Missing my mother n the other.

As I am shifted to a completely new place across seas, in a new discipline of study, and new people with their different language of expression, different history, different crops and weather, different currency and products, I struggle back n forth in my everyday missing the land where is supposedly a home and where lies a history that is mine and known to me. I struggle in my state of mind to be-(long) to.

Invariably this struggle and back n forth, pull n push, shows in the trend of dreams I have developed to have repeatedly in the past half month that I have shifted to a foreign land. These dreams are of a missed mother(s). My mother that I dearly miss each day more deeply breaking open spaces inside me I never existed. And of a mother like another who is denied and missed and loved and who became a foreign relative much before I had to leave. But her presence in this dream merging my feeling of missing both of them as one and more. The feeling of missing is so concentrated in the dream.

Letter to S

13th September 2017


I saw aunty occupied in her vast opening BBQ party in a beautiful place filled with long tables, lots of maple leaves (ūü§∑ūüŹľ‚Äć‚ôāÔłŹ), and people all surrounding with food. There was a mix of water fountains and leaves flowing from one bowl to another to another in circles beautifully in the flow of water. Something like the landscaped garden in your real home. The sound of water was filling the whole place up as much as the little chatters of small and big groups of people invited for it did. Aunty was all over the place enjoying managing the crowd, organising the event and holding things in control; and she was doing it amazingly well! She was magnetic as ever and firmly in control of matters backstage and of engaging with guests. She was a star! She was busy. She was happy. But she was tired too. Maybe she was missing you. I have always thought her as complete with you around, despite her soft spot for your brother. There was always this silent acknowledgment as if her role demanded her to desire that soft spot for her son, and while it felt like a sting to you, in that difficult silence and history of growing up with her, I think she is incomplete without you. And she knows it. I think it scares her as much as it assures her in her otherwise deep seated anxieties n depression. Because she cannot admit it and be away from you. And as a woman of control (of everything n emotions), she cannot let her feel or build or express it beyond this silent acknowledgement. Only doors open one threshold more when it creates a certain distance for you both to be able to express and live it without dying the depth of such a feeling. This distance allowed as if some space for safe expression.

She asked me something. I refocused my attention to her speaking from the motion image of the event above she was showing me. I realise she had messaged me as well to which I had replied in my sleep and which hardly made any sense. She was asking me why didn’t I attend her event when I could have. I wondered why would she ask me such a thing knowing our contract of separation time immemorial. Of course she knew it being the closest witness to it, signing our invisible contract with her invisible ink. Was she really asking me that then? Or was I so zoned out and dislocated in all this that I didn’t understand a thing? Like the feeling of unfamiliarity with home and the no longer distinction or the distance between home n foreign. The noise from the event’s moving image (I think it’s called a live photo) and inside my head made her words fade before they reached me. But she asked me again why I didn’t attend her event; what was the point of me liking her page on Facebook if I was never wanting to attend her big event? I was losing my words when she said this. Do I say how much I’d have loved to come! Or how much I love her. How glad I am for her. How beautiful her place is! Or how could have I come..How could have I come? I cannot steal spaces away from you. How can I have the luxury of expressing my feelings at the cost of your space to be(long). How could I ever belong to that home, and that mother like another? Before I could gather words from thoughts that made me forget the sense of place n time, and more importantly grammar of understood language, everything slowly faded and transported me from the home that couldn’t be resolved to another home where I belonging was a real struggle.

It was my last day at home. I was moving out. I had moved out before. I had hardly stayed in the house before. I have run away from the home and I have shuttled and bounced within the confines of the home. It was the grinder of my brains and being at home. I had bounced the question of my being focusing on my coordinates inside home, asking what it meant. I was stuck at home. And it was my last day at home.

I was packing my bags and heading to the airport. My dad was really unhappy at the recently dug worship place built right outside house (it was scary!). But it seemed his unhappiness was beyond this and projected all onto just that ditch. He seemed unhappy with the house and wanting to shift their home, even country? But he couldn’t say it. I didn’t ask because I had to pack and he had started to yell in his endless loop. In no time I get on a bus to airport city. My bags I see them half open and scattered all over the bus floor. I see some of my moms clothes in one bag and realise they had kept their bag by mistake! I couldnt ask the bus to return with all passengers, although it seemed like a small private bus with like four or five people including the driver. I thought I take with me which meant what would my mother wear for another year or so? (These were her all recent clothes, she doesn’t keep more than everyday required). No I thought. Must I get down? Do I have that kind of time? But seems my mom was coming to drop me to airport.

