PRIDE with Hope.

I had my first share of rainbows and sweaty gay happiness a few days ago when I attended the Delhi Pride Parade 2016. It was an experience too infinite to put into words but its overwhelming energy is making me write this post anyway. I literally and metaphorically let my hair down. I was beaming with all the colours of the rainbow. I was dancing and smiling my cheeks off. I felt taller, I felt mature and yet young. I felt, in some sense, liberated.

Well, I am not ‘straight’. I don’t mind the labels but I do not have one for myself. I know that I am not ‘straight’ and to me, that is enough. I am a spectrum, a universe. I am. I love, I break, I cry, I hurt. I do all these things that you do too. We’re similar that way.wp-1480331020041.jpgThis picture here literally describes all my feelings in that moment: a mixture of awe and hope. It’s true that sometimes events like these seem short lived in their spirit. We go back to our mundane lives, to our ‘closets’and forget that we are still fighting for love, for freedom, but then again I think some part of is always fighting; fighting with that dark reality outside us. But small moments like this, when there is a collective breath that sighs together and is joined by their common spirit for freedom and love is what we can look for in this short life. Moments like this lift you in a way you can’t even begin to imagine till you have felt it for yourself.             It’s ‘hope’.

I know it’s easy to move away from these important but weak emotions and many times ‘hope’ seems frail, constantly in need of a crutch, but recently, I have been trying to think of it as powerful, mind-bending, and it gives my thoughts strength.

Let yourself feel that you are moving mountains when you are hopeful because it is a strength,

believe me.

When you break.

I saw her from a distance first. She was dancing and singing through the movements of her body. “She is beautiful”, I said to myself. I shy away from her every time she looks at me. I am good with words, you know. Words that are written down. Not the kind that shamelessly fill the air; I am shy and clumsy with those.

Every time I suffocate myself with thoughts of her I see her yet again, pouring some part of her being onto the stage. I saw her again today. She looked beautiful. In disguise of the huge crowd, I stared into those eyes of hers. They were hopeful, very hopeful. The atmosphere of the performance had mostly been ‘pain’ up until then. The performers before her had a certain death in their eyes that scared me. But she was different. There was hope that emanated from her body, now at first I thought that I was imagining it but her eyes couldn’t have lied, that was hope.

I looked at her hair in place, her strong features, the golden brown of her body and wondered: what would she look like when she is mad and ugly. What would she look like with her kajal falling onto her cheeks kissing her tears? What would she look like when she is in utter pain? Will her body move differently then? Will her song, her sweet song, sound like a moan? I sat there and questioned my apparent ‘love’ for her. What does love even mean?

I am still wondering: am I in awe of the idea of her or with her?

I say this because I know that many difficult feelings come dressed as ‘love’. Perhaps, they want more attention and as we all know ‘love’ is what most feelings aspire to be. Foolish, foolish love.

Chapter 1.

CHAPTER 1:

This was the first meal I had in the past two days. It felt good but a little alien, as if my stomach was prepared to starve and was taken by surprise. I have always wondered what depression felt like. I think I maybe know now how it tastes. I’m running my hands through the knotted strands of my hair and wondering when I combed them last. I am thinking about her, ever so often now, forgetting that I was the one who said we needed a break. We, humans, do the stupidest of things. Oh, I don’t mean to hide my guilt through this generalisation about us all, it’s just that I understand that we all do it. We all make mistakes that we are too proud to own up to. I did, I mean, I do. She told me such beautiful things about myself that rang true only after the initial denial of modesty. I barely doubted myself then. Look at me now, hiding and running away from everything that is important to me. I don’t understand what I am doing. I haven’t spoken to her in a long time – a month. Her sweet sweet voice that was constantly asking me where I was and what I was doing. The thought of her makes me blush because I can’t even begin to understand how we came to be in the first place. If someone asks us for our so-called ‘Love Story’, I think I would just giggle incessantly because I wouldn’t know what to say. That is because our story doesn’t really have a beginning. It just was, it just is.

