Don't pick up

Dear baba,

I am sorry I don’t call you. I don’t have much to say or ask. I am not trying to deliberately hurt you. I know that ma would have wanted me to call you regularly.
Have I ever told you how similar we were? I have been told so many times that I am like you. So for years I kept comparing everything that I do and feel with what I have seen you doing. Often I would find similarities and that would trigger self-hatred. I think I have never felt proud to be like you. I still get nightmares where you are torturing and abusing ma. And I am trying to save her. From you.
I don’t how you have become ever since Ma’s death. I have changed quite a bit. I have learnt to take care of myself, to be my own mother when I am in distress. Doing Phd with this state of my mind has been one of the most difficult things I have ever done. It is so tricky to keep my emotions away day in and day out. I have been very angry with you for most of my life. That hatred has been my company for so long. I don’t remember the last time I was happy to see you. This is not a hate speech, by the way. I am being honest, only because you shall never read any of this.
I have learnt to live with that hatred buried deep down, along with the grief and pain of losing ma. I can’t handle these emotions everyday, or even every week. They are so strong that for days afterwards, I am just wrecked. I can’t work like that and yes my work gives me purpose. I would like to keep doing it without too much of distractions. Talking to you really frustrates me. You ask and say things that have no meaning. You have never asked us how we are managing. I wish you were more empathetic. And that is how I am different from you. I am empathetic. I care, even for people who have hurt me and my loved ones. That’s why I am writing all this. Because I think you feel lonely and abandoned. Not many people come to see you. You have isolated yourself. That is sad, and I must admit that my not calling isn’t particularly helping the situation. I wish I could explain to you that blood relations don’t matter if you don’t really love the other person. And I don’t love you. I don’t hate you anymore either. I am sorry but I can’t give you the love you want. You must be feeling mistreated by me; but this is the truth. Don’t tell me how I would not have treated ma like this. No, I wouldn’t have. But that is only because two people can never be  the same even though they have the same status. And in the case of ma and you, things have always been asymmetric. I wish you could accept that. Ma loved me differently than she loved dada. But I accepted it. It hurt me a lot but I accepted it. I wish you did too. I wish you never felt inferior to ma because of all the reasons you had brought up but that never existed. Ma has a very different personality than you. That is not a crime. Each person is different from everyone else. That is called individuality. But then you started creating a gap between us which only got bigger over time. I wish I have the strength to forgive you for what you have done the last few days of ma’s life. But I don’t have that much strength yet. It might take me years before things become better. For now, I can only give you my silence. I guess it’s better than me shouting accusations to you and trying to turn everyone against you. But silence is never good enough, sometimes it is worse than hurtful words. It signifies indifference. Indeed I am trying to be indifferent; I can’t constantly feel angry.
Anyway, I wish I could really send you what I wrote. But I don’t want to disappoint and hurt myself. You see, my mother isn’t around anymore. So I need to protect myself. From you, and from myself.
Hiya

Universal property of Hp

One of the dumbest properties I have is, putting people on pedestals if they are nice to me and then getting hurt when they don't act accordingly a few times. One of the reasons why this happens is, I feel that if someone is nice to me it has to be a huge gesture of kindness because I don't deserve to be treated well. Self-hatred lies at the root of many recurrent problematic behaviour.
Mental Note: If a human is being nice to you, appreciate the deed. And most importantly, remember that he/she is a human, so they are allowed to make mistakes. Forgive and accept your imperfections and then do the same for others.

Homeless

All this while being away, I pretended that I have something to go back to. When I am around fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers, without being any of them, I keep remembering the home I have left behind. That feeling of being at home to which I surrender, in my mind palace, whenever I feel away. It is that warmth you feel during a cold winter evening, beside a fireplace. You have to stay away from the source, not to avoid getting burnt, but to face the winter. Getting burnt would be easy, it would make me alive. The pain, the sorrow, the regret-have they started to define me?

