My dear beloved,
I do not in the least know where to start, and I know, that wherever you are, reading this, you are thinking as I am. It’s pretty corny, and subtly stupid to say as I do. But you and I have never known where to start either, and that’s why somewhere along life, we decided to live with our thoughts in our hands, clenched so that no one would pry our secrets open, stuck in darkness and fear.
Todays. It’s one year since Evans, my brother passed away in that swimming pool, one year since I entered a swimming pool. And in retrospect, I didn’t write to mourn the odyssey of life I had with him, the plethora of stuff he taught me, and those I have learned on my own in that one year, but I remember the last Sunday we were with him, him standing right next to you when they told us to reintroduce ourselves. And he, with the discernment of one who has seen his full life, read the look I gave you when saying hi, and when eating fries, told me something I would never once deign to forget. That the only way to life, is through it. And this, this is what I think is through life.
I have been told I have trouble connecting to people, been told so by a thousand women in less than a thousand days. And in that one year, my brains have flipped, and flopped. From wanting to say as I want and fearing the premonition of rejection that is the doom of all men. I chose to keep stoic, to act like there was nothing more than my brains to it. But now, it feels I should live as my brother did, without fearing what you will say, what you will think of my madness, what you will tell. Without fearing the world anymore. It tears me apart, whether to follow the heart or the brain, the latter has never once failed me, but there is always a start to everything.
It’s conventional to claim lack of sleep from thinking about you, but the trauma within me doesn’t let me sleep anyway. But I dream, and I dream of you in every one of my travels to my imagination. I dream of romantic dates, long conversations that would go on for life, sweet little late night calls to tell you goodnight. And all that is pretty corny I know, because it is not achievable at all. It is all a dream, a dream of the you I never had, and the you I will never really have. But I have to keep dreaming, perhaps one day we will sit, over coffee and dates somewhere all alone, watching the moon, and you will ask me to tell you the story of my dreams. But that too, is a dream.
I don’t know what love is, because I chose not to believe in it. And I know, as you do, the depth of my knowledge, and the travail that my life has been, does not allow me to be christened to its baptismal font. I will chose not to say that I love you, I will chose not to quote Shakespeare because I don’t know what love is. But I will also chose to be blind to my head, which is screaming at me for writing this, and follow the will of my conscience. I don’t know what I feel; I only know pain in life, which I aptly cover by a smile that is stuck on my face forever like a painting, and suspicion. The rest of the feelings are only but words to me, so I will not conform to them. But I know, there is that special part of my being, one that I hid long before the ways of the earth were opened to my eyes, the one that you occupy without really knowing, because I never told you.
It’s a strange way to remember people. I guess wherever my elder brothers are; they are smiling as they watch me type this. One taught me to put all my emotions in pen, the other showed me how to hide them to the world. And both teachings have been at war with each other, but because I have to seem strong I chose my way, the easier way, to keep mum and smile, and hope that somewhere along the line, it would happen to us as it happens in movies and fairytales. Its eaten me apart. I won’t be apologetic; I don’t regret it because I chose it, but I want to change it. Perhaps you will help me change me.
I know the things you love, but I chose to keep silent about them. Every time I walk into malls, every time that I see bicycles, I think of you, and I remember that I promised to teach myself how to ride one so that we could always ride this town together. But I haven’t learned to conquer my fears, just to suppress them I know better. And so like this long, absolutely heart-wrenching letter, I have put the riding too on hold, until the day when the light dawns, and I learn to let my heart do the logarithms of the heart. I hope you will teach me that too.
I once told a good friend of mine, a girl, that I have been single for life. I once did tell too, that I was never really interested in girls all my life. That I was more interested in chasing success, and a good life, money and the works. That having someone I could trust more than just a friend is utilitarian and somehow stupid when you have nothing to show off for. But now I know better, not that I have become any better. They were all lies that I willed myself to believe. I will get everything because I chose to make them priority numero Uno. But at the end, when the days are over and I am spent, when you have to look back and think of the most important thing you had in life, they wouldn’t make the cut, but you would. You would be the most important, not the others. If I have to choose now, I might be blind, because like you, I fear what the future hides, but still I would choose you.
Am not romantic, life has steeled me to the ways of the heart. I might never give you flowers, and roses as the rest would. I might never think of taking you to the Radisson, and Kempinski, to shop at the mall. I might never even remember to give gifts, to spoil you as much as you would want. I want all of those too if I should confess. But to be mad, sometimes, a paranormal is good, but I won’t be any of that. I want to offer my all, to put both my mind and heart in the same bag for once, to become the ideal that you seek, to be a part of you like you are me, even the smallest part. I won’t promise anything either, I won’t promise to cross the seas and the mountains to be with you, no, not because I won’t if there was a challenge such, but because I don’t want to seem madder than I already am.
You never the feeling, every time we meet up? After long periods of school and cramming, and you always will be the one regaling me with tales of pizza, and how hard you are reading, how tough exams are. That feeling, when I have to chide you awake because in the middle of a barrage of texts. I want to feel that more, to keep looking at my phone waiting for them. But I can’t, not because I don’t want to, but you might not want to. My dad used to tell me when I was a kid, that when the little flower you wait upon is plucked before you harvest it, wait for the next one, but I think I can’t do so. If you are taken, as you read this, just know you were the only flower I waited upon, but now that the rose is gone, I will chose to be blind to the fact that other flowers do exist.
I wish you never did shed a tear when you read, I wish that to whom this is written the message is home. But to that same person I have only but a few words, and my heart to offer. Take it as you will, if you chose to dash my words to the wall, so be it, if you chose to make me as you want your man to be, so be it too. But for you I once wrote a poem somewhere in my heart, and I got myself drunk with courage so as to write it for the world to see.
When the skies choose to fall,
On us and our world,
When the world choses to go dark,
The clouds roll up heavier,
Remember the words that once hurt you,
When all we have is gone,
When you and I, life is lost,
Choose the way of courage,
The one that I lacked,
Let your fears flow in pen,
And when time comes for choice,
When stuck between the candle and the sun,
Remember that I left the sun to make you my light,
Because I feared the world, and you too,
But remember me,
Yes, it’s over before it’s started. But I chose you not because of your heart. I said that I never am good with matters of the heart, but because you push me to be what I am. And if you read this, if at all you read it, do remember my words.
Yours in love,