Tag Archives: parents

Stillness in abandonment

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i)

My parents tell me about their youth. Times that they would like to live again. Memories, back to when they we’re not married. They drape their lives across for us to listen and get a glimpse of how carefree they were. My mother talks about how free she was until she fell in love with a man. A man who made a cage out of false promises and she chose to stay in it. My father talks about how he always meant well but never well enough to hold his ground.
You see?
He had kept the door of the cage open, always. He never believed in chaining someone down.
They don’t ever leave one another; the one free or the one captive. The cage has room for both of them, now. They sit in it with the door open. I think this is what Stockholm syndrome is like.

ii)
I learnt the importance of detachment at a young age. My feet are quick to change direction towards an exit even when my heart tells me not to. It’s been long since my heart sounded like mine.
Tiptoeing around the ones I love, biting my nails and avoiding interactions as I make my way out of their heart.
This isn’t a heart, I say to him. This is an iceberg and I push the ones I love off the tip.
My mother taught me to have a hard heart. Having a stone heart is better than having a cold one and if you don’t have one at all? That is the best. Shut them out before they see that you’re just a tangled mesh of nothingness.
A sadist ode to the inner masochist poet.

iii)
We’re all tiny galaxies orbiting around the ones we love. We make them our center of attention from time to time. I learnt from the cage she was kept in to know never to stay around anyone longer than their intended purpose in my life. Never slip through into their universe.
A failed union taught me to never let anyone become everything; even when great poets tell me otherwise.
I become watchful of boys who spin cages out of promises that they don’t intend to keep. Boys who tie ropes around your fingers with promises; and my mother still hides the jute marks from her wrists as she talks about love.

iv)
I remind myself to always be on guard when it comes to feelings. Never get close enough for people to lure me in with their ropes and cage me.
Practicing on the ones you love is the best way to be perfect at the art of running away. Never getting attached but always making it seem like you’re emotionally dependent on them. This way you can always have someone to love you but never run the risk of collateral emotional damage.
My psychologist calls this “fear of attachment” but I call this, survival in a world where everyone believes that love is a simile for imprisonment.
Because once I knew a boy who told me that his mother refused to leave his abusive father because she loved him. Months later, I saw myself in the same position- very familiar to our conversation. However, I decided to leave because in the end-we’re all just somehow fulfilling the patterns and scripts laid out by our parents.

I decided to break the pattern as my mother talks about how I should have stayed. I wonder if she realizes that love and hurt are not similar. “There is no need to associate the notion of hurt or pain with something so beautiful as love.”, I say, and she dares not look into my eyes.

v)

Being “present” has never been one of my strongest attribute. I like to run away on purpose from people so there is no chance of emotional attachment which can lead to detachment, later on.

Escaping everything and everyone, like a social Houdini.

However, instead of magic tricks I just disappear for days on end because that way I can be friends with the empty space of my room.
Ignoring every attempt that people make to reach out to me with the phrase “I’m busy.”

I’m not busy.
I’m just chugging in sleeping pills and valium with a tenth of whiskey to sleep off whatever it is that is bothering me. Sleep off whatever it is that has been growing inside the pit of my stomach that I have to escape to deal with it but not deal with it, at the same time.

He tells me escapism is a magic trick that is getting old
I say, “Abracadabra” , and smile.

vi) I take two pills with a glass of wine. I realize that I’m getting old and so is this liver. I find myself trying to be careful in the destructive path that I have chalked out for myself.
Shit! I think I might be in love. Because why else would I be so careful?
The next day, he tells me that I’m not as bad as I like to tell the world. I smile knowing that he doesn’t have half the clue or maybe he does and accepts.
What I am in front of people is not who I really am or maybe that is exactly who I am. Someone so volatile, raw and absurd that everyone thinks it’s an act.

A reality mistaken for illusion.

He tells me, I’m more of a habit than a love.
I laugh.
He says, that my attempt to throw people off is forced than natural.
So, I push him and we laugh
He touches my hand
I can feel the ropes tightening on my wrists. The same ones I saw on my mother and warned myself about.

vii)

Every man I know searches for a lava heart underneath this iceberg even though I keep on telling them that there isn’t one. They try hammering their name on it.
Freeze their fingers trying to hold it.
Break them off.
I find their attempt at trying to find something real under something false so beautifully heart wrenching, I almost give them a chance.
Chance

I run before they realize that I’m not the person they want to freeze over.
Run as soon as their fingers become blue.
Run as soon as I feel the rope creeping up on my wrists.
I say their names like an empty prayer I will soon forget. A prayer that creeps up on your lips only when you realize that “loneliness”, is a word laced with melancholy and wrapped in abandonment.