Next cut to airport and she is there with all the bags and I. We standing at the airport amidst all the people. Flight is a bit late we are waiting. I am trying to distract myself from the pain and unease of having to leave, by doing things on phone as my mother kept walking here n there finding something. A few minutes pass by and I can’t see her around. I start to look for her in minutes I am worried and haste up my looking. People everywhere I can’t see her. And I tell myself why was I on phone. In no time I will be alone and despite the pain this is the time to effectively spend with her! But it’s lost and it’s lesser time now. I come back to my spot as I keep thinking to myself and can’t spot her when I see her standing all this while right five steps away from me round the corner. I see her tired. Her hand on her forehead. Maybe she was emotionally tired as much as physically if not more. I see her and tell her I couldn’t find her and that I got so worried. And she has so little energy to respond anything at all but that her face said she was here for me. I hugged her as I cried out hurting my chest. I don’t think she cried but I could feel the weight on her chest. I see the black dress she is wearing closely from between the circles of water in my eyes as I feel the silky but a bit rough texture with little black beads on her dress rub against, pressed into my face as I hug her.


#to belong or to not Рwhich more scarier? 

I am scared of my voice and the way I look, especially my face and I am feeling an increased sense of non-belonging to my body. I have grown to never belong and be used to that feeling as trans person. Some years I become more balanced about it, some other times it’s back to square one where the feeling of being trapped in wrong body hits real bad. What I am not used to however, is not belonging to the person that I am becoming with each passing moment. I don’t recognise anything, which is scary as shit, like floating in black hole with nothing linked, and other times wen a smallest familial thing, the growing central mark on my forehead is just my dad, is horrifying for the extent of which such familiar bonds can ‘pull’ you from every direction. Basically I am scared to look at my face  for all it looks like is a violent heterosexual man (also what S would like to look at it as). I can’t seem to decide which is more scarier and whether to refrain from empty social engagement or seek out support anyway, as much as belonging may never occur. I am socially anxious and I am an active agent in making myself miscommunication in every way possible. 

Next day to the *dark night* I lost completely in my room. I shouted to walls, cried loud into the infinity, I needed help, I wanted to leave the place that made me feel so terrible that gave me so bad thoughts. And then scared my mom called and I shouted on phone to her being equally frightened and worried about her own position and how much my yelling would have broken her. I am so helpless so weak I can only break. Myself and everyone I love around me. I wanted to run away far from her so I don’t further increase her hurt and make her survival impossible. I wanted to run away far to almost lose myself from turning into my dad. I didn’t want to leave my mom for even a second hug her and cry for days for everything that has happened. An all I know is all of this is simply unhealthy. I must go. Away. And I must see the mess that I am the mess my mom is putting up all her left. 

I drove my bike in rain to cry in peace without worrying of being heard. Lack of space for crying is real. I have been craving privacy. While being lonely at peak. Minutes ago, I heard my cries and the voice of it. It sounded sad. It sounded mourning that won’t ever end. I want to run away from these cries inside me an having to make home with it. I want to run from each of these homes where I never belonged. 

(Phone switched off I between and I lost track of what I’ll henceforth also tag under #blindwritings – quite literal sometimes with blurry visions of letters tapping only as some overlap abstract art of unfamiliar characters). 

#White Owl to a dark night.

I hadnt come to terms to be able to write about the night about a month ago, when tonight-i have nowhere but here to come. The cycle that my parents are used to of abuse, kind of hit it’s frequency again tonight-something i was actively trying to avoid or at least postpone or at least not to participate in the revolving of this cycle, and not to ever reach the night that i might speak of someday. mostly such a precaution on my part would involve me staying locked up in my room, reduce to minimal my interaction with my parents simply to answering their questions and assuring them i am not rebelling not unhappy not unthankful to them. Mostly my dad is abusive, but i have to ensure (the tricky part here) to not give into the temptation of at least talking to my mother, for she is but only an agent to my dad. She actively participates in fueling him and not helping even herself, and wishing me with them mentally and emotionally tortured by at least in front of her eyes than have me make my own safe distance from this. Mind you my offering any help to her only means I’m violent. She has chosen to live with him and his abuse and prefers me to do the same. I do not know what my duty calls for- nor do i know how to handle this anymore. Physically even I’ve grown to become weak about this, my heartbeats run at a rate i cannot breath or stay. It takes over me the whole fear.

