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.

Advice To My Baby Brother

Dear Baby Bundle,

I can already see you crinkling your nose at me, thinking why on earth I would call you that. But the first time I saw you wrapped tightly, that’s the only thing I could think of. I remember when my aunt transferred you into my arms, you didn’t even wake up to look at me. I, on the other hand, couldn’t look away. I had of course seen your pictures before I met the twenty-eight-day-old you in person. But I fell in love with you a week later when holding you safely sleeping in my arms, I closed me eyes. I could feel my arms growing heavy, but there was a peace in my heart I just wasn’t ready to relinquish. But then I had to leave to go back to school, and I thought I was leaving something so precious behind.

The next time I saw you again, you were a one and a half year old boy with a mission. You wanted to walk everywhere, hold the world on the tips of your finger. Your eyes were wide, taking the world in, and you ran as if the world wouldn’t wait for you to grow up. I loved seeing you run – I have never seen kids run on tiptoes. But you woke up every day and showed me something new. The last time you were just a baby. But now I can totally see the baby boy in you. You fearless, fearless little guy. I loved hearing you laugh. Oh, how you would laugh when I twirled and tickled you. I tried to hold onto you, but you were never the one to sit quietly on my lap. In fact the only time I got to hold you was when you woke up from sleep and was groggy. But as soon as your grogginess left, you were back on your feet, chasing anything and everything and most often nothing at all.

In the few weeks I was with you, I gave up trying to take a partially decent picture of the both of us. I have started making videos instead. I hope when I go back, these would make me laugh. I know they are not enough. Nothing can capture your vivacity, or mischievousness or your perfect smile. On a side note, though, I do love watching you cry. You have actual tears! And beautiful eyelashes. Oh my baby brother, you wait. There would be jealous girls around the world when they would look at your long lashes. My aunt laughs when I say that, but I am quite serious.

Although I have been teaching you to say SaSa or Sabu, the closest you have come to call me is nothing. I don’t think you even know your own name. I am trying to teach that to you as well. The last part is not going as smoothly as I would like. The only thing you love to say is your ABCs. I bet you would be the son my aunt would boast of. Has anyone ever seen a kid who loves alphabet? In fact the only way to feed you is to play the ABC song or Super Why. I am learning to zone out the episodes. As much as I love you, there’s no way I am subconsciously memorizing Super Why dialogues.

My mother tells me I am fascinated by every mundane thing you do because you are the first baby I have seen grow up. May be she is right, may be not. All I know is, Bundle, you are this perfect package of a baby and I love you. I am writing this in hopes that someday you will be old enough to read this and know what a special baby you are in my life. But I am also writing this to offer you some of my observations.

First I want you know, the life you live is a privileged one. Do not begrudge or even take this life for granted. Embrace the opportunities you have, but remember Baby Bundle to be considerate of those who do not share your fortune. Be aware of the world, the society you live in and be a participant to bring positive changes. Always know what you stand for and what you stand against. Bundle, its easy to raise your voice or fists, but first learn to raise yourself from the constrictions your own thoughts. Learn to open your mind to possibilities and risks. All the best things in life come from taking a leap. Remember, don’t judge people for there is so much you don’t know and don’t ever attach labels. People are so much more than just mere labels. Always Bundle, talk to little girls with care and young ladies with respect. Everyone you meet will tell you to not carry your heart on your sleeves, but don’t listen to them baby brother of mine. Rather be trusting, giving than callous and cold. Never be domineering. Apologize when you are wrong, apologize for the wrongs done to others around you. You won’t go wrong with apologies; they do not make you weak. Love with all your heart Bundle, and do everything you do with passion. Be sensitive. Be realistic. Don’t let the world step on you and don’t step on others on your way to grasp power. Be the kind of boy, this sister of yours can be proud to raise.

I will always love you,

Your affectionate sister.

Fear What We Love

I have been thinking these days, more often than not, what I am truly seeking. What am I heading off to do and most importantly where did I start? Once there was definite sense of what I wanted from life. But the more I ponder, the more I realize I won’t ever get those things because a part of me is actually blocking me from it.

I want love, the kind of love they write about in books. I want friendship to guide me all my life. I want a family and a home to belong in. I want to have purpose, the fulfillment of a life lived to the fullest. But the more I want, the more I close myself in my own sphere. A part of me fears these wants of mine. What if they don’t come true? What if I don’t find the fulfillment I expect from them? What if I am left with a broken heart or worse – a broken trust? Isn’t it easier to just imagine a world where everything neatly falls into place? Isn’t it harder to actually go and make it happen?

May be it is just me or may be not. May be everyone I meet has this one thing they want above all others and yet their fear is stopping them from reaching for it. May be we all go around pretending we are not bothered by how much that fear controls us. But do any of us truly know how to let that fear go?

Through the Innocent Eyes

Last year I wrote this, not knowing how close I would come today to answering it.

Death. I have never experienced death closely. All the people I love are thankfully alive. But sometimes I think how would it feel to know someone I loved died. I am so scared of losing.

Sometimes I think if I see death too closely, I won’t ever be able to love again. I want forever. But in truth, there is no forever at any given time. No one can guarantee that they’ll be with me forever. I am scared once I get used to their presence, I wouldn’t survive their absence. 

To those who die, death is the end. And the start of some sorts. But to others its the middle of something. You don’t want to go on, but it’s your not your end. You can’t start over because nothing has ended for you. You are stuck at this impasse you can’t get out of.

Death’s not about questions or answers. It’s just ultimate and irreversible. So how do people deal will death? How do they find the strength, the hope to go on? I don’t know, I guess I don’t even want to find out. Because once I do, I’ll know for sure how much I have in me to love again.

Today as I sit down to write this, I cannot write with the innocence or the eloquence of the girl who doesn’t know death. Death seems so hauntingly familiar now, no longer a concept I cannot grasp. I do not ask those same questions anymore, because sometimes answering them doesn’t make it any better. I still have been thinking though, how death has changed not just my perspective, but my whole existence.

When someone you know died, the death you are mourning becomes inside of you, as if a part of you had died as well. You can’t rationally explain that death to yourself. You cannot distance yourself from it. It feels like you are carrying a little death inside your body, in your memory and nothing will ever make that part of you live again.

You start to mourn not only for the person who is gone, but for every little thing that is now gone from your life as well. It’s hard to explain to others that you can’t just moved on. Logic like you are alive makes no sense to you. You see death no longer as something incomprehensible, but as something substantial.

Death changes the lives of the people who live in ways the dead do not understand. Death becomes a name, a face, a voice you long to hear. It becomes touch, and memory and all the things you wished you had prayed for. Death is not lying in the grave, it is staring at you everyday in everything you do. There is no getting rid of that feeling, no hiding. It takes away your ability to see the world without fear again. It makes you think you will never trust again.

People tell me, eventually this fades. They say I will smile again, laugh again, enjoy my life again. I do, but one moment, one memory is all it takes to invite that cold, seeping emptiness back into my life. Sometimes, quiet foolishly, I wish I had never written that piece last year, questioning, mocking death. For now death will follow me in every step of my life.