A letter to my broken self

My dear broken self,

Hi (whispers), I know you’re in there. There is no need for you to hide anymore. Here, take my hand, my, you’re so cold, yes almost there, come step out into the light. No, I’m not going to put the blinds on. What is it? Yes, I am finally acknowledging you. You see I have realized that being broken is okay. That is how the light gets in. Of course, it will take some time for you to get accustomed to the brightness. Me too.      

Frankly, I have been ignoring your existence for as long as I remember like you’re an ominous spirit but you’re not. I know it took me too long to accept that you are a part of me. You are me. I am you. We are broken. I am broken. 

Not the romanticised version shamelessly glorified in the captions of oodles of pictures floating around on Facebook and Instagram. Not like my muse who would inspire my art or ignite my creative spirit but more in a way that I am drowning or burning. both At the same time. Burnt and drowning. The burden of my existence weighing me down to the seabed.

You run your thumb over your rough edges contemplating how much harder you can press before it slices your skin like muslin cut neatly into pieces for its dexterity in stitching your superhero suit. Your armour. You don’t leave the house without it anymore. 

You’ve weaved your cocoon with the loose strings from every failed relationship. A pretty rainbow with the scarlet dyed with the lost love, parakeet green with your envious brooding, canary yellow with your eccentricities and a dark blue with the dying light of a flickering candle. 

The thorns as the mistakes in your life now embellish your fort wall. The moat around it reeks of disappointment and betrayal. You are now familiar with that scent to the extent that it feels homely. 

You trudge past the deserted streets of what was a flourishing town inside you once. Now all abandoned almost in haste, as if by the cause of some natural catastrophe, uprooting the entire settlement. What remains is a ghost town. Empty buildings, empty blocks, empty roads. 

You who left a “ You “ shaped hole in me.

As you take all your pieces and try to make meaning out of them by arranging into a jigsaw puzzle but you figure out that they won’t fit. You see some of them have gone missing. The Rubik’s cube can’t be solved as gaping holes stare at you from places where there used to be the coloured blocks. 

I have peeked at you lying down on your back with a lousy finger at the stars, connecting them like dots spelling D E S P A I R.

You’re a puppet, with strings attached and pulled by the information you've  acquired from a duly memorized manual of how to behave in certain common social settings and situations. “Oh thank you, yes, please. Smile, nod, repeat.”

Stale breath with repeated pleasantries.

You’re spending a lot of time by yourself lately. Alone time. However, I see that you’ve started to stray into the other side. You scout around the boundary of ‘alone’ before crossing to the pool of loneliness where you lose your way and seldom return. I have seen that it gives you a warm snuggly feeling of comfort to succumb into the abyss. 

You feel uneasy. A strange quivering sensation swallowing the entire body with a whirlpool emanating from the belly, feasting on your normal body mechanisms, to grow into a tornado rising up. I rush to the washroom. A gag reflex, a forward jerk in the neck, (gag reflex) huh…no vomiting. Again. False alarms again.

Nothing comes out.

Not even the tears anymore. They too have dried up. I hear the tear glands were rescued from the flooded areas as the water level had risen beyond the danger level. 

I have forgotten the trails of dampness running down my cheeks and their salty taste kissing the corners of my lips.

Smeared mascara like the hollow dungeons deep and dark where once your eyes would light up like the crackling fire in a cozy barn on a frosty night.

I think it is time for me to change my mirror. You see, it is not my reflection staring back at me anymore. OR maybe its time to change myself. 

To complete myself by accepting you. 

I, that is you and me, are okay. This is okay.

See, we’re even warmer now

Now let’s stop loathing in self-pity for you see,

I have mountains to move, and absolutely no time to lose 

So what if I’m broken, who isn’t?

A letter to the man in the movie hall

Dear Man-who-came-and-sat-beside-Me

I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.

It was the third week after the release of the blockbuster film I was desperately waiting to catch in the theater. None of my friends agreed to go with me, owing it to negative reviews and a stagnant excuse of having no time.

So I was on my own and on my own seemed like a breath of fresh air at that moment. I was excited to watch the movie I had waited for, with baited breath over these months, after they released the enigmatic first trailer.

I pulled into a pair of comfortable shorts teamed up with a loose Tee and I was good to go. I had forgotten how much I used to enjoy the alone outings, the self-introspection dates, the self-pampered saga.

With a playful jump in my step, swelling joy in my heart, I reached the cinema hall.

“Ticket for one, please”, I cooed.

Was there something wrong with me or was that sentence bound to get me an unusual look peppered with inquisitiveness and a slight dosage of pity?

Anyway, I drove away her weird look plastered in my head and trotted towards the Auditorium 1.

I scanned the area as I entered the hall and broke into a heartfelt smile as I see my seat exactly like I wanted it to be.

Now I knew the theater wasn’t going to be exactly full. Instead, only the top 4-5 rows would be occupied and that too being a weekday, the audience would majorly compose of the budding romantic couples and a few bunch of young boys scattered here and there.

I stumbled into the pool of darkness and I saw my glorious seat right there in the middle of the 2^nd row from the front of the screen. I glided towards it, plopped into its lap, stretched my arms and cracked my knuckles.

Let the show begin!

It was only at the end of the second trailer that I spotted you. From the corner of my eyes, I saw a protruding striped belly of yellow and green approach me stealthily.

By now I had my bare legs up on the neck-rest of the front chair, laid out and crossed. I had made myself at home and an intruder was not welcome.

However, the hall as it was, I removed my left elbow from the arm-rest and snuggled into the right half of my chair.

Now I wanted to ask you a few questions, you, a good man in your late twenties.

Why did you have to come and sit next to me when your allotted seat was 5 rows above mine and 2 to the left?

I shall think of it because you were alone and perhaps wanted a silent company throughout the movie.

So, the film started and now you were laughing at all the jokes I was giggling at. What was this creepy move supposed to mean?

And trust me I took me around 5 such hilarious scenes to pass after I sensed this pattern.

Well, maybe we must’ve shared the appreciation of a common taste of humor.

It was soon interval.

Though you hadn’t been much of a nuisance until then, except for dropping the popcorn you had been munching loud enough to distract me, on me twice and accidentally brushing past your arm against mine.

Now accustomed to this, as I was, I could bear having you around (I have seen worse) but I preferred the comfortable, alone golden- time over it. So I picked up my purse and moved three rows above while I had discreetly observed you leaving to refill the popcorn bucket, maybe for a few more missed aimed shots at my lap. But maybe that’s just far-fetched even for you. 

I tried to disappear inside the plush cushions as you entered. I could see you bewildered trying to locate me. The movie started and I was deeply engrossed in it with my 3D glasses cutting any side view distractions. 

That was when I heard your hoarse voice,” Excuse me! Can I sit here?” and immediately you did. 

I just sat there opening and closing my mouth like a fish, confused. I decided to concentrate on the movie. I wanted to be trapped inside my own mind palace then.

After it ended, I saw you stand up and instead of turning towards me for small talk, which I was positive of, you turned the other way and walked out. 

That was totally uncalled for. I need to mention, you took me by complete surprise, a fairly happy surprise.

I want to sincerely thank you for it.

I don’t know whether you had sensed my rising fear and discomfort or it was never your intention in the first place to ask for my number. Maybe I had my imagination going berserk.

But all the more, thank you.

Thank you for wiping clean my stereotype for every man I find staring at me.

Thank you for cementing my belief that I am free to watch a movie alone whenever I want, wherever I want.

Thank you for not following me that day or spewing any vulgar comments at me.

Thank you for giving me the world I think exists.

Yours thankfully,

The-alone-girl-in-the-movie-hall