Skies 

Sometimes, the sky is a muted shade of blue, falling slowly. Sometimes the sky is a screaming shade of orange, collapsing all around me. Mostly though, the sky remains a quiet humming of spoiled silver, insidiously moving in no direction at all. 

When a certain time is to come to you, bringing a basket full of pre-written apologies for the damage it is going to cause, how do you learn to accept it with grace? How many times must this Time train you to maintain a pursed face, and learn to bow in acceptance of turbulence and disaster? 

I think you’re always learning, but never fully learn. On days like today, when the orange is bleeding through the steely grey and I watch the sky burn a hole into my chest, I am sitting as quietly as possible.

 I’ve had days where I’ve screamed orange right back to the sky, burning myself in the process. I’ve had days with the heavy grey iron blanket wrapped around myself, drenching my skin in massive rain clouds. Sitting quietly is no option when there are no more options left, and when you’re cornered and hurt, spewing orange and grey can seem imminent too. 

Twenty Three passed away writhing in her sleep, holding onto orange embers that left the burned flesh on her palms coated in grey soot. Twenty Three left Twenty Four three Coloured Skies, a memory of orange and grey, and branded palms. 

Twenty Four could use blue skies, she hardly remembers them. She’s sent a message in a bottle to the Universe, and it’s floating away in the inky black space, greeting stars as it travels. All that’s left to do now is wait, and sit still as the coal in the skies become embers. 

Stalled. 

Promises and determination lie in the corner, half polished and bent. Somewhat dusty, somewhat sticky. 

They’re like those old toys you discard after you’ve spent the glee in your chest on the newness of the shiny trinket. As the novelty fades, so does the glee. As we become older, these toys show up after every upheaval; say for example, a move. Unpacking boxes marked “toys” or “books”, when you come across these trinkets and think, THAT’S where I had put it! You spend hours reminiscing. The most exciting boxes though are ones marked “miscellaneous” or “unknown” (my personal favourite I must say). There’s no set bar on what you’d find here. Sometimes you come across an old red dress that you’d worn when you’d gone shopping at 14. Sometimes, you find a dead heart and a jar of jagged words, and it’s too heavy for you to pick up. This one time, I found a crying child in one of the boxes and I was really worried. I didn’t know what to do. It took a few days for me to figure out that I had actually just found a mirror. After that, I’ve been scared to look inside more boxes. There are so many to still unpack. 

I took a tangent, my apologies. As for the promises and determination, they haven’t been packed away yet. Twenty Four, we really need to step up our game. There are so many things that are quivering to be written about. There are still so many boxes making noise. 

Universal (R)Ejection

One questions loops around my brain, over and over, and ties my thoughts with it in a perfect, enclasping bow: Why. Why the need for this cosmic pummelling? I mean alright, everything has its own reasons and sure, the things that happen do happen for the best sometimes but I mean, come now. Enough is enough. Even the Universe must know that cruelty is just awful.

My parents will officially be moving to Bangalore. My father got a new role in the same company, and my parents are relocating. According to my father, the timing could not have been more perfect. The last few weeks have crawled along, limping through the days, only because I knew that parents would be a weekend visit. I was thankful that the shrapnels of my mother’s sociopathy would be temporary through the weeks, and that a peaceful 5 days would be enough to recuperate and ready myself for more. Now you’re telling me that she’s going to a permanent fixture in this house, ready to shoot as many darts of guilt and anger as possible?

Everything that could have possibly gone wrong is going wrong. Every dreadful thought is materialising into reality. And here I am, trying my best to throw out good thoughts, nice thoughts, needed thoughts and well, it looks like the Universe is doing this on purpose. The last string that kept this sad little puppet propped up, that’s keeping me from collapsing, is on the verge of being cut.

I am being cornered slowly, deliberately and I suppose for a purpose. My teacher told me this is the Universe’s way of kicking me out of Bangalore and getting me to FINALLY get the motor going. She expressed such faith in me, such belief that I am actually an intelligent person and in the right circumstances, I will be able to excel. That in the right place, I will be able to achieve my full potential.

That this is it. The time I have been preparing for for the last 3 years. It is here, and this 11th hour is all I have got now. The Universe is taking no chances with me. Everything that could go wrong is going wrong so that I have no choice but to start the uphill climb. It is here, it is happening.

Had my parents not moved here, I might have gotten comfortable with Bangalore and the lovely stay with my grandmother. I might have thought, why not pull this ahead another year? It’s not so bad. I have finally found love and peace, and more importantly, a loving mother figure in my grandmother. I might have stayed for her. Had my friends not left, I might have continued and lived on with the available social support. I would have managed to postpone the studying, the hard work for some sort of happiness I get from lighting up joints through the day, laughing it away. I would have thought, a social life is important too, it keeps me sane. Had things worked out with the nice man, I might have stayed back thinking that it could work out to something better, something beautiful. I might have thought that the sacrifices in the pursuit of love are massive, but maybe the gains are too. I might have thought that staying back in Bangalore for a while would be alright, it might be really nice actually.

Here I am now, without parental support, without the social support needed, cooped up in a beautiful house and somewhat heart-cracked. I have no place to go but out. I have nothing to do but leave. And leave I must now.

Maybe now I know Why, Universe, or I think I know, but if I do all that I can, will you come through for me at the end?