As I sit and look at the perfect line of lights far away, the rain starts to fall. My coffee mug lays warm on my palm as my fingers wrap delicately around it. A gust of cold wind shuts the door behind me with a snap leaving me out in the rain with my thoughts. I look around, I stand alone and nature propels me to delve deeper into my procrastinating mind.
As I raise the steaming coffee mug to my lips, the wind picks up a rhyme. Fast and slow. Soft and harsh. The coffee warms my cold lips and that delicious warmth spreads from the tip of my tongue to my very fingers.
We were four, playing on her skateboard.
We were five, hated Barbie dolls.
We were six, I lived, she didn’t.
I was seven, I found him.
I was eleven. I lived, he didn’t.
I was thirteen, he was the perfect friend.
I was fourteen, he hated me.
I am fifteen, people have come. None have stayed. Time has played a treacherous game. I try not to live in the past. The past still manages to live on in my crystal clear memory. It captures me and refuses to let go.
Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of every person I have ever met. Though these people haven’t stayed, I have tucked them away into a place called nostalgia where they will always remain unspoiled, somewhere between the ocean and the air.
I am learning each day how to let the space between where I am and where I can be to inspire rather than terrify me. I am a chaotic cluster of atoms splitting apart, running away, nonetheless I have been whole. And that is my jail. My free captivity.
You need strength to look at my heart, my face. Love me, I tell you that it is a terrible, ravaged place. It is bound in cold chains that guard my emotions, and my mind does not let me, myself, to get past the fences. I have lost and loved, won and cried myself to the person I stand as, today.
The truth has, nor will bend or break me, I will die with my lips drawn into a smile. I will perish with having created a legacy no matter what I experience. I will die on my feet. I will break these societal and mental chains.
In my entire life, I have learnt a lot and some things I have learnt best in calm and some in storm. It takes a huge effort to free oneself from memory, to never let the same flame burn you twice and that is never easy, never in a million light years.
But I have tried. I still do. I sit here, locked inside my head and this loud, chaotic, nebulous silence gets me nowhere yet everywhere.
This is my religion. Made of myself.
– Shabnam Mondal