stories of her past, that i begged for her to recall in agonising detail i looked forward to. Her past. The life she lived in a Hogwarts of her own made my mouth hang agape. She would close it, laughing at the possibility that a fly might find its way in. Her laugh, a melody more sweeter than a bird’s song. It still resonates through my ears. Her cold fingers that mine encompassed in warmth.

There was something very prim and proper about her, which unfortunately i did not inherit. Not a single strand of hair out of place. Her saris pressed and ironed to perfection, not a single crease in sight. Her bed made, not a single corned un-tucked  that is till it saw the sight of me. She berated my mother about my carelessness and apparent laziness. Yes, my room still remains a mess.

I don’t quite know how i got through that initial phase of disbelief and loss. But i did. I think it had something to do with her. She never left my side, even though she was no longer physically present. She appeared in my dreams, a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Or going about her garden up keeps. But she was there even if she wasn’t.

 

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When they purposely push your buttons

I like to think I am a peace loving person. I have the peace signs and everything. But then again I have been in my fair share of fights and while I was only standing my ground then and believing in what I thought right, I can’t not say that I didn’t receive any battle scars. That I didn’t come out unscathed. Because it won’t be true.

So, in the middle of the year I made myself a resolution, no matter how far New Year’s Eve was, and promised myself that I would stay clear of fights like it were the plague. And so far, it’s been going great.

Like I said, so far. But recently it’s been proving quite difficult. Want to know why? Because they are purposely pushing my buttons. Banging on the door of my anger and telling them to wake up from their hibernation. And yes, it grumbles and growls like an angry bear disturbed from his sleep and I’m not doing a pretty good job at keeping it at bay.

Now, it isn’t those enemies that provoke me. Nope. It’s those close to me. They tend to overlook the fact that I too am a human with feelings, just like them. If it’s not okay for them to get hurt and not okay for someone to be rude and mean to them, then it needs to apply to me too. I guess I am partly to blame for this behaviour. I think when I took on my peace stance I started to overlook such behaviour, when it was to a minimum mind you, and I guess I gave them the leeway to be this way with me. You know what they say, if they’re rude to you today who says they won’t be tomorrow. (Now I don’t know who says that, but I’ve only ever heard one person say that to me.)

Okay, let’s give them the benefit of the doubt, shall we? Maybe they were having an off day. Yeah, it’s completely fine to take out your frustrations and anger on those close to you! I may be a punching bag, as it seems, but at some point I’m going to start fraying where your fist meets me. Then, it’s completely okay to go about nothing happened a few minutes later. NO IT’S NOT! I NEED for you to apologize and mean it. Like I said, I’m fraying. Do NOT assume that just because we’re close that I’m going to take all of this. Yes, I have in the past but you really are waking a sleeping animal. There will come a point where I will stop caring about you and everything we had will start fading away. It’s already getting blurry on the edges.

I did keep my anger at bay. Yes, I was seething and I wanted to give them a piece of my mind. But I didn’t. I just ignored. I will ignore them till I feel like. Till I can get over this and toss the anger out. At least the majority of it. I was hurt. Still am. But if they think that they can hurt over things that you can’t even get hurt over, then so can I.

Stop purposely pushing my buttons so that I fight with you. Stop trying to provoke me.

November

 

November

The air becomes chilly

Makes you shiver in your summer clothes

Time to pack those away

Say goodbye for now

Days become shorter

Nights longer

There is serenity in the atmosphere

Peace

Quiet

The clouds at dusk are a glimmer of periwinkle

Fog shrouds the ground

You wrap yourself further

The sleeves of your sweater stretched to the core

And sip away into the warmth of the cup

There comes a time

There comes a time in life when you’re tired. And you want to give up. Or at least not make as much effort as needed. When dreaming about how things could have gone is the only way you know that what you did was just take the easy way out because you were tired.

There really is no explanation for this sudden tiredness. There are just some things that you tend to purposely overlook because avoiding them and acting like they never happened is so much easier then confronting them. People are very much like that. I know that now. Because i am tired. I’ve started overlooking certain things. Certain habits that my heart tells me to speak out against because it causes me immense pain but my brain rationalises that i am much too tired to really care.

So, what you start doing is piling your problems and worries and opinions. Write them on separate parchments of paper, roll them and securely tuck them away in a bottle. And when the sea is rough enough you just let them go. Float away from you. Taken away by the tides. Because you were far too tired to actually sit, talk and change.

No, i’m not talking about the big things. I’m talking about the small things that people do. And you don’t bring it up because even though you’re hurt you don’t want to get into a fight, an argument or a disagreement. Keeping quiet is easier than wasting energy that no longer seems to be there. You just take it all quietly. There are no tears anymore. The tear ducts have remained dry for quite some time. It’s almost like you’re immune. Vaccinated against them. Your body has the white blood cells to fight such instances. It’s there to protect you. And that is all you can expect from it.

You laugh it off. Shrug it off. They say no offense and sometimes they don’t even realise what they’ve said. But neither of those times make it easier. No it doesn’t get less painful but you learn to tuck it away. Lock it in a far corner of your mind and only ever take it out to finally dispose of it in a sea of endless of blue. A sea of depths unknown.

And all you can do is tuck that loose strand behind your ear, smile and look away. Yes, you do hope that they realise. But then your heart tells to not get your hopes up because if they haven’t realised it till now, chances are they are going to stay oblivious for the rest of their lives. I made the mistake of speaking up once and only learned that they have more excuses to back themselves up. They don’t see the wrong in themselves but instead find it in you. And it is then that you learn that you’re tired and you want to give up. Yes, i am TIRED. And there is only so much i can do.

Dear You,

Dear You,

I know there have been times when you’ve felt un-loved, ugly and just downright invisible. But there is something you need to know. You are none of those things. Within you is a voice fiercer than a lion’s roar that speaks of love and rights and the brighter things of life. If they don’t love you, then they don’t deserve you. You are quiet and reserved but because you have untold stories that you save for those that matter. So what if you’re not that loud individual that has the attention of people in the palm of their hands, you are your own person. Your own you. You are gorgeous and those who don’t see it are blind. Your beauty resonates from every inch of your skin and bursts from within you. And that my friend is all that matters.

You are the pink hue in the sunrise that encompasses everyone’s attention and leaves them in awe. You are the green in the sky that one has a hard time capturing. You are a book of untold stories just waiting to be read. Exclusive to only those who take the time out to pick you up, flip the pages of your life and make a genuine effort to know who you are. And if they don’t, then sweetie, don’t waste your tears on them. They were never worth them. Remember, they only make you a stronger and wiser person. You just know after a while who is worth it or not and that is all that matters.

You have dreams, they scream. Louder than a baby’s first cry. Louder than thunder in a storm. Respect. They respect you. And they trust you. And they come to you. Your smile is something they yearn to see because it brings forth with it a brighter day. She said your smile stops them in their tracks. You’ve never seen it, but you take her word for it. And that is all that matters.

                                                                                                                        Love, Me.