I was lying on my bed downstairs the living, where i put up every night (I’ll get into this some other day) and suddenly goes slam door. And i hear him yelling to her – swearing slam swearing.. I can feel my heart beating hard to leave my body. Slam again and again and again ten twelve times and him shouting. I can feel that nigh trauma again. I feel the need to open the door, unlock the gate, walk in the street. 1am. My phone switched off. I walk outside a bit, trying to figure out a safe distance that won’t turn my mom hyper anxious about my whereabouts leading to my dad creating a longer louder scene and far enough so he doesn’t see my face and be instigated to shoot and abuse more. I can’t decide i can’t think. I would’ve sat at a bench at the crossroads but it was occupied by two boys standing and talking. I walk.i feel i must walk where i feel like and how much i feel safe. Only problem was my phone off which have a direct reason for them to blame it all on me and my mother getting to draw me emotionally in the house as usual. I walk anyway. It’s a dark night slightly damp due to rains nobody around those two boys leave as i walk some two vehicles pass by. I walk. I don’t know where to go. Who to ask help for. While i know to them i am the unfair one trying to make this public. I have been rebellious growing as fuck but it was then when i felt part of them. Now I simply scared of them. And all i know is i need help i need support. Not knowing where to walk i turn right walk a few steps into darkness and semi paved broken road. Two steps and i see a dead 606(i have phobia of this creature including its name so can’t write it but this is the code i use for it). It’s scary. It’s my phobia. But somehow not half as scary as home. It felt safer there in open dark space of the night on the streets belonging to nothing. Knowing that. I walk in opposite direction still thinking if i could go to somebody’s house fit the night. My heart beats won’t stop. Walking in opposite direction meant passing through my house again. Scary. I see my cousin living next door standing at the common wall fence but goes inside. I see my mom, as predicted looking for me anxiously with her classic negative most thoughts-if anything happened to me she would destroy him and everything she s been putting up with. Or maybe be so weak to just have great stop at such feeling of her waste of her marriage. Her sacrifices. Her everything she gave to her husband. I make sure she sees me but that’s all i can do. I keep walking straight. My phone charger in my room where they sleep my bikes keys inside house. All i can do keep walking. I decide to go to our cooking lays house who lives nearby further down the road. She complains of sleepless nights herself and her insomnia. I feel at least i won’t be waking anyone up if i went to simply sit at their staircase or front yard. She opens the door i sit. I almost life it and end up dropping tears. She doesn’t ask anything give me a glass of water. I ask her if i could use her phone to just call and inform my mother i was here -only to avoid further tussle, her anxiety and my fears. She gives me her phone, i call twice nobody answers. Born to negativities, i also picturized worst turn at home. I thank her and tell her if have to walk back since nobody would answer. I also tell her if it would be okay if i came back to sit there the night. She was very sweet said yes and asked me to not get involved. I nodded. On the way back i saw him on his bike riding to find me send by my mother and swearing away to me, how unthoughtful of me, better stay at home unless i wanted see one of then dead (of worry, not.. You’d know what!) I walk silently and slowly back home as he turned his bike to return home. I walk you’ll gate and inform in staying at cook lady’s place and that i had called to which they didn’t reply. Basically assuring them I’m conducting no act of rebel here.


My mother manages to yet say to me i shouldn’t be going to her place (supposedly stranger/outsiders house) Like this. And? Fill n the suggestive action.

I turn around and start walking back to cooks place. She follows me and shouts to me to sit together with her on another bench nearby in the open. I didn’t want to but i didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want her to come to cooks place following me and disturb them who helped me. Not did i want to abandon her, my mother. I turn back and walk back to the bench. She did there beside me silent and blind as usual. I had to do this knowing fully its a wrong thing to do in many ways-feeding her insane meaningless satisfaction and peace that i still belonged to them. And crazy power to my dad to come there and continue to shout yell and abuse. My mother you see has given him access. And i knew my staying worrying wanting to help or not shutting out therefore giving acres to her meant access to her hetero fucked up marriage and husband. She refused to acknowledge any of this. She just sat there lost defeated dead yet worried about life, about the open house at post midnight about everything that hardly mattered. My dad had galls, not even amused any longer at his cowardliness, and us to get back home and not sit out this late for the fear of some thugs! Right they are the evil men here. More unbelievable my mother continues same strategy after he leaves, saying the talked about stone murderer in the city might we encounter. At one point i am her to go home and handle her duty with her husband and home and let me be in peace in my life separate and let me stay where i feel safe. She argued otherwise and was clearly hell bent to take me home with her blindly. Her own refusal to seeing at the cost of other is being me. One may have instincts to fear and anxiety and may feel helpless and without agency, but this is not first day not first month but the decades. It’s not innocence any longer, she partnership. A ¬†classic heterosexist partnership.