But really, what am I doing? I feel so restless and incomplete. I feel like I’m just playing with her, playing with myself. I thought I understood what ‘forever’ meant when I said it. I thought I understood that ‘forever’ ends. But I also knew that it can last forever, last for as long as we want it to. I thought I knew. We thought to have conversations about the end, conversations that were painful, was going to make things easier. If only we knew. Love hurts no matter how much you prepare yourself for it. I feel like kicking my selfish self off this completely. I mean, even as I write this I know that wherever there is a ‘we’ in this paragraph, I actually mean ‘me’. Because I don’t even really know how she is feeling. Is she hurting? Is she happy? I just know this much, and that is: she truly loved me and that she knows better. FUCK! I always let my impulsive emotions set the course for the way I behave. I want to look into the mirror and screech curses at my reflection. BITCH! I am sobbing now. You can’t see the tears. It’s not running through my cheeks, it’s running through my dry and angry throat. It’s running through my lungs, through my guts. It’s just running. Like a drunk and lost soul I sent her an email that night. Craving her; that’s what it really meant. Fuck. What am I doing? Do I really mean anything I say? Am I a liar? I feel like I don’t even know myself sometimes. Who is this person who pretends to not feel but feels, who pretends to be indifferent but hurts so much? Who is she? What does she want?

Then again you can’t blame me, she was my first real love. My first real touch, my first real kiss, my first real everything. Everything.. And she was so kind, so smart and caring. How can I ever forget her? Does this separation mean I have to forget her? Does it? I hope not. It was all too sweet. I think she knew, I knew too that it would be me who would make a run for it. It was me. We were right. I look out the window and try to think of all the other things that I need to do. I need to go back to bed because I am exhausted. I stayed up till 8 in the morning today. It has been a long day. I remind myself that I am at college. That there’s so much to do. I have so many submissions coming up. Ammu, my sister, is coming home this weekend, though I don’t think I will see her because I am going to the pride parade on Sunday. Yes, I am excited for that. I am excited for how my summer plans of studying abroad will turn out to be.

I have been so shy and low-key here at college, it’s not all that surprising actually. I knew I wasn’t made to be that perfect girl. It’s true that my confidence in myself is at a very low right now. I know. Why do I feel like I’m that lover who emotionally abuses her partner and fucks with everyone’s minds? I think that is me. That kind. But I wish she knows I’m hurting too, even though I know that I am the one who really messed it all up. I’m playing with my head too. I am. I take my laptop and go to the mess. It’s empty and quiet here. I open it and begin to puke out these poems that I see around me. I write about depression, about cutting, about mothers who are drug addicts, about everything except her. Even words don’t work anymore. And then I think of how I might see her this December and immediately feel queasy. I can’t do this. I think I’ll make a fool of myself. I can imagine her walking into my house all calm and happy to see my family and I am going to stand there wondering if I stink of guilt and if that stench is too obvious. And then I’ll wonder if I’ll get any time alone so I can just kiss her for one last time though I have no idea if we are really together anymore or if it’s right or wrong. I really don’t know what to do.

Is distance that has done this to us? I can’t believe so. I think it’s my impatience and frustration that has done this to us. I hope we will still be friends. I hope we will still remember our time together with utter fondness. I hope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SILVER BLOOD

This poem is my vent post in reply to yours.

 

It’s ugly

Those scars

I’m not proud of them

It’s not art!

It’s pure pain

With no pleasure

It’s an illusory relief

Like a contract  

With the devil,

It promises liberation,

But is bondage forever.

It’s a trick.

Every Time I bleed silver,

I cringe,

Cause there is no

NO going back.

I wonder,

Do those scars

Belong to me?

Or I belong to

Them.

The Helper and the Helped.

 

She sank into her beautiful guts.

I stood there, silently weeping.

“Can I help?”, I asked.

