A different kind of hairwash

There was this time in my life, the beginning at this very year when I made a new year resolution.  A resolution which actually came true for the first time in the twenty years of my existence. It was a horrible time. I was in a  horrible space. I was, somewhere and I did not know where that was. Was it the transitional phase of my life or was it the mere end of it was the question that remained unanswered until now. And I did receive the answer some time back, but I did not know that I did, until two evenly odd hours back.

I was sitting there in the chair getting my hair washed when the answer to my question just popped up on the screen in my mind. I smiled a little because I had finally found a way to put it into words, exactly something what I am doing now, but outside the parameters of my mind, of course.

I remember the beginning of this year. It was horrible. I started out my year on the note of massively crying and drinking. It was then when I said to myself that the first half of this year, I will do nothing but drink, write and paint. I will go out. I will show my weak side to everybody around me. I will not care.  I will get wasted. I will do things I never imagined myself to do. I will meet new people, get hurt and get over that hurt, again and again. That was my plan. I did not think that I would have been able to stick with it as none of my plans had ever worked out. Except this one.

I do not know how to express this gigantic metamorphosis I have gone through in these past eleven months. There have been days where I would just wail out in my empty apartment listening to the sounds of the ‘L’ right outside my window and watching the sparks come out because of the friction caused between the track and the train. The same spark that me and my ex, the apparent ‘love of my life’ had lost. And seeing inanimate things create such a spark, a spark which can be turned into a flame just burned me up from the inside even more. How could we lose it, I thought, again and again until I would just collapse in my bed. The company of the stains my tears caused on my bed became so friendly, that at one point, I felt like I was a stain like them as well. Not in my life, but in my ex’s. And I was nothing but wrong to think that way.

He was not the same person he made himself believe he was.

There was nothing but pure pain in realizing that fact. Not only for me, but for the both of us. The only difference was, that I could not live with a person like that and so I left. And to do the same, it took every little part of my aching soul. Multiple times, I just wanted to run away and never want to be able to look at him again. Just run to the arms of my best friends and cry for hours at a stretch. Be so weak that I would actually come to understand how strong I had been through all this while. Multiple times. But I did none of that. I stayed for as long as I could. If I stayed any longer, I could have been dead, quite easily. It’s entirely possible.

I met some wonderful people in that city. People who helped me up. People who talked to me. People who told me I was not wrong. That is what you really need sometimes, you know. Somebody who is a mutual friend to tell you that you are not going crazy. That you are going through a tough time. That you are going to be okay. But just not right now. That was the kind of reassurance I needed. And that was the kind of reassurance I got. Now I’m not saying that I was fine right after they talked to me. No. I was not. I was a wreck until this August. But yes, I am saying, if they were not there, I would never be okay. Or maybe I would have been. You just simply cannot know. Time, is a funny thing when you need it to be serious.

Now yes, whatever happened between him and I was both our faults. I was too young, dependent on my parents. I did not have a life of my own, to say. You cannot just be mature mentally and have nothing to do as a profession and expect your bills to be paid by your parents all the time. It hurt me realizing all these things later on. But it’s happened, man. What I mean to tell you is that, shit was bad, yes, but it made me appreciate the good even more. All of this happened so fast but all of whatever happened has left a dent within me somewhere. And that dent will always be there. But dents are proof that you have hit the roof, but you still survived. And survive I did.

This is not a rant about him.

This is far from a rant. It is about my own self. It is what I just realized today and it is a beautiful feeling. I just wanted to share it with all of you. I believe that you never know when something can get registered into a person’s brain. So I just pour it all out. You might have felt this way in your life to. I just want you to revisit that place and remember that moment when you got the answer to the question that had been lurking inside of you since a long time. I want you to feel that feeling. And I want you to feel that it was at that moment you were truly somebody who had made it through. All of those who have healed their broken hearts have had that moment in your life. All those who still have broken hearts, well, you will have that moment in your life. You never know when it might come. For me it came when I was getting my hair washed at the salon. Never underestimate any event, ever.

