You were an unpleasant memory; and now you are my reminder.
You’re my reminder to be more cautious of the people I invest my time in. You’re my reminder to see people for who they are and not for who I want them to be. You’re my reminder to fall in love with how people treat me, not what they tell me. But if by chance I do fall for the wrong person again, you are my reminder that I can survive the worst.
I don’t like talking on the phone with you. And I’ll always tell you that it’s because I hate my voice.
I don’t like video conferences, and I’ll always tell you that it’s because I hate how the video and audio never sync properly because of my horrible internet connection.
The only reason we text is because I don’t quite want to go a day without your presence around me.
But if I were to be brutally true to you, I don’t like the phone because it reduces you to sound waves, and I don’t like video because it reduces you to pixels on my tiny screen, and it bothers me that I can’t feel you, touch you, smell you, or know you’re, in the simplest of terms, alive, and metabolizing next to me, because when we’re together, between us, in quiet symphony, even the absolute stillness speaks.
I hope you remember me. I hope you see something that reminds you of me. And I hope you smile and remember the memories we created together. And I hope your throat tightens up and it finally hits you – you never should have let me go.
But you did anyways.
It always has a pattern. You meet a great person. You become friends with them. Then come the late night conversations. Finally you confess your love. Not to the said person of course, but to your best friend. Then days go by tearing the petals of a freshly plucked flower called love. And you finally make the all-important confession. And if you are lucky, your love is reciprocated.
But for how long? Maybe a few months. After that it all comes crashing down in a whirlwind of misplaced emotions. If both of you agree that you have somehow fallen out of that love that a week back you thought was irreplaceable while lying in bed, then you are doomed with being just friends for the rest of your lives. If it’s not consensual then one of you leaves scarred, the shadow of which falls on your next irreplaceable love. Regardless how it ends, you leave a part of yourself back to where you thought you will always belong.
But when you somehow think that you have lasted long enough for both of you to be together forever, wake up in each others’ arms every morning for the rest of your lives and do all the things that cute posts on Instagram ask you to do for you to be a perfect couple, then why is it that you still have a figment of emotion left in your head that doubts your significant other and constantly tries to hinder your perfect love life with your perfect person? Is it just the jealousy that other people get to spend more time with that person you thought will forever have your undivided attention or is it because you still do not know if your love is same as the one that your friends have who seem to move on to a next every few months? Whatever it may be, it is certain to wreak havoc in your perfect home. Doubt is something that does not let you rest. It eats you from the inside because you know that the moment you show it, it spells doom.
Why can you not doubt and just stay the way you were when the relationship began and it seemed like neither of you could get enough of each other? Why is it that doubt always results in you deciding to leave the person with whom till a few days back you thought you will have two kids in a nice house with a dog to give you company while the kids are out to play? Why can you not fight the doubt? Worse, why can you not fight the doubt together? Is your love not strong enough to defeat a puny figment of emotion that is swept under the carpet in a dark corner of your brain where you do not even want to go? Because when you have something that you cherish, something that makes you so happy that you do not mind growing old anymore, do not mind leaving people you care about just because you care about this person the most, it something you keep and not something you let go off. You fight for it. You make it live. Because always remember that the night when you had hugged her, you had thought that that place was the best place in this world and that place will never change. Come what may. It may get lost but there is nothing that is lost which cannot be found. There is no love that is ever lost. It is just two people who do not want to try hard enough.
You know how when you’re driving and it’s pouring down rain, and you drive under a bridge and everything stops. Everything goes silent and it’s almost peaceful. Then you finally get out from under the bridge, and everything hits you a little harder than before.
You were my bridge.
On the onset, the post is by Weronika Jasnoch. A very dear friend of mine, this is her first writing stint for The Indie Guy.
A cruise ship met with an incident at sea, on the ship was a pair of couple, after having made their way to the lifeboat, they realized that there was only space for one person left.
At this moment, the man pushed the woman behind him and jumped onto the lifeboat himself.
The lady stood on the sinking ship and shouted one sentence to her husband.
The teacher stopped and asked, “What do you think she shouted?”
Most of the students excitedly answered, “I hate you! I was blind!”
Now, the teacher noticed a boy who was silent throughout, she got him to answer and he replied, “Teacher, I believe she would have shouted – Take care of our child!”
