Epiphany

She sat in her favourite corner, knees bent, coffee within reach, notepad and pencil ready, with serenity on her face.

“Today, I set you free. And in doing so, I set myself free.

I am clear now in my head of where I am and where I want to be. I certainly do not want to be tied to you and definitely do not want you to feel obliged to me.

Today, I put to rest all the fallacies I believed in, the made-up life in my head, the slights and faults that were mine, the concern and understanding that were yours.

I chose you to love, but you weren’t in that relation; you knew where you stood. I was the one who chose to hope.

Today, I have clarity. Today, when my mind is open and free of illusions, let me do the needful and cast aside all the wishful thinking I have been indulging in.

This is what it is, and whatever ‘this’ is, is all that will ever be. You never claimed to offer more, you will do nothing to change it and I would certainly not allow anything to happen. Cowards never thrive.

I have taken off the rainbow glasses that magnified everything you did and have begun to view them practically, untainted, without prejudice. And then they seem harmless, ordinary, very everyday.  

So, why dwell in misery and wonder about all the has beens that could have been and all the maybes that never will be.

You are precious, but you are not the reason I live. And now that I know where to fit you in, I carry no burden.

I set you free.

I set myself free.”    

Another death

Another death, another abandonment. Maybe having her sister around had kept Lena rooted for life. Now she was drifting, making even more bad choices and not bothering to rectify them. She was living with the consequences of her bad actions.

What was the use? Every attempt she made at change backfired sooner or later. If making an effort brought her no results, took her inevitably back from where she was trying to emerge, why then should she have to suffer through the false sense of hope and empowerment that the transitory period brought?

Lena was damaged. She was falling apart. There was no healing even in her pain. At each tragic junction of her life, she found herself standing outside Chloe’s door. Shattered, ruined, troubled or looking for solace, Chloe was her answer. Chloe always knew what to do. Even as a child, Lena always felt protected, not so much because of her parents or her other siblings, but because of her sister who was ever ready to bail her out of trouble. It felt weird not having her around. It was disconcerting because even with their differences, Chloe was the only one who sought after her. For most of her life, she felt that suffocating hold that belonging to a family of successful people brought. She resented it even—and for all her rebelliousness, her reveling in her ordinariness and her troubles with the law, being with Chloe meant breathing in a space that was not tinctured with judgement, disapproval or even expectation.

Which is why being a disappointment was easy. At least to the rest of the world. But Chloe represented something more to Lena. She was her lodestar, the constant, the only person who held on to her simply because she was family. Being the cause for Chloe’s troubles always hurt but who else would take her in, feed her, pay off her bills and then some more, who else would let her sleep in their lap and run their fingers in her hair and tell her that she was loved, she was precious, she was wanted? Older siblings were meant to be a role model, but it was Chloe who took on that role—of being older than her years and more of a role model.

As far as she could remember, her sister was the reason she even made an attempt to get her life in some kind of order. She was the only person Lena could claim to have loved honestly, the only person she never wanted to let go. There were so many people who claimed to love her, understand her but they all easily gave up on her. Not that Lena made it easy for them to trust her. She tried their patience and she tried them some more. And the ones who somehow made it through her troubles with her, she walked out on them. It was an old tale. Acceptance begets love, love begets expectation, expectation begets disappointment, disappointment begets hate.

But not Chloe; she knew what Lena was trying to do and somehow went through it all. And now there was no Chloe and she was to blame. The family was right—there was no sense in pitying her. Lena certainly did not pity herself. Her sister died trying to sort out her mess and how did she repay that unquestioning love? So souped up was she in the deadly cocktail of drugs, drinks and pills that she did not even make it for the funeral. Chloe would have forgiven her, would have welcomed her but she wasn’t here now, was she? There was no reason to even try.

Now as she stood at the tombstone that marked where her guardian angel slept, she didn’t even have tears to give to someone who gave her her all. 

A familiar longing

It had been too long since she felt like this. An overpowering urge to hold on to him and never let go. To let him in and keep him there. With her. Forever.

Every time she looked at him, she felt it. She had no idea what she was looking for. But it was something. Something that would fulfil this terrible need within her. It was something that chanted Mine. Mine. Mine to her all the time, whenever he was around, asking her to take that leap, to break free from whatever bonds were holding her back. What they had now was incredible, but not enough. Even with the mixed signals, by turns hot, dismissive and then nothing. Even with the arguments, the stand-offs and the fury at each other. It was there – that tug to see where it would lead, even if it did not fit the neat little boxes she had made of her life.

