The Day I Drew my Heart..

"Umm...Emily? Can you see me in my office right after class?" Miss Peggy, as carefully as she had looked at the painting, added it into her file.

"Sure." I smiled and walked away, my back feeling her piercing stare.

I read somewhere: a picture says a thousand words. But a painting? I was not so sure. Until today...
Let me describe what it was in what I drew that made her feel shocked. I'll jot it down for you so it's easy to understand.

But before I start, let me tell you that we were all asked to draw a heart. Only, I made mine.

1- I drew a bright red heart. The first step was pretty easy.

2- I drew small cracks in it. Loads of em until the heart looked like a continent broken down into hundreds of countries.

3- I drew a knife with a huge blade (the kind chefs use) pointing at it and labelled it as 'relationships which failed'.

4- Followed by an arrow representing all the people who used me.

I drew and I drew until it looked a little something like this.

But it wasn't this drawing which made her pity me. In fact, I know it was the sentence I wrote at the bottom that kept her in shock:
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

And in my case, all this really did strengthen me. The heart which appears to be scattered into millions of shards is way tougher than it ever used to be. And if someone asks why I made such a sad painting, I would tell them it's because unlike them, I see happiness in it.

If only...

"If only I hadn't kept myself behind the veil of lies. If only I'd shown a clear picture of mine. If only all that I'm going through had been a dream.

It's no use. If only I'd thought of things before. If only I hadn't underestimated the frailty of the bonds made of lies, things would've have been the way they are now. I wouldn't have felt as alone as an island would in the ocean.

Everything happened in seconds. I lied. Then the truth revealed itself. And it all fell apart. I didn't regret it at first. But now I do. Partly because it didn't work out for us. And partly because...

oh if only, for once, I'd believed in the fairness of this world. Life is never fair to us. Because we are too weak to accept our mistakes. And so was I. But now I got to know...and that too the hard way.

I regret the mistakes as much as I wanted to kill you in the beginning. Your existence was my weakness. It's funny how I want your forgiveness as badly as I intended for lying. I don't know if you would've been too strong to forgive if you'd been with me. 

Oh if only I knew...

I want to be with you but bringing you back is beyond my abilities. And coming for you is something my mind doesn't perceive. 

Yes. I'm still sane. And incomplete. It all happened when I was driving home. And as soon as the contentedness seemed to overwhelm me, I blacked out. 

Any loved one would've fainted after hours of crying. But here I am, with nothing to give you after all that that has happened. 

Not even tears. 

I'm just too shocked too cry. I hope you understand. I know it's all my fault. I hope you forgive me. If only you could tell me that.

Your step sister, 

Cathy"

She silently placed the note on her sister's grave, prayed for God's forgiveness and rolled her wheelchair away with the one arm she had left.

Robbing the Confidence #metoo

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She dropped her pen and looked up in fear. Her hands shivered. Her teeth chattered. She held the table tightly, leaving sweaty fingerprints on it.

The steps got louder. And louder. She sunk in her chair. And the door opened...

"Hello there Miss Everdeen!" she looked at his eyes which gleamed with what she could perceive as malice. She figured out that he could sense her fear by the evident smirk on his face after watching her curl up in a ball.

He came closer and closer. She slipped her hand into the drawer and blindly fished for a knife. Anytime now...

He sighed and let out a chuckle, "Don't worry. Now isn't the time. Please take these files for me now will you?," and his face transformed back into that of a busy businessman and he stormed away.

Rachel heaved a sigh of relief. Her helplessness had forced her into this black hole of Hell. It had been six months but everytime she would see him, images of him torturing and abusing her would click in her mind. Making room for apprehension in which it would settle for long periods of time.

To others, he was just Catherine's boss. But to her, he was monster she hated to depend on.

The anxiety which would only partially leave when squeezed out of her eyes with tears. Sometimes she doubted her feelings. She still didn't know if it was the realization of her helplessness, the fear of further harassment or the ordinariness in his behavior after such a heinous act.

As the mountain of feelings got bigger and bigger, a tear finally rolled down her cheek. But the wall of helplessness didn't move an inch. Like always.

Tears: Evidence of a Crime

This is a story of every person out there who is made fun of. It highlights how people who are ridiculed for crying, hide their emotions.

She let out a sob. And another one. 

And as quickly as lightening, she covered her mouth with the helm of her skirt. She cursed the hiccoughs which escaped her mouth. She loathed the streams of tears blackened by the mascara which stained her face.

She wished she hadn't locked herself up in there. The close walls amplified her voice. Any ear sticking against the door could hear the sound of her misery.

"Alice! I need to use the loo. And everyone's waiting for you outside. What are you doing in there?"

The redness of the eyes wasn't ready to leave at that instant. Especially with the amount of tears she had squeezed out of them. But the urgency of the moment had her brainstorming with anxiety.

And just to buy time, she struggled with a quivering voice. Yes I know. Give me five minutes.

As she heard sound of the footsteps diminish, she heaved a sigh of relief: her cousin hadn't known.

She could make a great actress. Such an irrelevant thought crossing her mind made her giggle. 