She shrugged a quick smile.

‘No’ is what she meant.

I knew too.

I couldn’t help,

I can’t help.

 

But I can sink into my beautiful guts too.

Letting go.

So, my friend suggested that for one post I should try and relax. To write as if no one is reading. In this post, I am going to let go and just write.

What has been boiling in my head recently? Well, there is this girl that I absolutely love in ways that I didn’t think possible. I love her like a mother would love a child and yet like a forlorn lover. I don’t think I can define the ‘kind’ of love I feel for her. Sometimes it’s selfless and other times it’s so selfish that I just can’t believe myself. I want to protect her and she is perhaps the only face that even in a picture gets me all teary eyed.

Things have been very tough for her and I can possibly never ever leave her and what really pulls me to her is the fact that she is much too similar to myself. She, like me but probably worse, likes to keep herself from people. She would take care of you but emotionally treat you numbly when all you really need is a hug. She is absolutely repellent to any sort of physical touch except when she is on the hockey field because she absolutely loves the game. Well, that is her venting ground.

She likes to pretend that everything is okay. She doesn’t only  pretend, she believes it and runs away from the truth. Somewhere down the line, she has made up her mind that she will never trust anyone, no matter how much they love her or she loves them. Her eyes glow with a certain dark innocence that she quickly changes to glee when you come too close to her.

Being with her makes me happy but hurts too cause she doesn’t want to show that she cares. I tell myself that’s fine, that it doesn’t matter but sometimes I crave for the littlest of her attention. Just simple things like calling me instead of me calling her all the time, talking to me on my birthday, at least cryptically admitting that she cares. That’s when I sigh and think that maybe she doesn’t after all, maybe I have forced myself onto her life. I really don’t understand. Every time I decide it will be the last of this emotionally painful relationship I’ll get an opportunity to see her or talk to her and I’ll greedily take it. What is this, I have no idea. It’s a constant push and pull with her.

I know that it’ll hurt me if I leave her and hurt me if I won’t . I want to be patient but what if it never really was what I thought it to be.

And sometimes I can’t help but wonder, should I let go?

But then I know that I won’t be the one who will.

stuck.

I have so much to say but my throat is always dry and empty. My voice somehow disappears into my hollow stomach which begins to ache from all the silence.

What am I going to do?

I’m stuck. Somewhere between my past and future, I’m stuck. I feel like I’m neither here nor there as if there is no present, just this confusing intermediatory space. There is a constant voice in my head telling me what ‘not’ to do. I think I’m not letting myself live, live fully.

I should perhaps start with the context of all this. I am in college now. My first semester here is almost over and I am wondering if I made a mistake or if I belong somewhere else. Also, everything came so easily in High School that college is becoming very intimidating. I have a curiously lazy heart. It certainly doesn’t help when you’re in a new place. I’m curious about other people and places but more often than not nervousness and fear of rejection clothed in lethargy stop me from doing anything about it. So I remain stuck. I don’t try to let people get in. They try to get in. It’s true that I would do anything to live the last four years of my life again, despite my despise for my school. For my love for it is almost like the love of a mother for her child. I want the best for it and I cannot stand its pain and stupidity. I  might say the same about these four years spent in college later but I do know that nothing will ever match the gravity with which I love school, never. What is an education supposed to help you attain? perhaps, knowledge? But for us, an education is supposed to give you an idea about your purpose in life, give you a guarantee that you will have enough money to survive and let survive. And because that’s what society wants for us, anything otherwise seems to terribly frustrate our conscience. By writing this post I wish to vent,..nothing more or less. Sometimes I wonder if I have lost that dear heart of mine but then I think that  it’s probably just playing hide and seek with me. I say this because I see in myself a certain kind of  indifference that just keeps getting more powerful and powerful.

Now that I am finally writing this, it makes sense to me and to me alone, which is complicated. I don’t know about that?

And now, my eyes are slowly and cleverly shutting away so goodnight!