Dark Light (Part 2)

Continued from bit.ly/DarkLight1

I watched her walk through the rest of her life like she had rented it; honestly, I felt pity for her because of the hard knocks she took on every corner of her life. Since after her uncle, her dreams became horror movies, her diary was The Boogey man’s to-do list; she was indeed painstakingly convoluted. She had grown into a young woman with the illusion of having total control over her life, which, by the way, was set on a path of revenge.

She still managed to excel in her high school finals and college entry examinations because she was bent on getting well educated. The university seemed like a haven for her. I remember when she came into the premises for the first time, she stood at the gate of her newly self-proclaimed home, a warm smile that spelt ‘freedom’ by every letter drowned her face, her watery eyes darted to and fro her new home. This was all she wanted, she was free!!! Or so she thought…

Scaling through school was not an issue to her until her third year. She had excelled marvelously through her first two years of college without any single hitch. This was shocking, even for me, as she rode on a smooth milky way for two years without exciting the taste buds in the eyes of the badmashes and voracious predators lurking around almost every facet of her educational edifice. She had kept her encounter with her uncle a secret from her parents as she was sure they would spit back at her. The rapist, in turn, had just told her parents how much of a nymphomaniac she is and how she thought she could take advantage of the fact that he and his wife were having recurring sessions of squabbles, within and outside the walls of their marriage, or whatever is left of it. Financially, she had totally crumbled; emotionally, a moment of silence please; educationally, she was slowly losing touch. Vulnerability overwhelmed her entire being like huge waves at Hawaii in November. And then, as expected, the wolves crawled out of their caves and followed the sweet smell of a young, very beautiful and intelligent prey. She needed money, she needed shelter, she needed food, she needed comfort, her guard was down in a split second; she was emotionally and physically weak.

Now here she was, a school dropout, standing under the rain, leaving the apartment of a huge and hairy man who, she made sure, had taken a fatal OD of hard drugs the previous night. She opened her bag to make sure the bloody syringe was still there, it was. She sighed heavily as she sat in the taxi. She knew she had won but she was slowly absorbing it. Is this the fulfillment she had since longed for? I watched her through my window blinds as she came down from the taxi. Now that she had taken revenge on her uncle, what next?

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Dark Light (Part 1)

It was 04:47am, the wall clock just confirmed that her wrist watch was correct. She had had a jolt off the bed because she detested stay-overs, she hated the drama of sneaking out. Grudgingly, she lifted his hairy arm off her chest, slowly shoved his huge body aside and crawled her way out of the blanket. She picked up her sleeveless top from the table, her miniskirt from the top of the lamp stand, her heels which lay squalidly on the floor. She dressed up almost like she was in a timed contest, her heels in her hand, she tiptoed towards the front door of the one room apartment. The room was so small that I would think the huge hairy Bigfoot of a man wouldn’t fit at all. His small wooden table was littered with books which looked like they had barely been touched except when being thrown around. One section of the table had a bag of spilled syringes, some rolled-up papers and what looked like cocaine. His room looked like all the objects were in complete chaos. She latched onto the door handle and turned to give him one last look, a cloud of extreme disgust covered her face as she whisked away from the room.

Her extreme hangover was at the verge of blurring her vision that she almost stumbled on the staircase. She knew she had to get to her apartment before even a ray of sunlight caresses the new day. The thought of the man she just left behind once again, sent chills down her spine because he was extremely hooked on drugs. This made her waltz to the section of her thoughts which she really had avoided exploring- she had no idea of what had happened last night, and that’s how she wanted it to remain. Looking at her eyes, I would say it didn’t bother her that much because when she opted for the game, she gave her all. But I guess I was wrong because as she stood under the rain waiting for a taxi, she couldn’t care about hiding the tears which rolled down in quick successions as they would be mistaken for rain.

But this was not where it all began, no, she wasn’t always like this. She once was a young girl who loved fishing out dramas, films, pictures, from the cold black and white pages of every book. She devoured every piece of scribbled words that stumbled her way so much that she would almost always be seen at the library. Her voracious reading eventually turned her family against her. Her father, who was a poor pot-bellied and chronic drunk, felt that her addiction was a curse placed on her by his enemies. He believed this so much that he would scream at her at the top of his voice each time he sees her bend over a small piece of literature saying that reading would not make her rich and would make her undesirable to any man. Her mum, who was less superficial, would beat her mercilessly every time she gets caught at the library saying that this addiction was replacing her duties as a young woman. To think that she was just a ten year old suffering the beatings and punishments of an armed robber was just too disheartening, even for me. Her dearly beloved hobby slowly came to a halt when she was twelve, when her father, at the peak of his drunkenness, slammed the door on her and ordered her not to sleep in the house that night. She begged and begged that she had nowhere to go, banging on the door, crying and wailing, hoping it would at least, soften her mother’s heart. It all proved futile. The best her mother could do was to shout at her the more to quit making such a racket, the irony though. The night was caving deep so fast, she had to find shelter. She remembered her father’s brother who lived about thirty minutes away so she hurriedly began her journey. He listened to her pathetic story, comforted her, fed her and gave her a nice bed to sleep in. She was woken up by the sound of shouting from her uncle’s bedroom. She closed her eyes shut as she endured the whimpering of his wife, she could tell that he had beaten her to pulp. Suddenly, the war was over just after the slamming on a couple of doors. She still lay there, wrapped up in the blanket, comforting herself to get some sleep. Five minutes later, her door swung violently open, her uncle’s frail figure walked down to her with a huge and mischievous grin spread across his face.

