Closed Door

A blank page. A random tune stuck in my head, playing on loop. An idea that wants to be explored. I have something to say, but words fail me. I am a student, a writer, a girl but most important of all, a dreamer. Not the regular kind but a day dreamer. I can ride the clouds, meet the President or even stand on top of Mount Everest. All of it, without leaving my chair. But for the longest time there is a thought or rather an image or fantasy or what have you, which is not leaving my side. I walk out the door of my house with it. I wait for the bus with it. I even sit in the library with it. All of it has one thing in common. Me, alone and time. I feel as if I have a lot of it.

So back to my imagination. I imagine conversations. Lately it’s only surrounding one person. I met him in real life for a total of three or four times. Rest is just me wanting to take it all in. I wanted more. So the story continues as they say. I wondered how this person would be in their home. Or if they’d have a home. Or what if he is lonely? But no one is lonely right. All of us have people around them. May be I see others the way I feel inside. All of my characters are alone. I don’t know why.

Now I want that person to go away. I want that imagination to go away. I actually want to live my life alone. It’s weird how people affect me. I hate crowds. I don’t like when others get in my space. I am not anti social. I don’t hate others. I want others so bad that it scares me. People scare me. They are the most cruel and silent killers. You know how, they smile, they let you get your guards down, they minute you get get comfortable. Boom! They are gone. I like books instead. They stay.

For every story’s character there is a back story. There should be one for me right. In a nutshell I am a foreigner. I have carried this burden of being alone in a crowd ever since I was a kid. I wanted friends. They look good in movies. Especially in those montages. Everyone is happy and there are lots of hugs to go around. I miss hugs. In school, not in my country but the one I live in now, I had a group. They too left. The time I didn’t even do anything. Doctors said it was depression. I took blue colored pills. One pill to take the pain away. I didn’t have scars on my body. It was all inside. I miss that touch. That feeling of seeing smiling faces who knew me. Or even the feeling of not having people’s smile making my skin crawl.

There is a door that had closed, locking me in. I have to push that door open. I don’t know how to. My arms ache with the efforts. I find strength. I try. I fail. I stand up. I try again. Over and over and over again. This time the door won’t stay shut for long.

The Struggle to Sleep

Breath, she inhales, a pungent smell of both sweat and worn clothes reaches her. In between the smell, the tiny room and the three people she shared it with, existed her tiny world. Her bed, a slew of books on the plastic box beside her bed and a small pink teddy bear. She started sleeping with it as her nightmares began. The faces and memories meshed together, of a land she’d left behind. They have since dissipated but she still can’t sleep without it. She lays down now with her fluffy companion held in the crevice of her left elbow. She holds on to it subconsciously now sometimes even in the night when it would fall on the floor, her arms automatically knows what to do. She’d pull it back to her chest, inhale it’s smell and close her eyes.

As her eyes started to close and sleep came in ready to take her away, she attempted one last time. Tell me a story, her thoughts begged. Okay, she searched her brain for a shred of imagination that would take flight. She thought carefully so as to not step on the scary thoughts. Carefully and slowly she started planning. A feeble structure stood on the soil of her carefully planned imagination: her story. She pictured a love story this time. Just last her childhood, she wanted that feeling to encapsulate her, but there was a block. Her hero didn’t feel like a hero, his face would morph into that of a predator, face merciless and eyes cold. Her heroine just wouldn’t let her self be swept away on her feet. They both stood awkwardly and she erased that structure. Sleep was enveloping her senses now. She held on to her teddy bear and took another chance.

This time she built a structure not on fantasy but hope. It was a bit awkward at first. Her mind struggled with the idea of pushing through the clouds of hopelessness to grab hold of this strand of idea. She picked her first pick, a room. A room in a house of her own. A small back yard, with a mango tree in the corner. Like one back home. There would be mountains and a silent lake. The patio where she’d sip iced tea and the pictures on the wall adjacent to the stairs would be filled with pictures. Of hers and her family’s. There would be weekly trips to the nearby zoo. There would also be people. So many people amidst whom her voice won’t feel silenced. She’d speak as loudly and proudly as she can. A smile reached her lips as she felt the strength of the structure. It was a story that she wanted to tell. It was a story she wanted to come to life. Her body now calm, drifted to sleep.

Night Time Observations

Cat sniffing a cigarette,
Abandoned on the sidewalk.

A milk bottle nearly empty,
Standing guard near a car on the road.

A car parked with its front bumper broken,
Laying dejectedly on the grey asphalt, it’s color white.

A mother and a father standing near it,
Calling some one on the phone.

A child in whose hands was a dinosaur toy,
Holding it, like a kid at my Pre-K used to.

Just a night stroll in the City that Never Sleeps,
In whose nights sky, airplane replaces stars, New York