I remember the last time I looked at my apartment on 182 W Lake Street, Chicago. It was snowing softly. I had his hand in mine and I just smiled because I had finally figured out what the meaning of home was. It was not him, but me. It had always been me.

SINGAPORE.

Singapore.

There are a lot of things I know but one thing I did not know was you. This feels like the last time I am going to visit you. Something changed about you, I grew fonder. I was inspired. To read, to write to love. Love myself, of course. Even though what I have for you is definitely not love,  but there is something about you now, that made me fond of you.  I thank you for being amazing this time.  I met some amazing people within you today. I found some amazing spots, went to my dream places. Places I had always wanted to visit as a kid. I spent quality time with you. I moved along to my music. I worked on my dreams, I saw myself where I want to see myself and you gave me hope that I will get there. Quite soon. Dousing my cigarette, taking a sip of my beer, here is my open letter to you.  You deserve one.

Before coming here, I was in a very weird place. Getting drunk way faster than usual. Hanging out with people who constantly used to defy me. Deny me the right of being right. I was bitter. The kind of bitter that you do not realize until the bitterness hits you in the back of your tongue, travelling all the way down through your esophagus and finally spreading inside your entire body. Creating a bitter person, one who would see the negative in everything. One who would talk about things in the most disgusting way one could imagine. What was worse than being bitter was the fact that I was somehow, enjoying it. It became my own little piece of heaven. The kind of heaven which is not talked about. The kind of heaven, which cannot be described by words. Which cannot be described by art. I was there and I enjoyed every part of it. But not anymore.

Before coming here, I was skeptical. I was not sure about how I was going to cope with anything. I had just left my favorite café, on my way to visit a friend. It was then when everything changed. It was then when I tasted that bitterness within me. And I did not like it one bit. But I could feel it leaving my body. As I sat there, at the bus stop, waiting to be exposed to the expressions of tired and bored people who were to commute in the same vehicle as me, I could feel it, leaving each and every crevice of my body. That was when I knew, that I will not be coming back to you again. That was when I realized that I would actually miss you. I went to the beach after that. Seeing the waves crashing against each other has always calmed the storm within me.

I could feel my intuition getting stronger by the day. I was meeting people who had nothing but just positive energy around them. I could feel myself being that person I was once, happy, and full of joy. The person who would find little joys in everything around her. The person who could see her pain and be able to joke about it. The person, who could see her pain and be able to

Joke about it.

There is nothing better than being complimented for the way you think. At least for me. When people start talking me, they tell me things about me, like they have never met anybody like me. That they have never seen anybody like me. That they have never known anybody like me who thinks the way I do. Does things the way I do. I do not want to be told I am beautiful, or hot, or pretty. I am past that stage where I wanted people to just flock towards me for the way I look, dress and carry myself off. I want to know that what makes me different. What makes them want to talk to me apart from my look. I want them to tell me things they do not understand so that we can understand them together. I want them to show me the way they see things so I can be able to see them too. I want to see from their viewpoints. I want to think in every way one can think. What makes them think the way they think what they do? What makes them be the way they are? What makes them bitter, so that we can figure a way out to get that taste out of their system. So that we can figure out a way to make them understand the taste of bitterness just in hopes that if they feel that way the next time, they can figure out what is wrong before it is too late.

I do not really know how else I can extend my thanks to you. I do not know what other way I can make you see what you have done for me. The only things I know when it comes to expression is that I can put them in words. I hope you will understand if this may not seem enough. I hope you will understand like you made me understand.

Today is my last night in town. We have ridden in the waves of excessive alcohol. We have danced in the smoke my cigarettes have given out. We have shone bright in the dim places where people are too scared to dance. We have fallen in love with ourselves and we have seen what it is to be like respected. We have slept in the mornings in places that do not belong to us. With people who want to see us again and again. These are the things I have done with you. These are the things we have done with each other. And I can only say thank you. And I can only say,

Grazie.

