85. cherry soda loves

there was a line in streetcar named desire that i remember. it said it’s touching to notice them making their first discovery of love! As if nobody had ever known it before.  it resonates, for now the time has come for the bud to be broken and flowers to bloom in the late-spring night air.

the risk is nothing. nothing, really. there are only the long sprawling afternoons this side of summer, when paper is scrunched up into tiny little balls and burnt with a magnifying glass or matches. whichever, the result is all that matters. words are nothing: this air requires action! 
and there are trees, so beautiful this time of year. they remind me of walking to school in the summer and inhaling the scent of apple tree blossom with T. those were the days, eh?

but now, no now, those buds will open and blossom will scatter into the hands of a handsome young man that we choose. for me, this sweltering summer, it’ll be you. and, god willing (an expression i borrowed from an altogether more believing friend of mine), next summer also. for T (if we were boys, she’d be a brother from another mother) it will be someone else. Her new beau (a rather lovely Tenessee expression!). her very first. amazing stength and will and beauty.

so here we are, and isn’t it queer to think we shall be here always? in the arms of another, in the throes of spring, the coming summer alighting hopes in every single one of us, as if petards were thrown at the pavement before us, at our feet, at our willing young hearts?

and we can’t help this feeling hopeful. and we can’t pretend we didn’t want this life.
so every year, like clockwork, we will be discoving those cherry soda loves and shedding blossom in each other’s arms.

48. sweet as lemon sorbet

half my life, i’m freefalling, the other half – looking back on the sights i’ve seen in those few moments before my parachute opened, before the maddening rush of adrenaline was curbed by my safety net, the soft fabric above me saving me.
you are that fabric – the fabric of my life spun by the yarn of your love, by the generosity of those hands turning the spindle. 
all because you feel responsible for me. or maybe not.

in the end, my life’s my life: a merger of past faces, names, soft hands that once caressed my skin or longed to do so.
and you.
the thread of you’s the thread of me. and i want everyone you know to love me, unbearably, exquisitely so that you know the worth of love. so that you can count broken smiles knowing something inside them breaks for me.

an only child, i knew how to be painfully selfish. i learnt it well, my only teacher – solitude and parents’ love. but here i am, sister in tow, and still that only child rhetoric lives on in me. so once in a while, i feel in need of broken dreams of others to see my hope reflected in those pieces of looking-glass.

and if you can’t blame me who can blame me?
my friend once told me i was cruel to boys, to men, male counterparts. that i was cruel because my skattered gazes never solidified, my touch was soft but vapid, my hands gentle but uncaring. so what? i said it’s my revenge. 

and so it is.
as sweet as lemon sorbet melting on my lips.

22. we’ll ease ourselves into the night

watching the sunset with you was like a dream come true.
and the sky was golden, the snow swirling in the clear winter air.
the snow was sparse and there was little of it, but every flake was magic, every second we stood there watching the clouds swim across the vast expanse of fiery orange was a moment to remember.

and then we parted ways.

i’ll see you again today. 
but sleep evades me and my eyes are slowly gluing together now. i would sleep if i could, but there’s never any time. ironic.
and though i didn’t spend all night wondering what it will be like with X and you there, when we go to see that play, i still didn’t sleep. and you know, it doesn’t really matter because me and X will be over.
today, if i can do it, a little later if i can’t.
and i spoke to my mother of it and she said have you talked with X properly? are you sure you want to let this one go? and i know i have. i know i do, purely because i just can’t do it any more.

i dreamt of being single for so long now and every day that brings me closer to Valentine’s day, that dream is reinforced. my friends are trying to find themselves guys before the fourteenth and here i am trying to get rid of one. how marvelously original of me.

and today will be a long day, i know.
not so much for you or X or whoever, as for me – a morning lecture nearly awaits as i sit here rubbing my bloodshot eyes.

that matters not so much.

we’ll meet up on par with the setting sun you and me watched melt to liquid gold yesterday and we’ll ease ourselves into the night.
and then – whatever will be, will be.

12. befriend the males and then lean on the females for support

do you remember what a sigh of relief sounds like? i almost forgot. but now i know again.

after the excitement is replaced by contentment, the world goes back to its original colours. i like it better that way. now, i can actually analyse the way i live, the way i feel, the way i crave stablility without giving any back. 

i can look truthfully at the way that i befriend the males and then lean on the females for support. it’s beautiful in its simplicity and staggering in its consequences.

you see how i write about males? about you, X, Y and Z? 

well, maybe i should write a little about the girls in my life too. because they’re there, because they can hurt just as much as you boys do, if not more. so here we go:

A and B i’ve known since forever. they’ve been there for me as long as i’ve known. and i’ve been there for them – for the tears and broken hearts and shopping trips. i’ve been there when they weren’t necessarily there for each other, i’ve been there when boys’ actions threatened to snap them in two, when the world seemed like a lonely place.
i’ve been there for them and they’ve been there for me.

and then there’s C. she’s amazing. she doesn’t judge. she doesn’t ask for much. she works so hard for everything. she is who i’d like to be if i couldn’t be me. 
and there’s more still – there’s D and E and F, but though they’re been here for long, their contribution to my life is scarce, their views so rarely aired i couldn’t tell you them if i tried. there’s even G, who likes X so much i think she’d die of happiness if we were to break up, but hey, they’re not the main players. they’re just letters.

letters from the alphabet of my life.

maybe when this book is over, if it ever is over, the characters will have emerged off the page, letters more than just a part of the alphabet, much more, but till then, let A, B and C remain in their dimension. it is not a dimension that is inferior to you or Y/Z/X, but it is different.

their lack of mention is the very beauty of their existence.
they begin me and you lot complete me.