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My Last Camp Night Hours

"Words are a mystery. How they're thought of, how they're made, how they're pronounced, how they make up a sentence or a story. One part of me feels that if someone didn't discover words, we'd probably have noises we make to communicate. Or wait, what if these words are the noises? Who's the genius now?!"

Those were the first words I digitally scribbled as I sat in involuntary solitude embraced by the cold night. It's 9:32pm and I'm biting the nerves in my brain that convinced me to come for this camping trip. It's the third and penultimate day here and I should, at least, be drowned in the moment. But yes, I've had my moments, laughed at awesome jokes told by passersby, people sleeping in the worst positions in the world, people tripping and falling on the damp grass.

The darkness has completely enveloped the sky leaving only few peek holes for stars. People just keep darting in all directions like they've got some very important business. My face had found its perfect spot in the terrains of my palm as my eyeballs did all the roaming. I can't say I'm bored, no, because these people aren't doing anything fun. I classify their actions as an unwanted spillage of potential energy propelled by unproductive youthful benevolence.

I felt a vacuum, a large void vacuum within my bowels from which I periodically heard very hostile growling, like a ten seconds audio clip of the world war two. My attention then drifted from the unnecessarily busy world and focused on how to tame my inner lions. I slid my hands in my pockets and let my fingers caress its every wall. The response my fingers sent to my brain was that a state of emergency had earlier been declared on the premises and an immediate evacuation was carried out. All I could think of was that very interesting fried rice and chicken I had earlier used in serenading my taste buds and adorning my stomach. Vanity!! Oh, had I known… I was so hungry and I was so broke - worst combination ever. I paced up and down, fake smiling to every salute I get. I had earlier refused to eat the free food they served here because I was fronting standard but now I begged manna to fall from heaven. Moral lesson: Never listen to a rich person talk, he’s only saying what his pocket thinks.

And then something struck me... I could feel a continuous jerk of excitement in my nasal nerves, a huge goose bump spread across my olfactory lobe; it was the cynosure of all eyes, the color in this monochromatic world, the music that spread across the mute horizon. Dinner is here!!!

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deMOLARized

Tik tok Tik tok... adrenaline rush... heart racing like asphalt... I've always detested hospitals; they all have that one familiar smell of drugs, needles, drips. The cold waiting room is filled with men, women, boys and girls of all shapes, colors, ages and sizes. The painful silence is slashed by periodic wails from patients upstairs. The room is drenched in shooting stares of anxious-to-be-healed patients, everyone waiting for his turn.

I'd avoided the dentist for two years but now, the pain has acted as a great reminder that I truly need help. The hole in my upper right last molar has caved so deep that it could bury an elephant. It's been 20mins since I got here and totally chameleoned into the atmosphere.

There he was, the first patient to have been called off the waiting room, supported down the stairs by two female nurses...cute though but that was so not the catch. We initially envisaged him to be a benchmark, a savior of our fears, a model to handling the pain... but there he was, smitten like a cake in the hands of a fat kid. I basically swallowed my heart, enduring the pain of the gulp because it's basically nothing compared to what my slave master would do to me.

09:51, my name thundered down the hall...

"Extraction right?", I nodded in approval to the nurse's question and she led me to the Indian dentist. Exchanging pleasantries was just a formality, he probably wouldn't care how much hurt he'd inflict. I laid down on the bed, shut my eyes as I felt my spirit leaving me. "Have you eaten?" the dentist asked. I shook my head, "No". After advising me on how it won't hurt but still need to eat before anything can be done, I felt my spirit rushing back at the anticipation of food. I got up, ran downstairs, got food and raced back up. I was directed to where I could eat. But voila, I was welcomed by the tears of a wailing patient. She cried so hard that I wondered if she extracted her entire mouth. The doctor told me it won't hurt but she...OMG...he lied!! I lost appetite, forced huge quantities of chicken pie straight down to my throat, gulped water, tried reciting the Lord's prayer but I gave up on the 5th line. I walked back into the dentist's office with my heart in my hands. Lying down, eyes shut, mouth wide open, I felt one needle...another needle...yet another. Talk about feeling, I stopped feeling my mouth. The dentist told me to open my eyes, I did.

Like a craftsman, he gathered tools of all types. My eyelids quickly glued my eyeballs. "Open them", he begged.. I did again, slowly, quizzical though. He smiled 5 seconds later as his nurse announced, "your tooth is out" then she dished out a truckload of instructions. It felt weird, all I could think of was the fact that my tooth is out totally painlessly.