Grazie mille.

One Way Ticket

"So...I might leave on December 4th or January 7th. Are you going to be ready if I leave on December 4th?" I dropped the bomb at the dinner table in the window between our food coming to our table. He looks at me in shock- "Wow, that's fast. I am not going to be ready if it's December 4th or January, Div." I look at him, with scrambled feelings inside me which eventually made their way up to my face. "I am going to the bathroom." he tells me. I look upset. "I need a moment. It's not you bubby. I'll be right back." and he walks away to the toilet. I sit, reflect and listen to the English people conversing beside our table. I can see one of the guys looking at me, from my peripheral. And then, I drink the champagne in my flute, bottoms up, and pour myself another glass.

One way ticket. One way tickets give you the thrill that a return ticket is never capable of giving you. You are leaving the life you knew and going forward to start a new one. Coming to the States was a one way ticket. Going back to India, is a one way ticket. But I will come back, after a year. I guess I will. I guess. 

Certainty has never been a part of my life. Neither stability. I have nothing but dynamism and stagnancy happen to me for the past 19 years. It's kind of ironic. Actually more of an oxymoron, but true. But I am proud to say that I lived in each moment, but also died in some. I was dead inside for a while now, but now, I am born again. I am glad for all that I have been through. It makes me who I am today. And it will keep shaping me, certainly.

We spent the night, together. One of the most painful nights I have spent with him. I tried to harm myself, again. I thought I was past that but I was not. I look at the scar his dull Swiss knife left on my skin. I probed it enough to make it bleed a bit. I remember laughing when that happened. Dear lord, what have I done, again? Little reminders. Souvenirs of Chicago.
I wake up in the morning and wake him up. I am looking at him trying to take charge. I am looking at him breaking down piece by piece. Little shards of him falling onto his laptop screen as he tries to make sense of the financial mess he is in. I transfer him 50 dollars while he's at it. He looks at the notification. "Oh thanks Div." and I see a little part of him die a bit more inside.
I look at him make a phone call to Design Bureau. "I'm sorry I let you down. I am turning in what I have. I'll take a kill fee. I just took way too much on my plate and I am sorry once again." He's looking at me while he's on the phone. Is it me who caused it. He did not say it, but he clearly showed it. Maybe, it was me, after all. Maybe leaving is going to do us both good. That's something that is going to happen in my uncertain future, so I choose to just live in the present right now.
I can see him crumble down internally. It's as if I can look through him. It's so upsetting to see the people you look up to, the people who inspire you being so fucked up. It's really painful. Everyone looks so correct when you're not a part of their life. Once they let you in, they're actually in a shit show. All the geniuses I have met, are all in a shit show. He's one of the very few who I look up to, and seeing him like that, crushes me down. I am hurting, physically, mentally and emotionally. Dear Lord, what have I done, again? 
There is complete silence for a while. He looks at me and says, "I've never done that before." on the verge of sounding liberated, which he was not. "Do you know what it feels like to quit a job? Well, you have dropped out of school. It's a thousand times worse than that." he tells me looking mad. "Let's go smoke this cigarette, please." I tell him and we proceed.
We're standing outside, both looking at different directions. I am scared to look at him in the eye because I am really scared of him. He has told me before that it was me causing it and I just cannot get that out of my head. Maybe it is me after all, innit? "I feel kind of proud of myself. I feel happy for being honest. I have never done that before." He blurts. I just look at him, not showing that I am scared, I say, "Well, that's the beauty of honesty. It's a pretty cool thing you know?" He nods. I am worried about him, though.

