Dear gullible heart

There is a stigma associated with being trusting, don’t you know? People do not sympathize with mistakes made when you leave your heart unguarded. These days, it’s the same as leaving your car unlocked. Who on earth in their right minds would do it?

But gullible heart of mine, don’t be afraid to revel in that stigma. This heart was never meant to be caged in logic and practicality. This heart was placed a rib cage to protect it, not imprison it. Did you know, that wishbones are formed when your clavicles meets the sternum. We may not have wishbones, but that hollow between my clavicles is where I store my wishes. May be that’s why when I want to cry the most, it hurts right there. It hurts because those wishes are being broken.

Gullible heart of mine, keep beating. Loud. Let that heartbeat be the drumroll  guiding you on. There are those who would not know how to march to your beat. They would try to change you, make you smoother, less volatile, less choreographed. But you are your own symphony, creating magic every time you breath. There are those you will say your beat is that of Pied Pier, blame you for when they follow you, shame you for taking them on a journey. But this Pied pier of a heart didn’t make a note so sorrowful without a cause. Don’t let their judgement hold you back. You do right by yourself in a world set out to stigmatize your voice.

My dear gullible heart, don’t let me fool you. Being this unguarded is not easy, being this open hurts. There will be those who will take advantage, just because they can. But don’t let them fool you. Being guarded is no way to live, being closed only locks you in an ivory tower. There are those who will come knocking, but there are those who are too shy to knock at your heart’s door; they are the ones worth keeping.

So be gullible, be yourself.

I promise you won’t shatter.

Follow The Rhythm… One. Two. Three

Dear A,

Today marks three years since they found you on that lake. What has changed in the last thirty six months, you ask?

One. Two. Three. One Two Three.

Now I know the last place you sat before you walked into the lake. Now I know the place where you used to live, places you loved to visit. Now I know this was not the worst year of my life. I don’t know what’s in store for me, but I do know my past. Losing you was the worst feeling that I have ever felt.

One. Two. Three. One Two Three.

People ask me, isn’t it time enough? When will I become normal again? A, how can you be touched by death and be normal again? I really don’t get it. They ask me, isn’t it time enough to stop romanticizing my grief? Tell me A, why is it okay to stop hurting merely after three years? Who is sitting on their high chair setting a time limit to my grief? Setting a boundary to my friendship? They ask me, who mourns friendship? They confuse it for love. Romantic love. Unrequited love. Isn’t it just sad A that we live in a world where people don’t understand friendship? You are not just someone I met in school or I hung out in the mall. You are my brother. You are my family. You have seen me grow up and you have been there with me every step of the way.

One. Two. Three. One Two Three.

Once someone I knew had said to me, I can see your heart break. I am tired of explaining to people that hearts break all the time even when you are not romantically in love. Isn’t it sad that people just can’t equate love in any other way? I have never run away from this pain. I don’t need your death anniversary to be sad for you. But even if I do take this day to mourn you again, why do I have convince the world that you are worth it? That our friendship is worth it? Why do I have to put up a facade that I am alright?

One. Two. Three. One Two Three.

In case you are wondering, in case you are worried – I am not on a path of self destruction. I study, I drive, I eat, I sleep. I call my family, friends and take care of my social obligations. I go out to movies, shopping and I go to the beach. Everything in my life is going. One. Two. Three. One Two Three. I am content in my own world. But I’ll always miss you. I miss you on days my grades come out. I missed you when my sister got married. I missed you on my graduation day. I miss you on days when so much happens I can’t process it. I’ll always miss my best friend. But other days I will pick myself up and keep on going.

The earth is constantly in motion. I once read a story where the protagonist stopped time by stopping the earth from revolving. However he didn’t take into account Newton’s First Law of motion. Although he stopped the earth from rotating, he forgot to take into account everything on top of earth that was also on motion. So although the earth stopped, nothing on its surface stopped and so everything was destroyed. I should have told you this story sooner A. That way you too would know that you truly cannot stop time, pain, sorrow.

One. Two. Three. One Two Three.

I will not make the same mistake. I know as long as I am in motion, as long as even my grief is in motion, everything else will be fine. Keep the dice turning. I am still dancing. Do you hear that rhythm A. I won’t stop. I promise.

Yours truly,

First Baby Stories

Trigger Warning: Death

Dear A,

Have I ever told you about my cousin who died when she was three years old? It was the 14th of January – Shakrayne: The festival of kites. She was up on the roof, where she shouldn’t have been, trying to catch a kite, she shouldn’t have been trying to catch, and she was alone. When she fell off the roof, they rushed her to the hospital but they were too late. There was too much bleeding, too little time, too little a body. For a long time, I didn’t know about her. No one in the family talked about it. But even now, when I have heard this a hundred times already, my mother can’t stop crying when she talks about her. My mother tells me, people love their first born children differently because it’s the first child you ever held. You watch their first steps, their first words and watch their first – everything!

I have a different hypothesis though. I call it the “First Baby” feelings. It doesn’t have to be your own child for you to love a child, you know? Any baby, the first baby you have seen in your life, takes a special spot in your heart. That is your first baby. I think my cousin was my mother’s first baby, at least those three years she graced this earth. I know that you know that feeling. You saw your cousin as your first baby too, right?