I leave because the cage door is open and I’m not going to take a chance on captivity by choice. Never by chance.

 

 

 

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Life taught me love

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I have learnt
That
Loving and living aren’t so different
Both need commitment and time
You need to put in effort
Until, it becomes involuntary
So on days where you don’t feel like breathing
Your lungs refuse to give up
And just so
Loving someone is the same
On days when you feel like leaving
Someone ought to hold you back

My first time.

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 The first time they told me not to do drugs I was 15 and my parents made a big deal About how addiction was bad About how it ruined lives The irony of it all was My father smoked a lot Addicted to his Bensons and pot My mother took her pills Addicted to valiums and whatnot Addiction was bad they said Good girls! Don’t do drugs Promise us child? You won’t ever touch wine. You won’t ever touch a pill Or consume anything that kills I agreed because I had to What more can a cornered person do? Four years down the road Now, that I know Why addiction was bad That the illusions do not last Love, life, lust, faith, dreams, future All crashes down like a house of cards And you are alone to face reality Addiction does not ruin you. It certainly does not What ruins you is the void in your heart That you fill with rum every night That empty space on the bed Where you crave the presence of them at times It does not always have to be alcohol and powder filled packs Or magic mushrooms or even hash It is that lingering space in your entity That has been broken and dejected by the world It is that question mark left on your heart And the thud of your heartbeat in the silence of the dark.


The first time they told me not to do drugs
I was 15 and my parents made a big deal
About how addiction was bad
About how it ruined lives
The irony of it all was
My father smoked a lot
Addicted to his Bensons and pot
My mother took her pills
Addicted to valiums and whatnot
Addiction was bad they said
Good girls! Don’t do drugs
Promise us child?
You won’t ever touch wine.
You won’t ever touch a pill
Or consume anything that kills
I agreed because I had to
What more can a cornered person do?
Four years down the road
Now, that I know
Why addiction was bad
That the illusions do not last
Love, life, lust, faith, dreams, future
All crashes down like a house of cards
And you are alone to face reality
Addiction does not ruin you.
It certainly does not
What ruins you is the void in your heart
That you fill with rum every night
That empty space on the bed
Where you crave the presence of them at times
It does not always have to be alcohol and powder filled packs
Or magic mushrooms or even hash
It is that lingering space in your entity
That has been broken and dejected by the world
It is that question mark left on your heart
And the thud of your heartbeat in the silence of the dark.

Mother

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It was early morning and I was getting ready for school You made me toast and jam; my favorite because you knew I saw you had purple marks on your right eye and cheeks A black one on your arms and blue on your knees You told me last night you fell off the stairs And that daddy was asleep upstairs I believed you fell and those screams were not real I went to school and thought all day How does one fall and get hurt that way? I came back and we talked about school I did my homework and went to bed at noon I heard screams again at night   Saw daddy pull your hair and smash you on the wall to the right I saw it all and ran as fast as I could He was cursing and abusing as I struggled with him to leave you He smacked me too, I felt weak and dizzy to get up and fight I woke up in my bed and saw you more bruised than last night You tended my bruises  and made me feel all right I didn’t go to school the next day and that night you slept by my side You kissed my forehead and made me promise that I will be a good boy I feared daddy might come again with his belt and repeat it all again So I hugged you with all my might  I woke up in the morning relieved that you were still by my side The only difference was I saw blood stained sheets  And your corpse by my side.

It was early morning and I was getting ready for school
You made me toast and jam; my favorite because you knew
I saw you had purple marks on your right eye and cheeks
A black one on your arms and blue on your knees
You told me last night you fell off the stairs
And that daddy was asleep upstairs
I believed you fell and those screams were not real
I went to school and thought all day
How does one fall and get hurt that way?
I came back and we talked about school
I did my homework and went to bed at noon
I heard screams again at night
Saw daddy pull your hair and smash you on the wall to the right
I saw it all and ran as fast as I could
He was cursing and abusing as I struggled with him to leave you
He smacked me too, I felt weak and dizzy to get up and fight
I woke up in my bed and saw you more bruised than last night
You tended my bruises and made me feel all right
I didn’t go to school the next day and that night you slept by my side
You kissed my forehead and made me promise that I will be a good boy
I feared daddy might come again with his belt and repeat it all again
So I hugged you with all my might
I woke up in the morning relieved that you were still by my side
The only difference was I saw blood stained sheets
And your corpse by my side.