I look into the void, left side, upward. Not facing a face or a car or house. But the night sky and the distraction of two street lights. I feel comfortable that way. I talk about memories which have built me. It is an intense night. I have felt this "off" before but this time, it was something which triggered deeper and less thought about thoughts. They poured in, one at a time. Every single sorrow I felt, as if I was feeling it again, all at one time. Timing, can be a horrendous thing.
I sit between two cars, on the elevated curb, with a friend of mine. I hold a cigarette in my hand, royally, like I always do and bring it to my mouth, for a puff. The smoke feels like an extinguished form of joy. As if I just doused a fire inside me. That puff gave me time to put words into an understandable sentence. And so I begin to speak and he begins to, listen.
The universal and most common question, "What did I ever do to deserve this?" as I take a look back at my 19 years of existence. I am in confusion. I never know the answer to this question. He says to me "You have to stop looking at things that way. It is not healthy." I keep looking upward. I do not face him. With a broken voice I say "No, I cannot stop looking at it that way. Believe me when I say it, I have never done anything so pathetic to deserve something as pathetic as my life has been." He replies promptly, definitely with an answer he already had in his head, "You have to stop beating yourself about it. It is all right. You have to learn to love yourself." I smirk half heartedly, let out a tiny chuckle and say, "Haha, you have no idea how much I love myself." to which he responds promptly, yet again, "No you don't. Asking this question is sign of it." I look at him, with some fury inside me, a broken girl replies to him, "Trust me, I fucking adore myself. I just don't show it to you." There is a moment of silent, I take the opportunity to go on. "If I did not love myself, I would not be sitting here, I would not be here. My happiness and myself are very important to me. It's different that I just choose not to show it to you because I lov-" I pause, choke, cough as an excuse and take another drag of the delicious tobacco, which once tasted like something nice. He looks into my eyes and he understood.
I look up again. I cannot look into his eyes without letting myself completely forget myself. I am vulnerable to him. I continue to speak, "Everything, I have been through, has been a disaster. You do not know what it is like to not have a childhood or a proper adolescence and being have to be an adult ever since you could remember. All I remember about me being a child is a grey and gloomy picture, smeared into my memory as if it was cereal in a child's tiny hand and he abused it instead of eating it. I remember a kiss, fingers and hands over my body, a feeling which children are not supposed to feel. While that passed, I grew into my adolescence, where I lost a life in my hand and I did not value that loss because I was receiving love from somebody special." He looks at me, I see it from my peripheral vision but I ignore it and I gaze into the street lights. "Do you know why I keep this phone with me?" I ask, inquisitively. He asks, "Why?" waiting for a probably stupid answer. I say "When I was 15, I needed a new phone and I was being a teenager about it. When my grandfather woke from coma, the first thing he said was, go and get the kid that phone." I peek a look at him. He looks astounded. He pulls me close and he puts my arm around his neck. I feel uncomfortable, physically, but emotionally and mentally, I felt.. loved. So I ignored my discomfort. I bring the cigarette to my mouth and look up again. "I cannot believe I did not mourn his death because I thought it was a sign that my previous lover came back to me the same day and today, we are not in talking terms." I say. He looks at me and tells me that he remembered this part. "I wondered why you always kept that phone with you." he says looking pained. I reply to him, "I wondered too. But it wasn't until when I cracked it's screen yesterday, I realised why I kept it with me." He looks pained and empathised. "Come with me." - I look at him when he says that and I said "No." He insists. I ask him, "are you sure?" He responds with a firm and definitive yes. "We will share the cab. Let me drop you to your place." he adds. I say, "You do not have to do that you know, I will be fine. You know me." His response is not whimpered. "No. You will come with me. I have to drop my things at the apartment and get ready." I retorted, "I am not coming in the apartment." which he thought was a question. He says, "Nah, you should not, it will be overwhelming." I say, "That's exactly what I said. Should I wait here?" He looks at me, "No Jesus, don't wait here, you can wait outside the apartment. Come on now." I take the last puff, he takes the last puff of the cigarette. We both commence towards the painfully long stroll to his apartment, which I was a minute part of too, once.
We reach the apartment finally. All I thought about on my way was, why is he doing this for me. He has changed. I felt happy that he was doing this for me. I did not feel like a burden on him or anything. I initiate "I'll wait here by the stairs then." It's the building next to his. He says "Yes, this is all right. Do you need a cigarette?" I greedily reply, "Yes." He hands me over the box with 2 sticks inside it and the lighter. "Would you need my mace?" he asks. Before I could refuse, he hands it to my hand. "I will be 10 minutes. I need to brush my teeth and change shoes and stuff." I nodded and I it on the steps. There is a party going across the street. I look at those people and I am nostalgic about my life in Singapore and India. I used to be one of them, until I moved here, with hardly any friends and a bullshit law of not being able to go to bars before 21 years of age. I feel hurt. I listen to some of my favourite music but I am still not able to completely enjoy. I am scattered all over the place. I do not know where to pick myself up. Each moment I spent alone felt the same. I light up a cigarette and groove along to the music while I wait for him. I think, what would it have been like if we were on the same page. What would it have been like if he was as in love with me as I am in love with him. It would have been beautiful, right? I do not regret my decision of coming here. What I do regret is my behaviour. And being true to people who did not need it but seemed like they did. I sit in silence of my mind and I continue to smoke. And wait. After some 10-15 minutes, he comes out. "Hey, sorry I was too long. Let me book this cab." I just nod and stare at the concrete pavement. "Man, I really want to go to France." I say. "For Stromae?" He asks. I squeal with joy, "Hell yes! He's just 29 after all." He sounds somewhat sarcastic and displeased "Well, that makes it 5 more years apart. We're 7" I look at him with a funny expression, "We're 6 apart, dumbass. I'm 19, you're 25. With him, I will be 10 years apart" "Oh. Wait, but that means we're 7 years apart at some point of the year." I was hoping that he did not say that but he did. I look at him and say "Haha, yes, but luckily, our birthdays are close, so it's not for long." We both laugh and wait for the cab in silence.
The cab driver sounds Indian. By name and accent both. He might be Pakistani too. I did not ask. I was too exhausted to ask questions and receive answers to them. He apologises for being 2 minutes late. Both of us shrug it off. We enter the car and take our seats. It is a big SUV and really roomy. I sit at a distance from him. After the car starts to move, within half a minute, he pulls me towards him. I comply and take shift my arse from where I was sitting to right next to him. He puts his arm around me. I rest my head against his shoulder. I felt, safe and comfortable. But it was nothing more. It was love but not lovers. I keep quiet the whole time till we make it to my place. The car stops a bit further off from my apartment but it is okay. I look at him and I say goodbye. He hugs me, tightly, I hug him tightly too. "What will you do after this?" I look at him, look down and say, "Just try to go to bed. I cannot paint so yeah." "You should come to the next house party with me." He says. I cannot understand where that came from. Sympathy or love. I reply "We'll figure it out." and I smile. "Text me, okay?" he asks me. I smile and say, "You have a good night okay?" and make my way out.
He's meeting someone for a date.