We take a cab back to my place. I had to drop him to therapy first. We had a pretty interesting driver called Mark. He had a wonderful Chrysler cruiser, or something. It was black so it instantly got me. We had a pretty great conversation with him. I had a deeper one with him after I dropped my bub to therapy. I inspired him to publish his book. Mark looked at me deep in the eye and said. "He's blessed to have somebody like you to take care of him." I said, "But I am leaving, Mark. I owe this to myself." He kind of was upset. He looks at me, very carefully and says, "Look Divya, you are very intelligent. You are very unique and I can see you go far in life. I have met many people in my life but you are different. You have a flame and you will make it to where you want to go. You inspired me to publish my book. I am very certain about you. I can see it in you. You have a very clear mind and a very pure soul. Do not worry about anything. I know you will get what you want. I am very sure. I am going to drop you off here but I hope to see you again. Well, I guess I will, one day. Take care Divya. Go and fulfill your dreams. Have a nice day."

This was the day I learned that I am really good at marketing.

Who are we?

Who are we?
I sit with him in his bed, drinking champagne with him. It's around 10 pm. We were talking about him and then we were talking about us. It felt like a repeated conversation, to him. Always does. But then I said something. I asked him for the first time, as awkward as it felt to say it, I said, "Can we talk about me? We've never talked about me." He complies with a sigh and a nod, "Yes. We have not. Let's talk about you." I made a mistake by saying that.
As I kept digging up my past and told him about me, I realised that I am just as broken as he is. But I can navigate through it and he has trouble with that. I feel it is a recent event. He looks at me, deep into my soul and tells me, "We're the same. We're different people but God, we are so similar." I drop a tear from my right eye. I look at him and said, "I know."
As we keep arguing and talking about each other both of us drop down our walls and look at each other. We are both so fucked up. I never realised that. I knew him so well but he did not know me at all. What were we doing to each other? What  are we doing to each other?
A new relationship bloomed on the ashes of an old one. The same place, the same room. I remember late nights and mid afternoons just talking and falling bit by fucking bit. Did I do wrong? Did I put in too much? Guess I did. But I am hoping that I did learn. It feels like I have but you can never be too fucking sure when it comes to stuff like "love." I am worried about myself as much as I am worried about him. I am, for the first time. That is why, I plan to move. Call it running away but I need my roots again. All men need roots. And my roots are in a different country. A place I lived in for 10 years and some more months. I need to go.
Shallow people make their wishes come true by wishing ill upon others. I am not wishing ill upon anybody. I am just trying to make things work for myself. I am trying to make things work for us. But will we ever have that "us" again? I do not know. I thought it was meant to be but maybe it was not. Maybe I was just a person who needed to help a soul realise where he stands. Maybe. Well, if it works out well, I will be nothing but happy. I guess.
I will do my best for the best to happen. I am not really sure what the best is at this moment of time but it will be something. It has to be something. I made a mistake. I lost charge. I lost control and the worst of it all, I lost myself. No one is to blame. Nobody is responsible for my happiness and nobody is responsible to make me happy. Nobody. It is purely my fault and now when I have come to terms with it, I am shaken up. I thought I was getting better but I was, wrong. There is not much time for waiting for reciprocation or waiting for a miracle. Now it is the time to-act on my behalf. Act for myself and finding myself. Pulling myself out of this quicksand. If I do not do it in time, I will drown and be lost in a void and never be retrieved. It's painful but, it's essential.
I am over it all. The ideas of everything. I am really over it. I have realised and learned a lot from life in this year. I have learned what it has to offer and what it does not have to offer. I have realised the true meaning of illusion and a distorted reality. And I am not scared to make changes any more. It does suck balls to be at this stage in life but it would suck even more if I let it pertain and do nothing about it. I have condoned with my "desires" enough. Now, I have to stop. It is time. There is no use prolonging something which is not meant to be prolonged or worse, which is not meant to be there. I tried to create my world without considering the fact that I still have to deal with reality. It does not work that way. To think that it did got me here and now, I know. It's been harsh to learn it though. But it will be fruitful, I know that for sure.
There is no room for regret or remorse in my heart or mind now. It is time to "deal with it." It has been painful but I am glad that experiences like these push me to become a stronger person. A better person. A wiser person and last but not the least, a happier person. I am pained that I had to go through this. I never thought I deserved this but-what is it that I deserve then? No one can ever know. I will make a mark. I will leave a scar. I will have a mark and I will have a scar on me too. A little dreamer died a little today. A little illusionist became a realist today. A little child grew a bit more today. Today is a painful day. 25th November 2014. A day which will always be marked in my calender.
In conclusion, I have been damaged and I have damaged. I apologize to everybody who has been hurt in the way. It has been tough on me and has taken a toll on me. It has been tough on the people who had to go through all of this crap because of me. It's a genuine apology. I do not need any sympathy but I do need some support to get back up. I am blessed to have known such amazing people in my life and I am proud of each and everyone I am close to. I do not have any idea where my life is going but I think I will make it through, somehow. I always do. I just need to focus on myself a bit and be the best person I can be at this current moment of time. Change is always hard and not very comfortable but it is essential. I have lived a hell of a life for a 19 year old, caused some really cool shit and stuff. I cannot believe that I have had such great opportunities to visualise and grow in this life of mine. I am proud of the things I have accomplished but also not proud of most of the things I have done. In the end, I apologise to myself for letting myself down. I am hoping the future would be good for me but I cannot be too certain. I am certain about the present and even though it may feel and look like a "wrong choice" to many people, I know it is the best choice for me. I will achieve my goals and maybe, one day, if I am ever ready again, come back. This year has been a turmoil and I wish to grow to become a better and happier person. I am on a new, mission. Thank you for everybody who supported me and believed in me. I hope, you will be able to witness the new me sooner than later. I promise, I'll never lose the crazy.