I sit still not able to think. Looking toward north in the open sky, and city scape. Thinking about myriad of things yet blank and exhausted. In financially depended on her. She stuck in an unhealthy depending abusive relationship with him. I think of S as i look forward the north sky where falls her home. I think to myself everyday of how could i ever be angry with her for abandoning me leaving me, and be angry with my mom for not doing it. I can never be angry with S. Only respect her more for doing the difficult yet necessary thing.


To my left flies and lands a white bird, looking straight into my eyes. I look at it and realize it’s a white owl. It was beautiful. Looked straight at me. My mother saw and got scared and began to tell me that her mother used to tell her it’s a bad sign. We stand up and begin to walk back home. I am her how dangerous or how not good. She has mixed info saying they can carry a while human on their backs etc. I still listening as she tried to ¬†strengthen her mixed up tale.


My phone if still switched off and I’m kind of using my mother s phone for this so I’ll do all the edits and corrections tomorrow.



#Information Codes 2

Okay. So I could be really delusional, foolishly hopeful of some unknown image in my head, or the reality is really playing delusion deliberately with me.

The exhibition I mentioned earlier, has been going on since day before. I have been working at this make-shift cafe-studio space since past three four days. I decided to put up only a diptych there. One of which that I painted last to last year, the other early this year, or may be late last year. I am going to talk about this second canvas that I made, this location of gallery and the witty timing at its best.

I find it difficult to explain exactly what this canvas is about. But I’m going to try. After the separation with S, maybe I needed to see this loss. I needed to feel it. I had to touch it. Stare at it until I could bang some sense into my head. It’s real. It’s final. It’s irreversible. No matter what. I wanted to see it the way I breathe it. I wanted to mourn. I wanted to construct this space where I can be with my loss alone, without having to reassure anyone, threaten anyone, or even scare; I want to build an impermeable, impenetrable layer above it. I know I will have to go on and build on, for so many reasons, live on for mom, work on for myself, and build on to let off burden, and or emotional guilt or holding back off for S. And I do not want then any of this to ever enter this space of loss where I have forever stopped, where time will never move on. It is almost as if time split in that moment into one part that will go on, while the other, will forever stay. Like a foundation that will be built from scratch, but, on the ground that can never be erased. I bury our loss, in my space alone. Whatever that is keeping me alive now, may build me into something, may make me build whatever of life I can, and may build foundation from scratch. But I know, alone, that this foundation, is not what stands the structure of me, but this space, this ‘Graveyard under the Footing‘, that is.

This canvas belongs to S. I don’t know however, when I’d be able to give her, or if she’d ever take it. But that’s where it belongs. As I write this I realize the irony of it that may seem- I killed it. I butchered it. And now I want to mourn it. And top it, I have to even gift it. For me though, one it is not gifting. It’s just where it belongs, to S. And rest I am not going to deny, but also add, this canvas belonging to S means to me mourning together our loss. I do not assume she would want to mourn it with me¬†at all, while ‘together’ has been a running joke in my relationship with her. And that is why, I’m going to keep it, not act on sending it to her until comes a spacetime that would allow it on neither of our terms. I keep imagining in my head, what that space and that time would feel like, how and when would the canvas reach her. (One of those “pass out” times it’s gonna be. Or maybe never, if I have learned well to not rule out every possibility. But it will always belong where it does. No matter where it stays.)

So turns out the gallery where I was supposed to put up my works, and where they are put up currently, is exactly next block,¬†next street to S’s house (3 minute walk). Also, the gallery is part of this building that is under construction. So, the floors where the works are pinned to wall, has in fact only one wall (where works are pinned, yes the canvas I have been talking about here included) and one partial glass wall, with the rest of the envelope all open (image below showing view from the street to S’s house; and work displayed¬†on the first floor, right most corner behind the glass wall, those two white patches of canvas faintly visible). This makes the whole exhibition almost dramatically visible completely from the roadside! And remember this being at no other time but exactly then, when S is visiting her home. It is practically impossible for her to go from home to out, or other way round,¬†without having seen this, in 90/100 cases probability. Although, S wouldn’t get out of her house that often, unless they are going out for dinner as a family or something she has got to shop for. But chances for dinner on weekend? Pretty high.