And soon, with the blotches of black on her face washed and the redness in her eyes melting away, she finally stepped outside. She never told her cousin what kept her in there for so long. And Alice prayed that she never asked too. 

She was sick of being surrounded by people who didn't value her tears. And most of all, she was sick of having the same words being yelled at her: Only the weak cry.

Guilt of Envy

I stared at the swings at a distance: the swings we swung. Yellow wooden seats held by bright red chains. I missed feeling the air as I cut swiftly through it. But I missed something even more: her.

The swings were there. I was present too. Only, the one who made everything seem better than it was, was now somewhere far away. And the swings still squeaked as if nature was calling out to me, pitying my loneliness.

And I'm pretty sure my best friend was thinking no differently about me. I needed her yet I wanted her to stay away.

It's strange how sometimes, you cannot understand what you want. I had told the matron I wanted to be adopted too. But the home she had found for me was the complete opposite of where Giselle went: scary and sad. I'd said I didn't want to go. 

I don't like the matron. She found a family for me and sent Giselle instead. Sometimes I feel like she hates me. Or she's a sadist and I'm her poor victim.

She said Giselle was older and she had more right. For all I know, were were both eight. Only, she was a month older.

She calls weekly to apologize and like always, I pretend to sleep under the covers when I'm actually crying. She came over once too. But I ran away into the woods about a mile away.

The children told me she seemed very happy. She dressed much nicer and had grown healthier. And why wouldn't she be? She was taken by the lawyers after all. Her admiration burned me.

I know what emotion is ruling over me now. I'm jealous. Or envious. I'm not sure. I'm just aware of the fact that I don't like my best friend snatching things away from me...even when I know it's not her fault.

I'm fine

I prepared myself for the third time to say it to her face. It was tough but what choice did I have. If I let my heart lose, I knew I would risk her happiness. She would be worried, I knew. And what else is a best friend supposed to do?

I turned around so she couldn't see and shut my eyes, wiping any signs of the moistness of my tears left on my cheeks. I surveyed the reflection that stood in front of me: my twin but just a little squeezed from the shoulder because of the dent embedded within the steel locker.

No red nose?
Check.

White eyes?
Check.

No trembling lips?
Check

I cleared my throat and sound-tested myself.

No quivering voice?
I needed to work on that one. I just prayed she wouldn't make it out.

Random negative thoughts inside my head?
Still storming through.

'Layla.' she sighed in exasperation, 'I know there's something you are not telling me. And for the third time I'm asking you, are you okay?'

The thoughts started getting louder and louder, until I could practically hear them.

No. I'm not okay. I've been hurt and ditched. I've been used. I've gone through a lot yet I haven't told you. I've lost my family and it's been a long time. But I miss them. I want them so bad though I know it's been a deacade since I lost them. I feel so alone all the time and I don't know what to do. And I just don't want to tell you that because I don't want you to judge me, or pity me or react in any way. And I want to keep it to myself because, most of all, you are my best friend and I don't want to worry you.

The thoughts pinched my eyes hard until I could feel them turning red.

'Yeah. It's just the allergies. Otherwise...I'm fine.' and I managed to pull the best smile I could.

It was short. I was simple. And it was something I could easily hide myself behind. It was just a sentence comprising of two words: I'm fine. And the thought of being alone some more stayed with me.

A mixture of the worst

I was never that fragile. Nor did I look like the one who would easily break down. The way I would walk with my head held high, people would turn around and whispers would erupt.

Hey, look. She's the girl in the army. 

Mommy. How many pounds can she lift? 

Oh My God. So much has happened and she didn't let a tear fall. Now isn't she strong.

The last one was quite true. So much had happened. Perhaps, too much to be endured by any other 25-year-old. 

But then again, that too, was true. Because what was happening was quite unbelievable. The first tear slowly makes its way down my cheek. And for some reason, I don't find that shameful. Only, I don't know why I was crying.

I shuffled through the glossy pages of my table calendar, each bearing one red circle. One on February the 26th. Mom died right after the plane crashed. 1st March: my sister succumbed to the injuries. 6th of June: the day I got divorced.

So basically I lost my family. And Dad? I probably didn't even know what a calendar was back when he passed away. The memory of his face, and voice too, is a faint one. But Mom tells me I was two when he died.

I produced a red pen from my drawer, sobbing and wiping the tears away wildly. Another red circle was on its way: the day my best friend died.

I have always examined myself closely. I don't have black fur or whiskers. Then why am I the black cat? Why does everything seem to fall apart wherever I step?

But there is just so much going on, the whirlwind of thoughts seems to confuse me more than anything. And as another tear falls, I realize, it's not just one thing that keeps squeezing them out of my eyes. It's the whirlwind as a whole. A storm called 'the mixture of the worst'.

It keeps growing as it gobbles onto every tragedy until you can take it no more and your eyes explode with tears. It's the storm...but you are never aware.

Ignorance

No eggs at home? Oh I can fix this.

A fractured arm? A little worse but I can fix that too. 

Life seemed quite...fixable. With all the new ways time and intelligence brought with it' everyone seemed to be one's own Bob the Builder. Until that day...the day I heard what was once impossible to me, yet too easy to be made possible. All it needed was one mistake and then began what I call helplessness.