This time, I was coming back with a happy heart, a partially healed soul and the courage to be able to say goodbye more easily. My plane landed, and my dream started. Everything was happening just as I had imagined except nothing is the same. My city is the same, so are the people and the topics. Everything is exactly the same as I had left. Untouched. 

The only difference is that all that is now covered with a plastic sheet which can't be torn. Everything is independent of my being and everything is exactly the same. No matter how hard I try, I cant be a part of that sameness. Suddenly, I realise that I am homeless. I am going to be always far away and a shadow. All that was dear to me is still here, but I cant touch them. I cant pierce through the plastic. 

I am now floating on a box. I can never be a part of my past. It is all over. Now, I have to be at home in another city, with no friends and as a foreigner who is too familiar too the foreign land. 

So maybe I was wrong. Home isn't, for me, where my past self was. That is only in my mind. Home is where rhythm is. Home is where I am doing the same things as the others. Home is where I am not different. Except, I will always be. I am homeless. 

Does it hurt?
Yes.
Did you tell him?
No.
Does it hurt?
Yes.
Did you tell him?
No.
Does it hurt?
Yes.
Did you tell him?
No.
Why not?
I don't want to.
Are you forgiving him?
Maybe.
Why?
I have hurt him more.
Does it hurt?
Yes. A lot.
Are you broken forever?
I don't want to give up on him. So, no.
Does it hurt?
It's a numbing pain.
Did you tell anyone?
No. I cried in the toilet and shower.
Are you better?
Better than whom?
Would you let him go?
He let go of me. So, I have to make a place for him inside me. He will stay there.
Does he know that?
I don't want him to know.
Why not?
He will be angry with me.
Does it hurt?
I am fine. Thanks.

Loving and unloving

Today is my last day of being 24. What have I learned this year? I surely didn't manage to stop caring. But, I have realised a few things, or have forced myself to. Some people are irreplaceable. There's nothing called moving on, only getting accustomed to the pain.
With some people, you fall in love. You keep falling, and they never catch you. You try to grab on to a wall and admire them. You feel like falling for them again. And once again, they don't catch you. This goes on for a while, till you are surrounded by darkness and despair.
Then, you see this long hand coming at you. Do you grab it? Do you give up? These walls were bounding the vulnerable you. It is your home. The familiarity. What do you do? You never know whose hand this is. But at least it is a hand. I grabbed it and the walls caved in on me. I fought with myself for making such a decision and for destroying the well. It took with it all my emotions and feelings and ability to love and care.
When I came above ground, there was a lot of sunlight and trees and fresh air. My body felt better. I found my mind again. But my heart kept revisiting the ruins of the well. The hole was trying to close itself, burying all my emotions. Every time I went back, the hole would reopen a little for me to be able to greet my feelings. After some time I realised that I am stopping the hole to fill and close and build something on it. The shadows of well asked me to stay away. So I am away now. I visit the site sometimes. I am happy that there is a new construction going on. 

Yesterday, I wanted a dad very badly. I was feeling like december again and I wanted someone to tell me that it is going to be alright. Well, I do have company to tell me that, but for the first time I missed having a father-like figure like everyone else. I know so many people who look up to and lean on their fathers, including my mother and I keep thinking how lucky they are. I cried for many hours. pleaded to people to find me one. In vain ofcourse. It was an absurd demand, I agree now.

Today, I am fine. Somehow, I picked up the pieces into which I broke myself the last night, and I am holding them together with a string. The string is of course made of hope. Not the hope of finding a dad, but that of being alright without having one. The hope of moving on, being with myself. Often I feel like a helpless child, waiting to be picked up. I forget how I am still with me. That, I can pamper and discipline myself. 

That

I noticed that uptil now, during the 24 years that i have lived, i have always witnessed this situation where a close one is getting hurt and i cant help. for if i try, they get more hurt. i harm them even more than before. its like i am inside a fishbowl with dark water inside, while the others are outside, and if i try to come out and help, the darkness spreads. so i scream and shout and bang the walls silently lest they suffer more.