This Is Just Me Letting Go

"But I love him"
“So love him.”
 “But I miss him.” “So miss him. Send him some love and light every time you think about him, then drop it."
~~~~

Being with you was comfortable. I was just discovering my type after vowing I was done with cocky, insecure heartbreakers. You were perfect. The right amount of bashful shy, amazingly funny and breathtakingly beautiful. I was blind to it first bit I got there.

Ii needed someone human, a guy who wouldn't chase me and pull back when he reels. I knew you'd never leave me, only because you'd never bait me in the first place.

But I never imagined that being a problem. Was I to know you'd be the first guy I'd ever make out with more than 15 minutes at a stretch in peace? No rush no ripping. Was I to know I'd miss your smooth voice and stupid jokes nicknaming everything? Your sheer innocence and man-child (yes I'm still calling it that) attitude?

But this is me finally accepting feeling, and feeling deeply I am. All the years of shadowing and closing off and cowering and hurting. I take it all in. Read me I'm your favourite book. I'm not afraid of loving, I have too much to give. Too many faces to see smiling, too many hugs to give out.

This is me taking back myself because I need emotion, I need love, and I need someone who is not afraid of it, because I am never going to be anymore. This is me letting you go with a smile and sending you love each time I think of you.

This is me accepting.

Homestretch

Do people ever get tired of not being good enough? The infamous jack-of-all-trades? When you know you worked hard but just didn't give your all? 

Trying, but never enough. Crying, but never enough.

Lacking.

You've been slogging your ass off, running in the sweltering sun, round and round and round. The same lap. Over and over again. The daily grind.

You see vestiges of the finish line but you realise it's a mirage. Can endings be ephemeral? Aren't they supposed to be final? Isn't that what it's supposed to mean? Lasting, indefinite, irreversible, eternal, constant. The responsible, punctual kid that I'll never be. 

Then, what happened?

You know you see the finish line this time, you can't be wrong. It's a tangible sense of victory you know you're going to hold in your hand soon enough. There it is. One more step, you trip and fall.

Always were a clumsy one, they said.

School ending was supposed to be a good thing but endings aren't real.

The home in the title is making me sick. I need to move.

What Am I Doing With You?

Do you remember that time when we were sitting and laughing in the taxi while travelling the whole city trying to find that one book you wanted? Of course you do, you remember everything I say.

It wasn't even particularly funny, being with you made everything seem happier.
We started laughing together but I was the one to stop first. I was breathless.
I looked into your face, eyes crinkled, chest moving with laughter and your lips forming a perfect curve of a smile.

I stared into your eyes. You looked straight out of a picture years out of school in some old closet, hitting you with nostalgia. 

Time froze. My heart was beating so fast. I was so nervous.
Then you squished in my cheeks with your hand, I felt my heart was a bird crashing against its cages.

What am I doing with you?

Let me sleep without dreaming of your kisses, let me breathe without inhaling your memories. Let me survive an hour without talking to you.

You are a basic need to my survival. I can never tell you I love you enough in a day.

What do you want from me?

You make me dream about all the places we'd go, all the things we'd do. You tell me I'm your number one. You tell me you love me. You are the last person I talk to and the one I wake up to. You don't even do anything without telling me first. You've seen every hill and valley of my life.

Then you go and tell me about the girls you like. You talk about her and her and her. 

Why are you doing this to me?

Acceptance

This was an essay I wrote in answer to the question - What major issue do you notice in your community? 

I wrote it keeping in mind mostly the teenagers I meet or observe on a regular basis around me or online. I edited it here and there to make a bit more relevant to this blog which is why the ending looks a bit off, I might take care of that later. I hope you like it.

I believe acceptance can be applied to the root of almost every problem in our community, or the lack thereof. Whether it be with one’s own self or towards other, I think lack of acceptance in our society stems a lot of difficulties in the bigger picture.
Lack of acceptance within one’s own self gives rise to self-hatred and unnecessary self-pity. it is popularly known that both these vices not only cause a distorted view of our own self image but also of others. Those with hatred and feeling of helplessness inside themselves see it manifesting itself into everything they see around them.
we cannot struggle with reality. we have to learn to accept it. Acceptance does not mean that you are happy with the way things are, it means you are at peace with it and willing to change it for the better if you can. Self acceptance leads to a new life with new possibilities that did not exist before.
Social acceptance is accepting others as they are, including their varying personal beliefs, ethnic backgrounds, religions, and political standpoints. Problem with lack of social acceptance is that most people fail to recognize that not everyone will abide by them in their personal ideals.
When society lacks acceptance, it gives rise to wars, spats, discrimination, racism and other negative factors.
The only way to tackle this problem is by chanhing the people themselves. This can only be done with the help of education and byraising awareness.  Education eliminates ignorance, which helps us too see the world and everyone in it with different eyes and appreciate things we never did before.

Awareness, like education, will also make people distinguish between what is true and false. 

Rhonda Jones (Short Story)

I always knew there was something strange going on with Rhonda. Maybe it was the ever present distant look in her eyes that made me ponder so or maybe it was her frequent absences from school.  Nevertheless, it came as a shock to everyone when she blew out her brains with her dad's .44 Magnum.  She did always talk about going out with a bang. 

I never could have thought of taking it in the literal sense, of course. 

The signs are often laid out in plain sight, demanding to be heard, but not a soul pays heed.