Safely, I can say I’m insane measuring these ‘abstract’ distances and proximity, between canvas and S, the only viewership that matters, the only place it longs to reach/meet, that stands almost so close to, and yet far out of reach¬†perhaps until comes such a time.

#Absurd Theatre

I had a rough night yesterday. It started with evening. I have been called to present a paper at my undergrad architecture college, and i really am looking forward to it. Then I also got invited to exhibit my works among others, at an upcoming gallery in my hometown. I hate people and place here, and I hate to be surrounded by them, and I hate to even think about the kind of viewership it will get. I mean what am I suppose to put up? Do I rub discussing sexuality and gender through nude artwork photographic project I conducted? Or should I go easy and show them a series of self-portraits of a transman? This city, and its people literally sustain in the only institution (that’s not nearly academic, unless for somebody like me who wants to work on a PhD on a premise of home¬†as a concept and lived experience, where it certainly can be a primary site of study)¬†as marriage, and do I need to even mention, yes (!) heterosexual marriage! But I really don’t have the energy to condescend or talk about my hometown and way it functions. Especially, when I have agreed to put up an exhibition there, of my canvases talking about tearing up a city. (My way of getting back subtly and as ‘abstract‘.)

Anyway, I was getting to the evening part. I got, although sickening still, excited about both these works coming up. I started preparing. Soon excitement started getting out of hands. entering into nervousness. This sudden and too fast interaction with people of the real world, just made me realise that I have been practically in one room, locked up, stuck, since last one year. In fractions, all those flashes of being in this home and this room started coming back to me. All the people that I lost in that one year, the overnight train ride that changed the city i lived in and the life i had, the emotional breakdowns, the sleepless restless nights, the intense urge to bang against walls, to shuttle back and forth the room, finding air to breath in balcony, in bathroom, downstairs, back to room, trying to run out literally of the house, sobbing and losing breath, walking into nowhere, driving to nowhere, everything that has happened between me and this space, alone. I am scared, nervous, anxious and no doubt still stuck emotionally to the people I love and who left me, so depressed of all the separations and rejections I went through in this space. And now, going out of this space, is a constant reminder somehow of just that.

I lied down, as I could not look into the screen of the laptop or my phone. I could not read. I could not work. I could not stop thinking. I could not rest. I could not breath. I wanted to go down and scream to my mom for help. But I could not do that either. For one, because for all the times that I did ask, she didnt understand, she judged, she violated me, and mostly she didnt have the energy. The thing is both my parents just dont have the energy to talk to each other, or to me or to anyone else. So mostly, we just dont talk, or talk to air, never look in the eye. Time we do talk to each other, are times when we are shouting, screaming, insulting, hurting, violating each other. And secondly, even if I did decide to go ask risking all of the above yet, I just could not move. I was having a panic attack! Going through a bundle of thoughts and emotions at the same time, experiencing anxiety, nervousness, missing, mourning, missing, losing, grieving, depression, arrested, black out – all in less than five minutes. I tried to look up online for help. Found a small but somehow unusually helpful site, talking about difference in feeling anxiety and nervousness. It also had an emotional wellness test to it. And I decided to take it, to understand everything that was going inside me. Test was again unusually helping, I liked what it asked me, one by one, out of the inseparable ball of events inside. It further revealed, I was experiencing 33% depression, 33% anxiety (both mild), and 71% stress and 84% worry (both severe). Somehow these numbers helped. it helped putting a number to what was happening to me. I wasn’t alright or calm, but better.

I had a breather. But it didnt last for long. Soon I was having a break point. All night I felt being trapped in a mirror-maze, with no exit. after spending hours like that through the night, I think at some point I just blacked out. And I do not recall when I slept. But it all ended in very surreal and horrific dreams all night.