But lately I have been thinking about my aunt. In all these years A, she has never brought up my cousin’s name. It was her first born child. It was her first baby. It must be so incredibly hard for her. You know A, I look at your mother and I see so many people reaching out to her and I feel so guilty. I never reached out to my aunt. I understood her pain, but I never offered to talk about it. Even after you passed away, I have been so self involved in my own sadness, I have failed to see the pain in other people’s eyes. I wonder what will happen if I do bring it up to her. Do you think, she would like to talk about my cousin. Or would I attacking an old wound that doesn’t heal? I don’t know A.

You know, I have a first baby too! He is the most beautiful baby in this world. A, I can’t even imagine anything happening to him. I don’t know how your mother does it, or how my mother does it, or my aunt or any parents/ guardian – how can they let a tiny person hold so much of their love? How can they sleep without fear that something bad will happen? How can they protect a baby against their own fears and negativity without being overprotective? And how can they live when that baby is gone? A, that baby is my heart. I never knew how much love my heart can hold. My grandfather used to say, that love increases vertically. You love your kids more than you love your parents. I never understood that, until now. I love my parents, my family, but that baby is so special. But you already know that, don’t you A. After all you had your first baby too.

Did you think about him A? Did your heart expand and hurt while you thought of him. Did you think this world wouldn’t be a better place without you for him? That there is this form of love only you can give him? I know, you know everything A. But this time, listen. Sometimes you gotta live because someone is relying on you. Because there are so many firsts you still needed to see. Because there are so many moments you needed to be present for.

Hey A, I have another brilliant idea. Why don’t you look out for my cousin up there, and I’ll look out for your first baby! And someday, when we meet again, we can exchange and relive those moments? You’ll do that for me, won’t you A? You know I will.

Love,

Places I Go In Search For Happiness

There is a world inside my head. A world of my making, a world catering to my happiness. Every night when I close my eyes, I go there.

In that world, I am exactly who I want to be. I have everything I need, and everything I want. In that world I meet people, all the people I have ever lost. I go up to them and talk to them – tell them everything that is bothering me. I vent out, until I find the peace that is so elusive in this real world. I see people whose names I have long since forgotten. I ask how they are doing, I tell them all that’s happening in my life.

I go back to places I have not gone back in years. Home. My school. Every time I close my eyes, I can almost trace all the places I have always loved. I can visualize walking through those roads, past my favorite restaurants and haunts.

In my world, I go back to my regrets. I go in search of making different choices, hoping may be then the regret will wash away. Sometimes I go in search of possibilities, to walk through the ‘what ifs’ of life. Sometimes I go looking for people I have yet to meet. I go looking for ghosts, whose voices don’t reach my reality. In that world, I am not limited, helpless.

Some days I go there when the reality is too much to bear. When losses cling to my bones and weigh down my soul, I go in search of oblivion. When I am sleeping, hours pass away. Sadness can’t scratch me. This world of mine becomes a bubble, protecting me from my own demons. Sometimes I feel that if I stay there long enough, may be sadness will stop knocking at my door. 

But I have come to know that’s a slippery slope. Once I start escaping there, I may never come back to this reality. There are people on this side of who needs me. So I think of them and wake up. Every morning. I fight the urge to crawl into bed and stay there. I fight the urge to stare into the distance and lose myself to my thoughts. I fight the urge to close my eyes and keep sleeping. 

You would think, fighting everyday would make me strong. But the truth is this daily fight weakens my resolve. Some days I even lose the fight. Those days I push away everything and give myself into the world inside my head. The wonderful world where I don’t have to fight. Some days I dread coming back to reality. Because coming back always hurt more than the escape.

The first time someone I loved said to me that I have depression, I almost laughed. All this while, I thought I went into my own world to find happiness. Who would have ever guessed, that the very pursuit of happiness would turn out to be a symptom of all that is wrong with me?

Things I never got around to asking

I always thought we had time to learn the mundane things. After all friendship such as ours muddled through the depths of our souls. I thought we would always have time to know the simple things about each other. May be by the time we would have been old, we would have finally gotten around to ask the stupid stuffs.

Now as your first death anniversary nears, I can’t help but wonder who would answer these unanswered stupid questions of mine?

Hey, what’s your favorite color? I recently heard from someone it is green. Is that true? How can I know so much and so little all at once? What’s your favorite city? Your mother told me that you used to say New York was your favorite city. Do you know I always wanted to go there. But now, I don’t think I have the courage to enter the city in which you have chosen to die. I have heard some of your friends went to the Central Park. I don’t think I can do that because I don’t think I’ll get closure there. I have never seen the Central Park lake and yet when I close my eyes at night I can see you struggling to take your last breath there. How is it possible that I know a place so intimately, a place I have never been to before?

Hey did you like staying here? Did you plan to go back to Bangladesh? Did you change your major? I remember you told me you wanted to change your major. Did you end up doing it?

You said you’ll see me on your next spring break. Hey, if you were alive, would you have come to see me? I really wanted to see you. I never asked you to come and see me before. You see, before last year I didn’t have a place I could call my own. But last year, I finally had a home. Of sorts. And I wanted to see you so bad, talk to you face to face. I wanted to hold your hands and say thank you for giving me hope.

Hey, did you ever you blame me? Was there anything you wanted me to do for you? I never told you this before, but you were the one of the two people in this world I would have done anything for. The other day when I told your mother this she asked me why I never said that to you. I couldn’t tell her then that I didn’t have a contingency plan for our friendship. I didn’t know there was a time limit. I didn’t know I would never get to say goodbye. I’ll always miss you. Know that, okay?

Your mother says it’s okay to talk to you even though you are not here. So these days that’s what I do. Hey, is that okay? Is it okay to not let go yet?