The thought of distance, of loneliness, of regret – something had suddenly snapped within, letting all the pent-up frustration come rushing out.

He was right there, just within her grasp. All she needed to do was reach out and he would respond. She could see it in his eyes. She needed to shut out caution, for just this one instance – to voice out aloud a simple Yes. Please.

Death comes as the end

Another assignment shared by J. 

Write a story (or part of a story) about a relatively young person (let's say under 40 years old) who will die soon. Only, s/he has no idea about this. You, the all-seeing author, do know: so write with that knowledge affecting your writing in whatever way it can or will.

As he stepped out of his brownstone, he gave a shrill whistle, calling to halt a taxi on the opposite lane. Sprinting into the cab, he quickly rattled off the familiar Chinatown address. Today was the day. He could feel it, luck was finally going to look upon him and smile benevolently. All he had to do was reach on time.

He had been chasing these coins for so many years; that they should turn up in his neighbourhood seemed fortuitous enough. Coins from the Qing dynasty were floating around in the black markets around the world, but these were special simply because they were also known as powerful amulets. After all, the emperor Kangxi, in whose time this coin was cast, was believed to have enjoyed a long and prosperous reign. He would love to live longer and possess some more of these beautiful artefacts; who wouldn’t want to welcome more prosperity! He could just imagine the future filled with prized antiques.

As he got down from the taxi, he looked around to ensure that he was not followed. One could not be careful enough. He had met his share of nasty people while dealing with antiques and had learnt how to protect his interests in a way. Nothing could stop him from attaining the Kangxi coins, unless a rival had beaten him to it. No! He could never allow such a travesty to occur. He first heard of the coins when pursuing the 1000-year-old coins from the Northern Song Dynasty somewhere in Mongolia and ever since, all his other purchases failed to thrill him. The coins falling in the hands of another collector would be sacrilegious. Only he knew their worth, only he was his truest admirer and they belonged to him and him alone!

He quickened his step, at times breaking into a run. He huffed a little bit, his lungs straining to keep up with his eagerness. He knew he had to slow down; the doctors treating his fungal pneumonia had warned him about his suppressed immunity. His stride slowed a bit but the coins seemed to call out to him; they would not wait. He increased his pace, half skipping, half jogging, finally bursting into a run as if it were a now or never moment, veering and dodging the obstacles in the pokey alleys of Canal Street only to come to a crashing halt, as he stumbled into a stack of wooden crates carelessly piled. He cursed and grumbled as he pushed the contents of the crates away, staggering and slipping in his attempts to get going. Finally he scrambled up, brushing away the dust and the glitter from whatever was in those boxes. He felt a stinging, burning sensation on his shin, he even felt the warm trickle of blood; he pulled his pants up a bit and noticed the cut—it wasn’t deep, it wasn’t bad. He had endured worse, survived all kinds of horror and come out victorious. Would he let a minor scratch stop him? Would it come in the way of possessing health and prosperity? No never. He would take his coins, and then move to explore the immeasurable treasures hidden within hundreds of miles of underground passages in Ecuador. He was destined for greatness; at 37, the youngest ever to do so. His future was set and nothing would come in its way.

The day before the day - Dido

As poignant as ever... for the first time even Dido failed to cheer me.

Speeches won't be made today, clocks will carry on

Flowers won't be left in parks, work will still be done

People won't be dressed in black, babies will be born

No flags will fly, the sun will rise but we will know that you are gone

...

I didn't get to say goodbye the day before the day

Was trying to get to work on time that's why I turned away

And missed the most important thing you ever tried to say

I've lived my life without regret until today

Another year older

The mountains have never been conquered, the dance classes have started and ended with me being the same—adamant, do-my-own-steps person, the guitar learning ambitions have died their natural death though they resurface every time I get home, the singing still continues, and the pottery class will remain on the to-do list.

Reflections are inevitable before a birthday. You wonder at the pace at which time flies; you once had all the time in the world and just like that you’ve reached an age that once seemed to be eons away. I don’t seem to be ‘feeling’ my age as people tend to say you do; for me it just feels like a digit change. Except on the few occasions when you have to fill the age in forms, I never quite realized that I’m in my mid-30’s. I love the look of surprise when people get to know my age. After a decade of being told that I look older than my age, it feels nice to be on the other side of the fence (shallow, I know, but we all have our guilty pleasures).