Dream #14

In a series of dreams that I had all night. I’m going to refrain from talking about other dreams but just this one.
I was sitting in a strange place. It was dark with one window. Very small and narrow place. There was mom and some other friend (who, I think, kept shifting faces from my known friends two three times). Or that’s how I want to recollect it.
I look down on my right leg and I see sausage like something moving inside my skin. I freak out and have no idea what it is or how it got inside. It was moving, so certainly was something alive. And then I saw yet another smaller oval-ish bump near the ankle. I had these objects floating inside my skin. It didn’t pain or harm but they just floated. I tell mom and this friend and maybe a person more or two and we all started to wonder how it got there whatever it is.

I can’t recall how then, it fell out. Was it operated or it just fell out. I don’t remember. But it was like a Fallopian tube like structure (I love how my subconscious trans-brain functions), although my friend said those were my kidneys! We all agreed somehow to that weirdest claim! And somehow they just fell from their position to my right leg and now they were in our hands! I was more shocked than scared. I wake up from dream momentarily and realize I was scared about kidneys before going to bed as I was holding onto pee for hours!

I go to sleep again because I cannot make myself to get up from bed. And the other dreams follow up. Mostly about A. Because I think of the breaking point I had last night. Either I could have lost my restraint and sent her a vomit of messages because I no longer felt like carrying it and being a foolish lover, who believed in love we had, we lost, brotherhood we had, she took away, friendship we had, I thought, and this eternal commitment to not write to her or talk to her, and agree to what she had asked of me (until she wrote to me and got to me), be mature in love and relationship. So late night yesterday, I did not¬†vomit (thankfully), but at the same time I did reach¬†this point after all, where I didn’t want to carry it any longer. So yeah, fuck love, and fuck relationship, rules of which you make, you break, you play and confuse the other with. Fuck the meeting the decade later¬†in our 40’s ‘cool’ plan. Fuck plan. And fuck you, A. I block you. Period. Never again.

You claimed to be the rock in this relationship. I never made such claims, I always knew I was like glass, open, transparent and brittle, with no tensile strength. But if you did make such claims, let me say, you were far more brittle than glass even! You must be a sedimentary rock though, with layers protecting layers underneath. Chipped off the layer of me that was weathering. I do gather it now. I am changing my material properties, and learning better! But that is not being a rock in a relationship. Nor do I ask for one. relationship or the rock! So, fuck rock!

#Information Codes

I was doing my usual round of S’s insta and fb posts. My stalking skills and logical derivations of being over a decade with S has allowed me to gather a few things from her over a month and a half inactivity on either of her social media. The reason could be precautionary steps taken to keep her travel to her (our) home city private and unknown. Add to it what she told me almost two years ago, when she had just started to think about applications to the U.S. for her PhD, that she would certainly visit her parents every six months, its about right time. 

Yes, I have these scattered informations filed inside my brain which is the only kind of access to her I have left to me. Sometimes, they translate well into dreams, other times they just help me do the math in real time and space. So, I was pretty sure since past two weeks that she should be coming to the same city I’ve been stuck for over a year now, the city where I last saw her.

I had just checked her fb and it still had no activities. I was going through insta, and I saw one post added to her account, of her travelling with her brother on a train, to home. These also being exactly the tags she used in the post. She knows I’m blocked on her fb. So ideally posting there would mean more privacy. And she knows I follow her on insta and she hasn’t blocked me there. Which clearly means, I’m looking!?! Now we must not forget, she is no ordinary woman. She is a brilliant mind! She has brains, and she uses it. In fact, there cannot be a step gone un-thought for, especially something like this which she would be very particular about of not letting me know of (like her postal address since last year). Why would she post her whereabouts knowing exactly I would have an access to that kind of knowledge? Yes, this is the closest in last one year that I have come to know of her location. And a location that is even physically close (not just on google maps that I keep moving my fingers over near and around her University), and only getting closer as she travels. Tomorrow morning, she will be practically 5min distance away from me. Didn’t she know I would do this math?

The logical reasons why she’d post something like this then: either she wants me to know (my delusional self would think this, not that I’d act on this knowledge or the math. I mean I would, only to keep all other factors constant, and unchanged with this variable taking its own value..), or more realistically, she doesn’t care anymore of what I get to know or not. She’s moved well pass beyond it. And is much happier and calmer about being in the same city as I am and my knowing it. She is in a better place.

The former alternative would also mean two things furhter: either she wants me to know, and while accusing me of delusions, she too cannot let go off whatever fraction of dreams we once began with, or more realistically yet another revenge of me to know her location but know even more that it means nothing beyond that knowledge; to know that this distance that we both travelled (she literally and emotionally, and me mostly mentally) is so much bigger than whatever these measurable units can ever show up.