Divya Taneja.

It's not cold in Chicago

Div.
It's not cold in Chicago yet.
What the fuck are you doing shivering and quivering with that cigarette in your hand?
You have a wool coat on, cashmere blend.
And you hold in your hand a camel long.
It's not cold in Chicago, Div, you are wrong.
It's not cold in Chicago yet.
You saw your first snow, flurries to be honest.
It has not even snowed yet. It's not a white forest.
Not yet.
Your coat's fabric is made in Italy
And you're standing outside your building, timidly
What the fuck Div, why?
It's not cold in Chicago.
Remember about the man who walks around on the streets?
Torn shorts with broken shoes and a broken mind?
How the fuck must he be feeling?
Are you fucking willing
To be him?
No you're not. So why are you cribbing?
Instead of living
In this fucking city like the boss you are?
It's not even the beginning
It's not even thrilling
So what the fuck are you talking about, Div?
It's not cold in Chicago.
Not fucking yet.
You're standing tall in the streets
You're walking with the beats
Not the ones by Dr. Dre
But I am talking about the music you play
While you're commencing about your 'swag walk'
Enough talk
It's not cold in Chicago yet Div.
Get a hold of your fucking self.
And a hold of those pair of balls you just lost.
It's not cold in Chicago yet Div.
It's only cold in your heart.
Only in your fucking heart.

Just how many times have you Lol'd today

Just how many times have you,

lol'd today, you fucking whacko?

Today is a weird day. Chicago is surprisingly neither cold, nor wet. But the people down at Wicker Park most certainly are. Probably because it's a Friday night and they are looking to get "turnt." But seriously, fuck these bullshit drinking laws of the United States. It's one thing that divides me from this country. Right now I would probably be in a club in Singapore with a vodka shot in my hand, another one already going down my oesophagus.  What you doing at home on a Friday. Boy, I am waiting for my fake i-day. I cannot fathom the stupidity of whoever thought that people should start drinking "legally" when they are 21. Like adolescents are known for fucking around in their age groups. They're going to fuck, drink, do drugs anyway. There is not only one way. Fucking idiots in the system. This is one of the areas which makes me lose my faith in the government and rich people. If I could just knock some sense in their brains... Or knock them in the fucking gut. 