In the years that have sometimes passed like a blur, I’ve accumulated things, people, habits, mementos and trophies. Looking back, I’ve realized that I haven’t done great things, certainly not by any measurable standards but my life is dotted by plenty of small good things and blessings. I have my family who I can certainly fall back on no matter what. All the grumbling I’ve done over the years for the coddling and intrusions are the very things that have kept me alive and whole, the friends I have may not be too many, but I know that each of them love me. Some of them have been with me for almost two decades of my life. Their continued presence in my life is like a reassurance that I have something good within. My phone may not ring continuously or I may not be texting even but when they call me out of the blue just to let me know that they think of me, I feel blessed.

My life hasn’t turned out exactly as I thought and hoped it would. At times I grumble, but mostly I find myself just riding through whatever comes my way. It has not been easy to accept that some things haven’t come my way or a few have disappeared from my life. What have I earned in my life? What do I have to show for my 34 years of existence? Nothing much and yet, so much. 

The story continued ...

J shared her assignment from DD's Travel Writing Bus last month. I make her writing assignments my writing assignments, so DD is my mentor once removed (is that even applicable?).

The assignment: "Everything they say about wartime romance is true. When I saw my bride, she was in the most unravishing pose possible -- slouched against the wall in a windowless alcove, with both shoes off and her hair, which had become dishevelled when he had taken off her hat to adjust it, falling across one eye."

(from "Killing Rommell" by Steven Pressfield).

Write a story, up to 500 words, that starts with those two sentences.

My attempt:

Everything they say about wartime romance is true. When I saw my bride, she was in the most unravishing pose possible — slouched against the wall in a windowless alcove, with both shoes off and her hair, which had become dishevelled when he had taken off her hat to adjust it, falling across one eye. She stood there gasping for breath before breaking out into peals of laughter. He continued relentlessly, poking her sides and tugging her hair a bit more; the more she tried to evade, the more he persevered.

Her laughter rang through the quiet walls, echoing and mixing with his chuckles to produce a melody I longed to hear all these years. I stood there, observing her (and him), glad to be back. It took me back to when I first saw her at village festival—all dressed up in a pale yellow dress, a straw hat that covered her auburn hair and a pouch (which I would then see dangling on her wrist every time we met). She was selling pies —warm, gooey, strawberry, blueberry and cherry pies. I can’t remember what I purchased; all I remember was biting into a sweetness like never before. It must have shown on my face, for her gaze held on to mine in that knowing way. Her voice was even toned, not too shrill or too soft, and it sounded angelic to me, and when she asked me if I wanted more, there was no way I could say no.

It was her voice that lulled me to sleep in the cold trenches, her eyes that drove away the demons that haunted my sleep. Just the thought of getting back home, to her, kept me from doing anything stupidly heroic. She was my lodestar; my saviour who helped me endure all the horrible sounds that groaned and moaned and whistled their way all day and night.

Hearing her call out to him snapped me back to reality. They were running around, mindful of the sparse furniture, stalling, standing, teasing and laughing. There was so much fun and lightness to that moment that I hesitated to intrude. I stood there for longer, observing the changes in her. She looked taller and her hair was definitely longer. She was more womanly now; gone was that girlish charm that I remembered. Would her eyes still light up with warmth for me? Would her arms embrace and enfold me with love? Would she still remember those kisses?

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I pushed open the garden gateway and smiled as I spotted the rose garden in bloom. I smiled, remembering how much she loved her roses. As I made my way through the open door, I called out to her. They stopped immediately, froze and then she was in my arm and I knew I was home. I clung to her, happy and delirious, grateful and teary, kissing her with all the love I felt—our sweet and salty kisses that belied any anguish I may have felt. 

Now as I look at her, the eyes still sparkled with love for me, and I know her arms would hold me close forever. She didn’t flinch at my appearance, at the scars that marred my face, or even the loss of my arm. She held onto my hand, and kissed it; it was all the assurance I needed that I was still her man. Years ago, it broke my heart to leave her alone, a young bride, a stranger in a new place, yet I knew that our love would endure everything. And it had, she made this place blossom with love, my brother laugh with abandon. She filled my life with a hope that I knew would last us for now into forever.