A Conversation With Conscience

“Give yourselves the reasons, if you don’t trust anyone else’, she heard. The sudden interruption caused her to forget about her muttering, look around and then think the situation through.

She rarely ever started a conversation but this was fascinating, and hadn't it been initiated already?

“How so?” she asked.

“You know the rights and the wrongs, a few if not all. You know when it’s okay to ask you, and you know when it’s not. And you know that anger is pointless when it’s something you can do, under your control.”

“But it’s not… destroying my peace, my contemplation. It’s wrong. Of course I am angry. Giving me an illusion of choice is wrong. Deciding my future for me is wrong.”

“Is it? Didn't you have your moments of peace? One cannot live in peace if there is a war going around in the surrounding or inside you. The illusion of choice was wrong, but so is this illusion, that of peace.”

She is speechless. It waits for her to speak; it gives her time to let it all sink in.

“The illusion of choice is given to you, you can however, correct it. Have your say. But this delusion, you have created it yourself; you've made yourself believe in it.

“You built your own shackles, you hold the key; it’s all you.”

“It’s all me”, she said to herself as her mind wrapped about this.

She lifted herself on her feet and looked at it, staring at her with similarly curious eyes, through the mirror.

-Momina.

Your Insistence Is Adorable.

Everything in the vastness of space is in a state of perpetual motion. Every tiny speck and every gigantic object that exists because several such tiny specks came together... everything, is moving. Shaking. Hovering. Vibrating. From the tiniest electron revolving around the nucleus of an atom to a huge star in a galaxy eons away. It is all moving, gently and crazily. Silently. And I am sitting here, still; suspended in all that motion. Waiting to be lifted. Waiting to be moved or removed by an unseen force. I am the glitch in the system, the nut that refuses to rotate while the rest spin in wild, silly circles. I am right in the center of a moving world, stationary. Useless.

I can see you, sense you, reading me, following me around. Trying hard to decipher me and my struggle. Putting such great effort in thinking about my past and my future. And I don’t even know about my present. I see you trying to visualize my story, trying to adapt it, picture yourself in it.

“What happens? What happened?” I hear you ask yourself, incredulously, as you turn another page to my story, as you see me running from the horrors of an unexplained monster. Running in vain. I see you crease your forehead, run your tongue over your dried lips, change your drooping posture, so that you won’t get tired. So that you’ll be able to read a little more without interruption. Your insistence is adorable.

You are tired. You didn't sleep all night, you were so engrossed in reading me, thinking about my story and tweaking your perspective as you moved further, word by word. I was there with you, without you realizing. I was watching you enthralled by a story that wasn't even your own. So I asked myself why you did that? Why did you hurt yourself over someone else’s tale? Cry over another’s pain, laugh at someone else’s joy? Why do you sit here, your eyes following me, your mind wrapped about me, when your own story remains abandoned, unwritten?

I've chosen to be the glitch. To stop, to drag on so that you’d become agitated. So that you’d put me you aside for a moment and look around and see what your own world has come to. The ignorance of your own reality so that you can indulge in mine is flattering. But I realize I've been doing the same. Trying to indulge in your story, figure you out while you try to decode mine. I've been trying to stop you from interpreting me, all the while looking forward to your reactions when you finally unveil my end. All the while we've been simultaneously reading one another, embracing tales not our own. We are linked this way, you see.

So, when I see you handling me with such care, adoring the curve of each word, cherishing the way every scene of my story falls into the other, melding beautifully and unlocking a mystery, I melt. I see your eyes shining at my happiness, you cheeks wet at my sorrow, I never realized I became so much to you. And I never grasped how focused a part you became of mine. After all, without you I am just a dying script, drying ink that will eventually fade to nothing. But you never let that happen. You've treasured me, spending so much time with me and thoughts about me when I wasn't even there with you. You became the lips that spoke my story, the syllables were written but you sought people and shared them. And I have come to realize now that I fell in love with you every time you opened my story, over and over again just to share my repetitive joys and tears one more time. And each time when you held me carefully before giving the story to a friend and whispering a loving, ‘Take care of it’.

And I have fallen for you each time I heard your sigh of relief when you once again held me in your hands.

-Momina.

*This piece has been written keeping this in mind: 

Buoyant Flames

With slow steps she descended into the cold pool; each step measured and pondered on the slippery floor of the pool as she had never learned how to swim. She gently walked further with even steps. Arms held outwards by her side, the back of her hands resting lightly on the slick water surface, she submerged herself up to her chin. Tendrils of dark hair, gleaming in the harsh sunlight, spread out halfway around her head like roots of an ancient tree, bobbing gently on the water. 

There was a fire burning deep within her, a mix of vapid anger and disappointments welling up from the core of her being, shattering any wall of peace and reassurance to tiny crystal like jagged pieces that burned and reflected the fire. The sweltering heat did not seep out from all her pores, outwards to the water, as she had imagined it would. The cold water around her did nothing to cool her down. While the sun was another story, showing no mercy, trying to melt her exterior unaware that she was already deteriorating inside. 