Now, my math self can neatly draft out this algorithm from her latest insta post, but I know from experience that emotionally, nothing is very neatly extracted in the minds of a person. So, I’m leaned to believe it’s a compound mixture of all existing, maybe not coherently, but certainly together.

I cannot recall very clearly now if I have mentioned this before, but due to E, until very recently, I felt distressing coming to my own home town, and home. Since both are such small scales and open, she could simply drop by as a “friend” to see me and use me, emotionally and otherwise, drain me out. I couldn’t say no, because it would not help in her not coming over, or her simply stopping it. I had to take measured steps to gradually and consistently drawing her bored of me and finding that there is nothing she would want of me anymore (not nothing I would want to give her anymore, get the difference!). When S warned me of never wanting to hear from me again, I kept thinking to myself and telling myself, whatever come may, I won’t be the E to S that E was to me. I will not be the reason where I force S to make the tough decisions; where I am the reason for her to feel unpleasant to come back to her home, to her family, to her own birth city. I promised of no physicall intrusion to her space, her being of course, but more importantly no spectres of our history or my ruins should make her feel out of place, out of home, torn between tormenting pulls of her being of past and present, that I so long felt. So, today, when I saw S’s post of her travelling, I saw a fuzzy image of her sitting against the window of a moving train, her legs folded, holding her phone with one hand and the other clicking the shutter button, exploring the boomerang feature on insta, I saw her sitting in peace, travelling without fear, in calm. I felt her not scared to coming back to her home.

What I completely forgot to mention was yet another set of info-math I worked out – she posted being on train around 3hours ago from now. Which means she would have been at the airport about 5-6 hours ago. Safely, 8-9 hours ago. Which is exactly when my aunt was travelling back to her country, from that very airport, exactly the time around I was chatting with her on whatsapp, which is not very likely of me often. Perhaps, all of this was happening with S and my aunt in same place, my cellular waves moving through the same place, maybe even brushed pass through S on way to my aunts cell phone, at the airport.. Or maybe she just landed yesterday, makes more sense. 

#Fallin’ for you.. .


Letter-note to S

Everytime I think of you, seeing you (whenever that’d happen), I have these flashes. Hallucinations. Dreams. Daydreams. Illusions. Delusions. Alternate reality. Whatever you may call.

One of those include the very sight of you simply sweeping the floor underneath my feet. I kind of realize this phrase as I’m writing it now, as cliched as it may sound. I imagine we chancing upon at your family-favorite restaurant sometime, like Qw. And I feel I’d just fall off of my wooden iron chair over those awkwardly dangerously designed set of 3 steps right an inch behind the chairs and tables as arranged. Other times I feel I am visiting V’s¬†house in B-city¬†and you happen to show up there. And I feel I’d just collapse and pass out. Maybe even fall off the imaginary staircase that I think her¬†rented apartment has. And maybe when I’d get up its easy to pretend I saw nothing or you were never there and I’d believe it easily because it would have happened to me so many times, of course I am crazy and ‘delusional’; while you’d be sitting right there silently in the other room hidden from me, waiting for V¬†to throw me out until you’d gonna be there or make you room while keeping me out somehow.

And today, again I had rapid flashes of seeing you and falling off of a staircase, of balcony, of a terrace and then a terrace of a tall building; that’s when I realized when the tall building gave me more time in the fall, that I am nothing but sheer happy for the first time after you left me. And maybe that’s how I’d like to die. Die pure happy. And then I thought I just want that building to be infinite tall… Hahh not just so that I almost never fall to death, but just so as to¬†stretch and live this moment of my¬†perpetual state of falling for you.

PS: Its been over ¬†a year today, since I finally drank, and am not sad-not happy-but-not sad. I am in love. Have always been in love with you both, S and A. I must be high to talk about love, especially in a note addressing to you. I have said it in my head a thousand times, and I wish I could tell you both, and then I know there’s no point, but I will say it here since I’m high, and this space is mine and wont be ever reaching you, at least not in the wrong¬†time,¬†there is no clash in my head in loving you both. I must be high, for I know I would never say it out loud. Never after you both left me, and we decided this is over.

PPS: Lana Del Ray, night drive, winds brushing your face, and beer-buzz in your system can be just a perfect intoxication. Or I might just regret it tomorrow morning. But tonight, I will be simply happy.