Stagnant in emotions

We are caged from within, by ourselves; our ways of life, our morals, our personality. We cannot change that. No matter how brutal the fall or how hard we try, how many coats we plant on. We always remain the same at our core.  We always fall prey to ourselves. Even the strongest of us breakdown, once in a while, from the pressure of it all.  It’s there, pulling us down, drowning us whilst we try to breath in the stuffy air. Is it wrong, is it really, to want from others at the same degree? Are our expectations really pointless? Do we not deserve the same? Or are some of us just here to look after and not be look-after-ed? It makes us want to change, we make promises to ourselves but in the end we are the same, the same we were yesterday; probably with another layer that is supposed to harden us, but is really just pointless. We are there for others, standing there suspended in waiting while the others have already moved on. They are too far to notice us still standing there stagnant in emotions and morale. They've changed, found another somebody to rely on, to look forward to. It doesn't matter to them, but to us.

And at the end of the day, those little unsaid words of appreciation are really what break us down. It makes us wants to stop caring when we can’t, to stop expecting when we can’t; because we our bound by our ways, our principles, our personality. Whilst they… they've gone... moved on. 

Momina.

Story: From the Diary of a Middle Child.

The following is a story, it has no connection to the writer or any other person, living or dead. The work is entirely fiction; advice and feedback would be appreciated, not criticism. Thank you.

-I am simple. My life, I guess, is okay. It seems so. There seems to be less problems and troubles than those faced by others. Sure there are times when life seems to be crumbling down. Its real bad then.  Like the times when my elder sister would slap me right across the face for no reason other than the fact that she was angry. It’s happened more than once. More than half a dozen times.  Of course I don’t go whining to my mom. No, I prefer to cry in peace and not talk to my sister, or try to do so.

I am unusual. Different. I don’t drool over celebs or people of the opposite sex that others tend to find *cute*. I simply don’t notice them and I have no comment on them. Nada. No, I am not homo. I am weird.

I don’t like it when my little brother gets ignored. He is sensitive. It’s his right, he needs the attention. I try to make him feel better, he fails to gets it. But I try.

Why don’t they realize? Life has its problems but it gets better. A straight road is no fun, a curvy one holds all the adventures.

**********

 

-It’s not a joke. Life. It’s not a bloody joke.  No matter how much I try or what I do, she always stands right. Always. Haven’t I always done more for you? You have no idea what she says about you and behind your back. Or do you have any idea that it’s me always reasoning with her, putting sense into her. You don’t know. You hate me. Because she is your first and she’ll always be, right there number one on your list. No matter what I do or how hard I try. I am never right. It’s always them, always her. Why? Why me? Why do I face all the troubles? Even when I try to do the right always. I try not to break your trust like she has. I do not talk mean of you to others. I try to never think badly of you. It’s all useless though. When you don’t trust me because I’ll always remain wrong. I never believed the face that the middle child is neglected. You've proved me wrong.

**********

 

-There is a soft blurry edge to everything. It’s hazy. Everything  looks funny as if each item merges into the other. As if watching through a sheath of heavy pouring rain. As if it’s a mirage. Out of focus and bokeh-ed, forming into bubbles and then tipping out of focus. Moving; side to side. Unstable. They loose colors as if drained. Black and white. Then grey. A big ugly blotch of blurry grey. Getting bigger, darker. Swallowing me up, painlessly. Good. The pills are working.

  ***********

-Momina.

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…