With closed eyes, so that they wouldn’t burn in this eternal battle of interior and exterior fire, she began a slow tread forward. Deeper she walked, in the colder water that wrapped around her in a desperate attempt for a little calmness. She ventured into greater depths, the water rising; quivering at the tip of her nose, the bridge between her eyes, feet gradually losing ground. Deeper and deeper she crawled, trying to avenge the blazing fire, to shut down this insane play of incoherent flames, losing herself to the water; trying hard to float in tranquility whilst she drowned in the depths of the pool.

-Momina.

Golden Confetti

The notebook crackled as she opened it, the paper was so flimsy as if it would tater at the slightest touch, the pages adorned with doodles and quotes. She carefully turned each page, as gentle as possible. She read through the quotes the rough drafts and the scribbles, took her time reading each word of those long stories and short passages. She felt the imprints the pen had left through her finger tips and leaved through the folded papers that were cut outs and written by a type writer. She loved each word, and felt the pain, the joy, the pleasure that went through the pages. A magic land rose from those delicate paper and enveloped her inside each word. The frayed ribbon book mark led her to browned pages. Pressed among the folds was a picture, the colors of which were so bright compared to the notebook, yet it held a dullness that cased in the charm.

She touched the photo and began to read;

'Golden confetti fell through the sky, as hand in hand they ran the familiar stone paths, two sets of feet padding through the center of the town, while the rest slept, fullfilling their well earned sleep. The abandoned bicycles lay somewhere near the park, the gathered flowers fallen on the gritty road. Others slept, while they ran, they ran though joy and they ran with love as the golden confetti fell through the sky.'

One of the many that got to her, she couldn't help be lost in those words and couldn't help the imagery go, she was stuck on it and stared at it for ages, until finally she turned another page and further.

-Momina.

*Note: The whole passage is self-written and based on the single picture above. 

Locked Up In Fog

‘Always aim for the moon, so even if you fall, you can land on the stars.’

She played with the word of the quote in her mind while tears streamed down from the corners of her eyes and disappeared somewhere in her hair. As she stared at the bunk above her, even the stars seemed too far; past the two bunks above her, the roof, the second story and the limitless distance towards the sky. An impossible journey.

She looked at the hardwood of the bed above, staring back at her and wondered where her life was going. She was nowhere. Life had always been so perfect for her, the choices were never her own, just an illusion at that, but she enjoyed them nonetheless. She had honestly nothing planned for her future, and it wandered off in the forbidden lands of nowhere. But finally a decision was reached and she struggled with all her might to take it from there; she had an aim, a door to reach.

But karma, karma was a pain in the behind, the door of opportunity was nothing more than an illusion, a mirage in the dry dessert that she had taken to be an oasis, a disappointment that sent her crashing down, with all her spirits drowning in self pity and accusation. Before her lied nothing but a barren land, she had journeyed from nowhere to nowhere. At first she had had a goal to chase, that would have been her way out, but now there was no goal, no target. The planes of disappointment spread out vast in every direction she looked. They were limitless and she had no clue where to go and nobody to guide her.

Tears came stronger than ever as she realized the reality of her situation again. She considered calling her best-friend and spilling out all her worry to her but she had probably done all she could; she had helped her up after she had crashed down under the weight of disappointments and dusted her down, raising her drowned spirits. She had felt a lot better then, but now, weighing her options she had to admit that she was stuck, her mind clogged.

She heaved muted sobs in the dark room as the night grew longer. Eventually she fell in a chain of weird dreams that woke her up every half hour or so, every time greeted by the everlasting darkness. At sunrise she sat up in her bed with a throbbing head and stinging eyes that were red and strained as she contemplated on her series of dreams, they had felt so meaningful but now they just seemed like pointless gibberish. She sighed, but couldn’t bring herself to sleep again.

The days became unnumbered as she went through her daily routine. She felt bored out of her wits yet there was so much to do that the day passed away in a blur. The nights were the same; an endless series of little sleep and deep dreams that lost meaning as soon as she pondered over them. Her thought had attached themselves to her mind like a leech, they sucked all energy out of her, her state was all she could think of and it always left her with a numbing headache that sent shivers down her spine and flooded her in cold sweat. She was stuck in the dry planes of nowhere looking for answers while her life had become a struggle, a question of her existence, an effort to live everyday one after the other in a single hope that somewhere she’ll find a response, a sign, a guide. 

Details

She ignored the lift, opting for the stairs instead. She climbed each step dejectedly; hands buried deep in the pockets of the plush terry robe that she wore over her pajamas, her head hung low. Her head was throbbing with a piercing headache that was inclining her eyes to close; dark tresses that had escaped the bun atop her head hung loosely around her face. She didn’t know if she encountered anyone while she was trudging up the four floors, if she did she didn’t bother returning their kind nods and pleasant greetings. She didn’t know how to feel, there was the fear gnawing at the pit of her stomach making her want to cry but tears wouldn’t come. Maybe because she had buried them deep inside, and she was wounded somewhere inside too, seething at the lost of her own spirits.