I feel surprisingly arrogant today. Maybe it is this iced mocha I just had, or maybe it's the stupid people around me all over the fucking place. I would go with the second reason. I cannot stop thinking about this psychotic woman who's giving everybody a hard time. I cannot believe she can even give someone a "hard" time with that face and personality. Jamming to five hours in a cafe shop writing this, tell me I am Dali. 

I feel like the female version of Kanye West today. I do not know how that fucking bloke made it so big lol. I am looking at this wankstain typing something on his 4 inches waste of fucking technology. No seriously fuck that shit. I'd rather have a lobster telephone in my hand, because FUCKING DALI.

In case I did not tell you, there is no defined purpose of this post lol. But is there any defined purpose of any fucking thing any more? I guess not. 

I will tell you, one thing that I am certain about. Being an artist is f u c k i n g c o o l. Word. You can do anything you want without any given explanation. Why are you wearing that? Oh, I am an artist. Why are you drinking that? Oh I am an artist. Why are you having a seizure? Oh I am an artist. Why is he wanking about in public. Oh he's an artist. Just saying that I am an artist or he/she is an artist makes one think that one is fucking weird and basically just gives you a free ticket to do anything. Drugs, women, men, coffee, pissing on a Warhol painting when he's standing right there. Believe me, that's been done by the one and only, Salvador Dali. Shit you not. 

Dali is my alter ego. Or maybe, wait. Dali is my real ego. I am just not that great of an artist to fuck around with people's feelings but that does not stop me. Because I am Divya fucking Taneja. Literally, sometimes I feel like I am an asshole but then when I look around, I am surrounded by them. So I tend to conform. I just say everything I feel like on somebody's face. Take it or fucking leave it. I do not give a bloody fuck what you think. And I do not fucking care what you say about me. But the difference between you and me is that, I have shiny ass metal balls to say it to your dick shaped face. This may sound like a hate post but it's just what I feel about some people and I really do not give a fuck lol.
This bloke is stoned out of his fucking mind and is playing Mario and sucks at it. Lol, he is so bad at this. Bro, you just got killed- he does not give a fuck. But on the contrary, he wants to fuck. There are three kinds of sheeple. 1) those who give a fuck. 2) those who want to fuck. 3) those who just don't give a fuck in any shape, size or font. I think you can tell that I am obviously type 1. Lol. 

So, I have no clue what I am doing right now. The bro playing the video game just flaked lol. My lungs feel full of smoke and it is difficult to breathe right now. I do not know what I am doing with my life right now but I do not fucking care- why do you? There are sometimes you just got to tell your brain to shut the fuck up and then flash your tits. Yes. Believe me, you will feel 100% better. I swear to God, I'd be remarkable therapist. I despise the "self diagnosed" kind of people who just crib about everything and then turn out to have nothing wrong with them. I just think to myself, man, that cannot be true. You definitely do have something wrong or maybe it is just the absence of a brain. Gave that a thought, therapists? No. You know why? Because you cannot be truthful to people as you will not make any money, any more lol. You know it. You money hungry pieces of shit. After the greens- both ways. And no I am not talking about the vegetables.

ANYWAY, I have no idea what the fuck this post is  about. I literally do not know how I am such a fuckwit sometimes but it's cool. It makes me hip- lol. Back to the topic, just how many times have you lol'd today? I have pretty much lol'd through my day. Still loling to be honest. I scratched my face because I had to deal with somebody's stupidity today. So yeah. People do way too much to amuse me sometimes. It's great. A free comedy show, whenever, where ever. Well anyway, I have to sign off now because I cannot think of anything else to write. So bye cool. 

