It isn't life which weighs us down - Its the way we carry it.
I heard the sound of rain pattering on my window as I got ready to hit the sack. In front of the mirror I sat, trying to untangle the punitive snarls my hair had acquired during the day. It turned out to be a futile attempt. But anything. to keep me distracted. I gave up and made my way towards the bed. And naturally I was asleep within two minutes.
It was morning already. The sunlight streaming through the window- lingered on my face. I cringed my eyes and propped a pillow on my face. 'too early'- I muttered to myself, and tossed, averting myself from the light. Futile again. I knew that sleep had abandoned me- as I lay wide awake, staring at the wall.
There, on that wall hung my world. Captured, conjured and desired. The faces in the snapshots smiled at me exuberantly. Clearly some were frowning too. But they were my people. and then there were my paintings. Most of them precarious of themselves- meaningless. while some were a mere illustration of my wishes. I talk of the one in which I stood smiling gleefully next to batman. This was my world.
With these people, it wasn't about trying to belong to them or to their world-trying to fit. But. this was a world which belonged to me. They were a part of me.
Then why...?
I lay there- absolutely motionless, contemplating. The noise of birds chirping the song of a new day came into the room mixed with the purrs of car engines rearing with life as the glided past. Everything seemed...complacent. I decided to get up. Sitting there, I scrutinized my room.
right across me sat a chair which was guzzled with heaps of clothes. On to its right was sprawled a mighty bookshelf full of my treasures. I observed the perfectly aligned books with a gap between them here and there. I noticed the strips and sheets of paper perched or pinned in between anything and everything. Reminders, notes or more of my drawings, they were. I also spotted a page from my mother's recipe book which I had surreptitiously torn off in order to ready a birthday cake for her.
Smiling, I cocked my head to the other side of the room . One of the vibrantly covered doors of my closet was open, to which were clinging a few blouses of mine. I heaved an involuntary sigh. Contributing to this mess, were my 'cosmetics' which were strewn across the dressing table.
I huffed. This room, I thought, was due for cleaning since eons. I tried setting it into order the other day-futile attempt it was.
As I sat there running my hands through my hair, my gazed dropped on them.
They were stacked together in a pile which lay in the farthermost end of the table. I felt the absurd pain which sprang in the pit of my stomach. The sight those letters, his letters unearthed all the pain. I felt the staggering grief gripping me slowly. It crawled over from the toes of my feet till the crown of my head- washing away all other emotions.
I wrapped my arms around myself...trying to hold on. How long has it been since that happened? Months.
I could hear my heart thudding against the rib cage, I hold on to my self tighter. With every bit of determination I had at my disposal, I ripped my gaze from those envelopes. I inhaled a deep breath as I got out of the bed. Standing there in the middle of my room wondering how it had taken every ounce of my conscience and willpower to build a mental block in my brain- barring the forbidden memories which were now sprouting again in my mind. But of course. It was a futile attempt.
Still wrapped on to myself, I ambled to the side table. I picked up the bottle of sleeping pills from it and hid it under my mattress. And with that I made way out of the room to make another futile attempt on life.
I heard the sound of rain pattering on my window as I got ready to hit the sack. In front of the mirror I sat, trying to untangle the punitive snarls my hair had acquired during the day. It turned out to be a futile attempt. But anything. to keep me distracted. I gave up and made my way towards the bed. And naturally I was asleep within two minutes.
It was morning already. The sunlight streaming through the window- lingered on my face. I cringed my eyes and propped a pillow on my face. 'too early'- I muttered to myself, and tossed, averting myself from the light. Futile again. I knew that sleep had abandoned me- as I lay wide awake, staring at the wall.
There, on that wall hung my world. Captured, conjured and desired. The faces in the snapshots smiled at me exuberantly. Clearly some were frowning too. But they were my people. and then there were my paintings. Most of them precarious of themselves- meaningless. while some were a mere illustration of my wishes. I talk of the one in which I stood smiling gleefully next to batman. This was my world.
With these people, it wasn't about trying to belong to them or to their world-trying to fit. But. this was a world which belonged to me. They were a part of me.
Then why...?
I lay there- absolutely motionless, contemplating. The noise of birds chirping the song of a new day came into the room mixed with the purrs of car engines rearing with life as the glided past. Everything seemed...complacent. I decided to get up. Sitting there, I scrutinized my room.
right across me sat a chair which was guzzled with heaps of clothes. On to its right was sprawled a mighty bookshelf full of my treasures. I observed the perfectly aligned books with a gap between them here and there. I noticed the strips and sheets of paper perched or pinned in between anything and everything. Reminders, notes or more of my drawings, they were. I also spotted a page from my mother's recipe book which I had surreptitiously torn off in order to ready a birthday cake for her.
Smiling, I cocked my head to the other side of the room . One of the vibrantly covered doors of my closet was open, to which were clinging a few blouses of mine. I heaved an involuntary sigh. Contributing to this mess, were my 'cosmetics' which were strewn across the dressing table.
I huffed. This room, I thought, was due for cleaning since eons. I tried setting it into order the other day-futile attempt it was.
As I sat there running my hands through my hair, my gazed dropped on them.
They were stacked together in a pile which lay in the farthermost end of the table. I felt the absurd pain which sprang in the pit of my stomach. The sight those letters, his letters unearthed all the pain. I felt the staggering grief gripping me slowly. It crawled over from the toes of my feet till the crown of my head- washing away all other emotions.
I wrapped my arms around myself...trying to hold on. How long has it been since that happened? Months.
I could hear my heart thudding against the rib cage, I hold on to my self tighter. With every bit of determination I had at my disposal, I ripped my gaze from those envelopes. I inhaled a deep breath as I got out of the bed. Standing there in the middle of my room wondering how it had taken every ounce of my conscience and willpower to build a mental block in my brain- barring the forbidden memories which were now sprouting again in my mind. But of course. It was a futile attempt.
Still wrapped on to myself, I ambled to the side table. I picked up the bottle of sleeping pills from it and hid it under my mattress. And with that I made way out of the room to make another futile attempt on life.
Well except for this being written beautifully and straight from your heart, I guess there are these attempts, seemingly pointless at first though. And sometimes, a fork stuck in the road. :)
ReplyDeleteI'm Becoming addicted to your stories!
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