Letting It Go

I’m back there again. Lying on the pillow-cover, damp with my tears. Clutching the Nokia E63, hanging onto whatever is left of my life. The darkness is all-consuming.

Memories course through me. Or rather, they don’t. A person who cared for me was dead, and I don’t remember even a single thing about him. Not even his face. The guilt swallowed me up, choking me, strangling me.

I scream silently. Tears streak my face. Red and puffy, my eyes are trying to secrete as many water droplets as they can. Their salty taste do not quench my thirst.

Why am I like this? Why am I so thankless, heartless? Why do I go through life as if it’s another one of my books – quick and speedy? Why don’t I remember little acts of kindness done to me? Why am I friendless? Why don’t people like me? Why am I ugly?

As these meaningless stream of thoughts flow along with the tears, I scream silently again. The next scream is struck in my throat – neither in nor out. I sob quietly. Praying that they wash away my failures.

I hear the strains of Iridescent. My mobile. I almost forgot. I focus on the lyrics, trying to drown my noisy thoughts.

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation/ You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known/ Remember all the sadness and frustration/ Then let it go/ Let it go…

Suddenly, I felt light-hearted again. Why do I need to struggle with so much negativity when I could let it all go? Let it all wash over me?

Thank you, Mike Shinoda, for helping me remember that it’s best not to hang on to stuff that hurts. That leaving painful things behind helps us to move forward.

And that’s what I did.

I let it go.

Home Sweet Home

We had just newly arrived to Bangalore from Mumbai when we set our eyes on a beautiful house. An independent house with two storeys. Plants and animals all around it. A calm, gentle breeze blowing. We all fell in love with it.

Though it was located near the main road, the peaceful atmosphere was maintained. We had lots of friendly neighbours who helped us settle in. Our neighbour grew a lot of plants, so the natural feel in the house was even more increased. Gradually, we settled in.

In the morn, as soon as you stepped out of the door, cool breeze whipped your face. The acupuncture veranda beckoned you to jog. Outside, the road was buzzing with activity. Women making rangoli, flower-sellers calling out their flowers, children getting ready for school, well, I am getting tired now.

In the noon, dogs will be lying sullenly under cars on the road. Cows are swatting flies with their tails. People sigh and fan themselves. The atmosphere is hot and sluggish.

Morning repeated itself in evening. The same old scenes – except children are visibly more happy, playing under the Evening Star.

It’s night now. There is nobody on the road. The dogs are fast asleep. People yawn and wish each other good night. The day ends.

 

For Writing 101, Day Eleven