The teacher was surprised, asking “Have you heard this story before?”
The boy shook his head, “Nope, but that was what my mum told my dad before she died to disease”.
The teacher lamented, “The answer is right”.
The cruise sunk, the man went home and brought up their daughter single-handedly.
Many years later after the death of the man, their daughter found his diary while tidying his belongings.
It turns out that when parents went onto the cruise ship, the mother was already diagnosed with a terminal illness.
At the critical moment, the father rushed to the only chance of survival.
He wrote in his diary, “How I wished to sink to the bottom of the ocean with you, but for the sake of our daughter, I can only let you lie forever below the sea alone”.
The story is finished, the class was silent.
The teacher knows that the student has understood the moral of the story, that of the good and the evil in the world, there are many complications behind them which are hard to understand.
Which is why we should never only focus on the surface and judge others without understanding them first.
Those who like to pay the bill, do so not because they are loaded but because they value friendship above money.
Those who take the initiative at work, do so not because they are stupid but because they understand the concept of responsibility.
Those who apologize first after a fight, do so not because they are wrong but because they value the people around them.
Those who are willing to help you, do so not because they owe you any thing but because they see you as a true friend.
Those who often text you, do so not because they have nothing better to do but because you are in their heart…
“Every friend is a gem, eventually someone else will value it if you don’t.”
‘I’m a runner’, I’ll tell her.
She’ll think I meant the sport. Then she’ll suggests that we workout together sometime. I’ll greet the request with an accommodating smile, but it’ll never happen. My sports shoes have been in hibernation for the better part of a year. But nevertheless, I’m a runner.
At least now she won’t say that I didn’t forewarn her. When she wakes up lonesome, maybe she’ll realize. Or when she calls me two dozen times, and I finally pick up to reiterate ‘I’m a runner’, perhaps, she’ll fathom.
It’s not something that I’m proud of; it’s not something that I enjoy doing. It’s something that I’ve developed over time. I’m a coward. I run when things get bad. Heck, I run if things get too good. I don’t care where I run off. It doesn’t have to have a purpose. Just anywhere but here.
So don’t be too worried when you feel the grip of my hand loosen, and you’re forced to take solitary walks around the boulevard we first kissed on. Don’t be too worried when you begin to forget my phone number, and then slowly my voice, till I’m just an echo of what you wanted me to be. Don’t be scared of the Déjà vu, when I slowly become, for the second time, the pre-conceived notions you had of me.
I’m accustomed to this. One big conflict, one surprise bouquet, or one ‘forever’ that’s a little too sincere, and I’ll be gone. I’ll tell her that the first day we meet. I’ll tell her again when she’ll hug me for the first time. And finally, I’ll say it for the last time, right before I would twist the keys to my car, and step on the gas. ‘I’m a runner’ I’ll hush. ‘I’m accustomed to it’.
You were nothing like the girl I thought I would fall in love with. In fact, you were completely contrasting – you liked rain more than you liked sunshine. You reminded me of how desolation could be beautiful. You reminded me that gray wasn’t a melancholic color. But most of all, you reminded me that it wasn’t happiness that I was yearning; it was contentment.
I have loved you. I have loved you completely and entirely, and with my whole heart. I have loved your little nuances, like the silent sigh of disappointment before you hung up the phone, and the grip of your hand become firmer while we crossed the roads. I still miss those scarlet etches your fingers left on my hand, and how you stared at the tea, and the crimson color reflected your eyes. I have watched you, watching me, watching you.
You were to me what the giant ocean is to a small coastal town. My life depended around you. In you, I searched for happiness. In you, I hid my sorrows. So, when you finally left, it destroyed me. It destroyed me like an enormous tsunami destroys a trifling coastal town. It rendered me catatonic and it left me helpless.
You were like collateral damage. Perhaps, I was right in assuming that when you’d be done with me, I would finally know why hurricanes were named after people.
Some nights, the rain drops get too talkative.
Those are the days that my mind quietens down for it likes to hear about you.
Blurred down the lanes of weak memory, I recall faded events; that rainy evening when I finally packed my things. The bags were heavy, the heart light. I’d quietly walked out from her memories.
I’d quietly walked out from her memories wondering how I’d deal with mine. That night, the rain drenched me, and I knew.