I quickly drew out my phone... "what to expect after tooth extraction". Google truly has answers for everything. But at this point, my cowardly spirit left again. So here I am, sitting in the waiting room with drugs waiting for my prodigal spirit to come back and accept our fate...

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Loved Again

I see how you yell, curse and flog

And beat him like he’s a homeless dog

But the very next minute, even while he’s still in despair

I see how you draw him close and run your fingers through his hair

You mutter a few warm and soft words while locked in an embrace

And suddenly, a tender smile spreads across his face

Here I am, standing in the rain

“Sir, would you show me how to be loved again?”

Your wrapper, falling off your waist

You certainly seem like you’re in haste

Yet you subtly take it off to shield your two daughters from the cold

The very same ones who just made you scold

I see how they look up at you with tears in their eyes yet surprised

I ask myself what makes you so wise

That’s why I’m here, for my heart is in pain

“Madam, would you please show me how to be loved again?”

Like that was not all

Just across the street, I see you, about 6 years old, roughly 3 feet tall

I see how you weep for your dog that was bruised in the side

I wonder what you would do if it had died

I see how you gently rub its back and kiss its head

I look at myself, all my wounds and my torn clothes; also, I’m well underfed

So please don’t think I’m insane

But would you show me how to be loved again?

It is a few days to my birthday

But I’m the only one who remembers it, so I’ll celebrate it the same way

I only hope that this year I wouldn’t break down in tears

Because, for a while, I’ve been living amidst my own fears

Yet I see all of you, taking little acts of love showered on you for granted

If only I could sit under your table picking up the bread crumbs, oh, if only it was me instead

If only I could have a little taste, if only I shared in your gain

If only I could know what it feels like to be loved again

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Two thousand and Fifteen footprints

No seizure-causing vocabularies, no bridges over volcanoes, no masks on shadows, just me being crystal clear like the sky in the spring.

Frankly, I’ve been extremely reluctant in penning down my journey this year as I felt it was one of my most complicated years and I was most misunderstood but just to quench the childish frenzy of my fingers, here we go…

2015… in summary, all I can say is “Wow”. It was quite a year indeed. While others walked into this year like Tom Cruise walking out of an explosion with the whole glasses thing going on, I rather peeked first, then walked in extremely cautious. 1^st January 2015, I remember scrolling down my phone, checking how many New Year messages I got and how many calls I received. Quite a few, I would say, as the previous year had caused numerous stabs to me and mine. It took me a while, but I finally got in the spirit of the year, open, long list of expectations and of course, hopes without gravity. And then, there I was, expecting the best like a blindfolded kid whose parents hired Disney world to celebrate his 10^th birthday. But just before mid-year, it all came crashing down so fast, I quit explaining myself to people because the rate at which I was misunderstood was off the charts, my friendship and relationship chart would form a long list of the letter, M. It became unbearable that I had to take weeks of compulsory solitude so I’d not completely lose my sanity…to mention the mildest of my resolutions. I engaged myself in a lot of other activities which I really want to write, but my fingers just have a mind of their own. I got hit on all sides- educationally, pressure from school (final exams and project) was asphyxiating; spiritually, I was staggering; emotionally, look at all these scars, I was dead, all my heart did was all it was created for- pumping blood; physically, I lost 6kg, almost gave out my favourite suit; mentally, the streets suddenly seemed so beautiful; name it, I was a lost case. I gave up trying to gather the pieces, as it seemed like a waste of energy, I just let the wind decide our rendezvous points.

But hold on, it wasn’t all sad news, I had my moments. In 2015, I graduated with a Chemical Engineering degree (I love saying it this way because… I mean, you know). I made a group of odd friends who turned out to be the reason why the saying “don’t judge a book by its cover” exists, I reconnected with some very old ones too. I started getting paid for what I do for fun, ignore the details here please…lol. I took some time out to do a self-initiated #iTour programme which involved me visiting different states of the country. I got a new suit and shoe!!! You would understand the excitement if you were over 6ft tall with a shoe size of 46, oh, the struggle. I began my service year in November.

Life began to have a meaning all over again by the second half of the year. I found my smile, I found my rhythm, I found my niche and I found my music. This didn’t happen by just sitting and letting the jigsaw play itself, I made another attempt to own my life. I had to make tougher decisions, I had to fight one more time. It caused more pain, more tears, more hatred, more heartbreaks (not for me though, because I actually didn’t think I had a heart at that point). But it was worth it at the end. I finally got my wish for 2014- to be happy, no matter the cost- I was happy.

After reading an ode to 2015 by my friend, Ms. DHK, I think I’ll do just the same thing she’s up to, entering the new year with a blank slate, I mean, where’s the fun in knowing? So at this point, I raise my half full glass (literally, as I couldn’t wait to end this), and here’s to 2015, to my bad decisions, bad relationships, bad addictions (just swerve), every heart aching moment, every person that contributed to building my emotional grave, you helped me write this story, your work is done, thank you. And to 2016, I just bought my Tom Cruise glasses…

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