Rhonda Jones wasn’t a goth or a punk, she didn’t have a disarrayed family and she wasn’t a lonely nerd. Rhonda Jones was the charismatic, beautiful all-round achieving girl that people think only exist in movies or in dreams. Which is why people stared unbelievingly when they first heard of her suicide.

She used to live 2 blocks down the street from me. We'd been together since the time she moved into our neighbourhood with her family from Nottingham when she was six. Though, we failed to preserve the close bond we had as kids as we grew older. Before anyone could notice, our frequent playdates that used to ultimately stretch to sleepovers transitioned into rare hello's in the school hallways.

I still remember the sound of the bullet shooting out from the gun when she pulled the trigger.

I still hear the bang in my nightmares and watch myself running to the source all the while thinking how good of a story it would be to tell Rhonda.

I still am struck with flashbacks of the sirens of the ambulance, the shriek of her mother, the silent sobs of her father and the curious prying eyes of the neighbours.

And I still invariably shudder when I remember myself standing under the oak tree that stands in front of Rhonda’s room, wishing with all my might that it wasn’t what I expected, that it wasn’t whom I expected.

Silently, I shook violently as I saw the plight of her body lying lifelessly on a stretcher, blood still pouring out of numerous indiscernible sources - her nose, her head, her mouth. Even her eyes seemed to be crying tears of blood.

That image has been stuck with me forever. Not a day has passed, when I don’t suddenly remember it. every minute I spend laughing with others, I spend in guilt when I'm alone. Thinking and pondering on what-ifs. 

What if I had done something sooner?

What if I had tried to make an effort to salvage our relationship earlier?

What if I had acted upon those signs instead of playfully dismissing them? 

What if I had paid more attention, tried to rise my head up from my ceaseless self-absorption?

I don't know why she killed herself and I never will. All I can hold on to are the summer days we spent under her oak tree when we were children. When we didn't and couldn't care, living in a place stuck in spring with blooming flowers and exquisitely coloured butterflies.

Rhonda Jones dissipated the pain and turmoil by dividing and distributing it to three other people to carry.

Her parents and me.

Shatter and Clatter (Short Story)

7:42 pm

"I'm sorry. Please, Jake. Please stop, I'm sorry!"

"NO! LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. LOOK AT WHAT HAS BECOME OF US! IS THIS WHAT YOU HAD WANTED, BITCH?!"

Shatter and clatter, I hear sobs and shouts. With every syllable escalating in its decibel, I shudder and cringe.

"I told you I'm sorry!" She sobs. Her voice cracking. "Sarah can hear you. She is only a child. Don't do this to her. Don't do this to us. Please stop, I beg you!!"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I HAVE HAD FUCKING ENOUGH OF THIS HOUSE. I KNOW ABOUT ALL OF YOUR PLANS YOU SLY WHORE!"

"Jake, I swear to God I didn't do anything. Ple-Please, Jake, please! DON'T TOUCH ME! STOP IT!"

I hear her gut-wrenching cries from under my blanket. I have heard people say that once you experience something on the daily, you become accustomed to it. I never understood why this particular daily house activity couldn't sink and wear down to the accustomed ones.

2:17 am

"C'mon, honey. Time to wake up," I hear my mum hush to me, waking me from my stupor.

"Mummy it's still dark outside. Why do I have to wake up in the night?"

"We're going to a nice place. Put on your coat quickly, sweetie," she says to me kissing the top of my head.

I can hear her breathing hard and fast. She's almost shaking as she clasps my hand tightly. We tip-toe across shards of broken glass and splinters of wood. Beer bottle glass, whiskey bottle glass, tables and chairs. A shattered photo frame here and there occasionally. All in ruins.

She didn't have to tell me to keep quiet or anything. I was smart enough to understand what was happening even if I was only 5. I'd been dreaming of this moment for a long time now. It's exhilarating to feel that my wishes were finally coming true. Maybe there is a God after all.

Once we are through the gate, mum spins around towards me, grabs my shoulders tightly and says, "Now remember, baby. We have to walk as fast as we can to Rosewell Street. We can't stop at all. I know it's a long way but we can do it. I have a rental there and then we can be free. Sarah, we can be as free as the birds." 
As free as the birds. I don't know why but that line makes me start bawling suddenly. I can't believe it. Our freedom is so close; it's almost like an unachievable dream.

"Mum, I can do it."
"Oh, my little girl, I never doubted it." She kisses my hands.

3:58 am

"I can see it, ma. I can see it!"
"Shh, I know."

It was old beat-up car. Hell, the only other thing I remember about it is that it was blue. That's it. Not that I even cared at all. Though, looking back now, I would like to know what kind it was.

We run to the car with elated hearts. Freedom is so close.

We have been in the car for barely 5 minutes when mum notices something odd in the mirror. Her brows furrow in worry and concentration. I look back to see it what it is.
It's a red Camry. Our red Camry. 
 I KNOW ABOUT ALL OF YOUR PLANS YOU SLY WHORE!
Oh. . . .

I can feel all the blood drain out of my body. I have goosebumps on my arms. My heart is racing and it's not from the running. 
Is this what true terror feels like?
My mother is speeding the car to escape dad. She's in so much of a hurry that she all but forgets about the still slick road from the rain. Our car crashes into a tree. Before my eyes close, I see a hint of a smirk in the rear view mirror of the car.

Our freedom is here.