Nanaji

It's nearing, the day he died.
The day I lied about "not feeling emotional." I wish I had mourned enough.
Dear Granddad- I miss you.
It's going to be 4 years soon. It hits me harder each year. Not mourning when you passed. I knew I had you but I was young and I did not want your wisdom back then. I wish I did get some of it because I am so fucked up right now. I knew I had you but, I do not, any more.
My tiny 15 year old hands were your deathbed. You and I were alone that evening, it was not cold or anything. Your last minute was what was surrounded by your wife and this relative I disliked. I remember you holding my hand and asking me to give up before I started to give you the little CPR I knew. It was painful. To know what was going on and yet not to acknowledge it. It was, painful. I looked at you and I did my best. I am sorry for not being the doctor you were, maybe if I was, you would have been physically with me, today. I feel hurt.
I did not mourn your death. I was so in love with this "first love" of my life that I ignored the fact that this will ever affect me. And it did. As I said, it gets worse every year. The more I learn, the more I repent. I wish I could have spent more time with you in your last days. You were getting better and then, you were gone. I feel shattered, right now.
It's 4 am in the morning, 21st October, 2 days before it all happened. I remember the brief fight you and the other family members got into because of some dumb reason. I remember but I ignored it, I did not want to be a part of it. You knew me, I'd keep myself away from all of the shit that was going on in the house. You knew me best, I just did not know that. I wish I was older, wiser so that I could have understood you better.
I had saved your life before. I would have lost you before but I saved you. It felt really scary but I saved you and it makes me proud of myself. Thank you for teaching me and spending time with me. If you had not, I would have lost you sooner than later. Thank you for keeping with me for a while longer, granddad.
I'm writing this post to you as if you will be reading it, but you will not be. It hurts to know the reality but not being able to face it strongly. I always tried to forget this day since the last four years but this time, it's getting to be really bad. Life has been hard and I wish I could have held you and come up to you for guidance. I swear I wish I could.
You were always proud of me. You always believed in me even when nobody else did. I wish I had people like you around me who would tell me my value. You made me believe myself. I wish I was older. I wish I was older enough to talk to you about the stuff I am going through right now. About life, about you, about me. I wish. Oh how I wish.
Ever since you left, my life changed, nana. I fell in love, I fell out of it. I was in depression for a year. Nobody saw it, really. I hid it quite well, according to myself. I wonder, if you were there, what would you have seen. What would you have told me. Would you have taken me in your arms and tell me that it will be okay, that you will always be there for me? Would you have seen my scabs and sterilised my wounds? Would you have taken me on long walks to get me a cone of ice cream even if you had trouble walking? Would you have sneaked in my room at 12 am and eat sweets with me? Would you have let me cried on your lap? I wish I could have experienced your wisdom when I needed it most. I wish.
I keep wondering, what we would have talked about if you saw me like that. Talking about love, friendship, parenthood etc. I wonder how those conversations would have been. I wonder how you would have talked to me about my parents. I wonder how you would have talked to me about the people I disliked. I wonder and I cry that I could never talk about such things with you, at all.
You gave me liberty and freedom. You shaped me up and made me turn into this crazy, twisted person I am today. I feel wise for my age and that is all because of you. I wish you were with me in this stage of life so that I could have shown you my artwork. I wish you were here with me so that I would not have to depend on my biological parents for anything. I wish you were here so that you could have seen me acknowledge you when I receive my first award. I wish you could have taught me things only you knew. But I never got the chance and when I did, I was too young and uninterested.
Nana, I miss you. A lot. I still keep the phone you bought me with me. I never really realised that that phone is actually the last physical memory I have of you. I have your notepads lying in India in my room's bookshelves. I loved your writing. It was and art. I really wish you were here so that I would not be crying writing this but it's something I will not get. I know. I always wanted to make you proud- and you were always proud of me but, I wanted to be proud of myself and then make you proud. I wish I was elder. I hope you are in a better place. Anything must be better than human life these days. I hope you are at peace. If you're reading this over my shoulder in ghost form, blow me a gentle kiss on my forehead and know that I love you. I hope, if reincarnation is real, that you will be a major part of my next life. I do not have any more words to say--just-- I love you, nana. Rest in Peace.