She entered her apartment and sighed, she really did want her tears to come out. She tucked the annoying strands uselessly back in the bun only to have them fall across her face a minute later. She sighed again, aloud and pulled open her desk drawer. She pulled out a cigarette, it was built differently than the regular ones; rolled much longer and thinner she found them somewhat elegant. In fact she had reserved it for a right time and this was it, she needed it. She opened the curtains and stood by the window letting the sunshine color the darkened room, as she lighted her cigarette. She held her hand protectively in front of the match as she lit it, remembering how when her friend had first lighted her a cigarette the stingy smoke wafting from it had made her cringe but now it didn’t affect her, she breathed it in.

She looked out at the sun, unblinkingly, as her eyes strained from the strong light. She took a swig of her cigarette and blew away white smoke, it wafted up forming patterns that drifted apart and disappeared in the white ceiling. Much like her dreams. As an early smoker she had smoked less and engaged herself much more by making random patterns in the air with the wisps of smoke escaping from the cigarette. Now she watched as the thin blue tinted stream of white smoke evading from her cigarette filled the room.

Her headache that had reduced to a numb at the back of her head fired up again. She winced stubbing out her cigarette at the window sill, forming a black ring among more similar ones. She was agitated. It felt as if her gut and lungs were blocked, the smoky room made her want to gag, she needed air. She threw open the window. This was not what she was supposed to be, what she wanted to become. Why was life playing this horrible game with her?? She rummaged in her open desk drawer and found her cigarettes, throwing the whole pack outside. This was not what she had planned to be, not her future. This was nothing expect a monster eating her inside. Something welled up deep inside as she was suddenly at a loss of energy. She sat on the bed as tears pricked her eyes. She was not this. She brought her knees to her chest wrapping her arms around them she closed her eyes and rocked back and forth trying to calm herself. She wanted change, not soon but now. She sighed again letting her tears brim over. And as the war breeze wafted in she soon lost her wrecked self to sleep. 

-Momina.

Fair chances

As the car moved another inch forward I groaned inwardly. The short fifteen hour journey felt extremely tiring to my well rested body. The cars jammed on the single road, as every other person tried to take the lead; the result was obviously havoc. I tapped my foot constantly on the car floor while my friend calmly smoked a cigarette behind the wheel; I coughed hard deliberately, wanting to make a point. But to my utter annoyance he just shrugged and hit the button that automatically rolled my window down. I looked at him, disgusted as I the clean air wafted through the car. I had come to hate these little rolls of nicotine people relied so much one, they did no good other than leaving the person delusional; that on it’s on had another history, of course.

I wasn’t intent on lecturing my friend with my already infuriated mood so I turned my head towards the window, letting out a shaky breath. I looked on to the next car in the glow of the setting sun. A sole figure in the back seat turned its head towards the window. Her eyes were closed as if in deep slumber but her eyebrows furrowed as if the sensation of pain was teasing her, yet, there was so much peace on that face. It was so simple and ordinary that I could have glimpsed of it in a crowd and not look back but right now, it put me on the edge.

I shook my head and looked down as my mobile flashed. A text message, another one. I placed the phone face down on the dash board and put my feet up next to it. I looked back at the girl in the next car. How could one be at peace with pain? The thought bothered me but the face relieved me, it was ordinarily distinctive. I frowned to myself, what was I thinking? But I was drawn to the face again. I imagined getting to know her, befriending her and chatting with her, laughing at a memory…

As the cars edged closer side by side, her eyes opened partially and looked deeply into mine, in that moment I felt something I had never felt before, a jolt, a connection. We held each other’s gaze for a long moment, till her eyes fell closed again. Maybe she was dreaming, maybe I was dreaming. My friend jolted the car forward violently, over taking as he turned in for the airport. I didn’t bother looking back to look for her car, what good would it do? Strangers. Was I delusional without drugging myself?

I rarely thought about her as I said good bye to my friend and got in for immigration and all. Was it possible to feel something yet never be able to know that person? My mind was clogged with old memories as I went through the bag and security checks, memories I thought I had lost somewhere. I still held on to them, I guess, even after all this time. I gave the flight attendant my boarding pass. I was one of the last ones so she smiled and led the way to my seat. The window seat was already taken by someone who had their head turned towards the window. I stuffed by hand carry in the compartments over the seats and sat down next to the lady in the woolly shawl.

The flight attendant arrived again at my side with a glass of water and some pain killers.

‘Ma’am?’ she whispered and the lady next to me turned her face. I felt a jolt in my nerves as our eyes met, the girl from the next car. It’s not delusional; there are always chances to be taken. 

Silenced.

She sat alone on the lone bench; a silver head facing the outstretched yet empty gardens, behind her stood the old building where a dozen more like her sat. She could hear the endless whispers in her ears, calling out to her, even when no when was around.She was alone still. All her life she craved for solidarity and silence and now, when her wish was attained, she only shuddered in pain and longing, at all times.  Truly alone and trapped in isolation of her own body; unable to utter a word or hear anything apart from old murmurs. She saw their lips move, she saw them laugh and then she'd cry to herself, in her own solitary mind. Abandoned. Deserted. Shut away from all those around with a constant reminder that it was her own much desired wish, she sat alone on the single bench, facing the empty gardens, isolated in a world of gazillions, forgotten like a thousand day dreams…