I'm sorry. We can't fix this. And I'd suggest you tell everyone before it's too late.

With that thundering sentence, life seemed like it was a rollercoaster speeding towards a deadly cliff: it was unstoppable.

I can clearly recall how I would overlook everything with those four easy words. Only I'd never been intoduced to their deadliness. 

A headache? I can fix it. A bad cough? I can fix it.

And then the worst happened. If only I hadn't given myself away to this vey sentence, I wouldn't have been on my deathbed right now.

Ignorance had lead me to this. And now it was too late. Too late to do anything except for waiting to make my way peacefully to the heavens in my sleep.

All because of ignorance.

Staying unanswered: letter from the curious one

Hello the someone who's reading this,

Here's my story,

"I'm sorry", she closed the file gently, "But it's just not good enough."

This was the 30th time I was witnessing these very words being hurled at me.

"But why is this 'not good enough'? I mean, there must be something which disappoints you. And I promise I'll take care of it." I watched her unchanged blank expression "Please. Don't do this to me. I came here with a lot of hope." I pleaded.

"I'm sorry. But this is a publishing house. Not a counsellor's office. Now if you may," she gestured towards the door, "because I have more much important things to do."

I heaved myself and turned towards the door. Each footstep felt like a mile away from my dreams. It appeared as if I had come too far now. Too far to look back and find a way to where I began. It was saddening.

That night, I cried as I went through each and every word of each and every page. Funny isn't it? The fact that you read comedy and then you cry?

"You don't waste a syllable, honey. This might lead you somewhere."

I asked my teacher what she meant that very day. But she never told me. I remember how she replied, again, leaving behind clues I couldn't quite follow. 

"Just do what you like." 

I thought I had the desired reply, but the night of the 30th rejection, I finally had second thoughts. Maybe I was too silly to understand. Maybe she meant something else. 

I had so much to ask. To my teacher. To the publishing houses. To a lot of people. But the pile of questions kept increasing until I could bear no more. And these are the last words you will ever read from me.

Goodbye everyone.

Love,

Bella

Losing importance

1st June

Miranda: Hi. What's up?

Me: Nothing much. What about u?

Miranda: I'm bored. Hey u wanna go fetch a coffee or something?

Me: Sure.

5th June

Miranda: U r the kind of person I needed. I'm glad u r my friend. Coffee was fun.

Me: Yeah same here. U wanna come over?

Miranda: Sure. I'm on my way.

6th June

Miranda: Your friends were really cool. We all can hang out sometime.

Me: Yeah why not? What about tomorrow?

Miranda: Sounds cool!

8th June

Me: Hey. I waited for your call. Where were u?

Miranda: Oh I called u. But u didn't pick up. So your friends n I went without u. I hope u didn't mind.

Me: Of course not. But I checked n I never received a call.

Me: Miranda?

Me: Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooo

10th June

Miranda: Oh hey I was busy. Sorry. 

Me: Wow. U replied pretty early -.- 

Me: U got any plans for weekend? Hellooooooooooooooooooooooo

15th June

Me: I heard you've been avoiding me. I hope that's not true.

20th June

Me: Miranda I don't get you anymore. First you call us best friends and then you go out with my friends n don't text me back. What do u want?

Me: U know what? Maybe people are right. U ARE avoiding me. 

23rd June

Me: I'm sorry if I ever did anything wrong. Though I don't know what I did. Bye Miranda. I hope you forgive me if I ever hurt you in any way. :(

Miranda: Bye.

Being rejected when it's no one's fault

I looked at the mirror. Pouted face. The one with a smile. A grin. I couldn't look worse in any way. Not that I always had the same negative thoughts about myself. Not a couple of years ago. No. Not months. Not even days. Or hours. Yes...hours. A few hours.

A few hours ago. I turned around me. I had run out of tissues. But the stubborn tears remained, falling like they belonged to a broken faucet. Broken by words. Yes, words. Trust me, you may forget a year old slap but words haunt you for a lifetime.

They live in the things you do which remind you of the words. And in my case, their dwelling was the mirror, my watch, metal and almost everything out there which bore my reflection.

You are not like us. You are not pretty. I mean just look at your eyes. Can't they be a nicer colour? Or what about your skin tone? You look like an unpeeled potato. 

She giggled away with her friends as I stood there. All I did was ask to be friends. I never said anything impolite. But funny isn't it? I remember each and every word she spat. And every syllable stabs me over and over.

We studied in science. It's all because of the melanin and the genes. which our parents lend to us. But who's fault is this? My parents'? Mine? Or is it just luck? I don't know who to blame. God I suppose...considering what my mother told me just now when she spotted me weeping.

Linda. You are just beautiful. Just look at the people who are blind. Or those who are missing out on eating with their hands or having a walk around without a wheelchair. Have you ever thought about them? Thank God he made you better than them.

So maybe it was his fault. And I was wrong not thanking him for that. But what could I do? There is this thing you call world...it just turns you selfish and keeps you asking for more.

And that, sadly, isn't my fault either.