The Undead Romantic

I am a dreamer, always was, and always will be.

But this isn't about the dreamer. For I was someone else too.

Once upon a time, I was a romantic. I believed in destiny. 

I believed in God. I dreamt of a future, where I had made my parents happy, and my sister proud, by being a graduate; to walk on stage to get my post graduation diploma with the graduation cap on my head....

I believed in dreams. I dreamt of myself standing on stage, receiving an Oscar, or a Booker Prize, or a Nobel Prize for Literature, and address a large audience, all of whom were my fans.

And I believed in love. I dreamt of moments where I would be having fun in my room with my beautiful wife and adorable daughter and son. And oh, how I would have met her... I told myself, I would find love if I find an attractive woman, and if I meet her twice on the same day, then I would ask her out, and a love story would bloom, for coincidences were made by God for you to act upon.

At 13, I thought I was in love. But what I did was harass my classmate for two years. It wasn't love. It was a whim of emotions decided over a coin toss.

At 15, I thought I was in love. And I was, but we were best friends, and we wanted to stay that way, for it was much more beautiful than a romantic entanglement. I am grateful for that friend.

At 16, I had my first love. And she asked me to seek the help of God. And with God I shared my three dreams, and asked Him to help me fulfill them. 

In a year, I lost the love. In another year, my desire of studying my dream course was shattered by my parents, who I diligently obeyed. And in the next four years, my dreams and desires were tarnished within the prisons of education I never wanted in the first place, while what I dreamt of was acquired by countless many.

At 22, I left my parents and home to strike out on my own. But just when I started to get closer to my dream, my parents intervened with bills and loans. I realized I never truly left them.

At 23, I met a girl in a theatre. We shared same interest and craziness. When we got out of the theatre, she asked me for my facebook account. And I, believing in destiny, told her, "If we are meant to see again, we shall see again, and then we shall exchange numbers." I never saw her since.

In the next decade, I struggled and failed. The ones with me flourished. The bills and loans were paid off. But my desire to learn was postponed. My desire to tell stories were put on hold. And my desires of love were shattered. And yet I pursued, and so was called a bumbling fool, a desperate lad, and a failed dreamer.

At 32, I thought I found someone who could love me. But it was short lived. She said it was my fault. And by then I learned to accept all of my failures and downfalls as my faults.

At 33, I found one with whom I connected well. But due to many irregularities, she said we couldn't be together. Desiring her happiness, I forsaked mine.

At 35, I found out that I could no longer pursue my dream of learning in any institute, not unless I pay a hefty fee. I found out undesirable truths about my family. I found out that all my journey, all my pain...everything was for nothing.

Now, I learn through books and videos relentlessly; cannot let the passion dry off just because the world and time says so. And I tell stories through a document in my laptop, for I learned that I just want to tell stories; it was the journey that made me happy and sane, the end results matter less to me now. Strange how two decades broke the child in me and grew in its place a cynic.

I am almost 36 now.

I was in a cafe, where I saw a wonderful lady with an adorable toddler. And I asked myself if that was what I had desired. I shook my head, paid my bill, and rode towards the supermarket to get the elixir that marketed itself as one that could keep sleep at bay.

As I stepped out of the shop, I saw the mother and daughter again. for once, both my heart and mind told me, 'There she is. You have seen her twice. Destiny has acted as you have always desired. Now it is you who has to make a move.'

Instead I walked away. I can no longer love. I no longer desire love. To love is easy. To be loved is difficult. And to be able to accept that love is the most difficult. And one who has reached that point of life, I believe, does not deserve to be in love.

And it's ok. I might be an undead romantic.

But I am still a dreamer, a storyteller.

And that's all that matters.

Postponing yet again

I was born a dreamer. I should have ripped off those dreams instead, for dreams are meant to be shattered.

First, I realized that not all my dreams will happen as I wanted. Next, I learned that failures are more frequent than successes. Soon, I realized that forever is merely a word. 'Friends forever' became a myth. Unconditional love was just fiction. And parents caring for me was just slightly different from nurturing a potential investment property. In such moments I realized that I was needed and not wanted, and all dreams, from the big and great ones to the small and simple ones, will simply destroy. Failing consistently, I saw that I was alone. I could make a team, or be a part of the team, but being a failure all along, I would just be a fragment no one would ever miss. A few mistakes I made, and I was judged on them. It's OK, for now I know that was not important, no were close to being significant. I am just a tiny speck. Blow me away, and one wouldn't bother to even find me! The scary part was, I never realized that I was the villain in my story. But it's OK, now I know my role. It is of dust, of the bystander, of a worthless being who existed merely because some people got horny some night.

It got worse. For everything going wrong around me, and to go through them alone, I started to feel that life itself was a lie, and started blaming the self. And so I decided to end it. But now I have decided to live!

I realize that if I die, it wouldn't hurt a soul, and wouldn't hurt me. So if death was to punish the self, wouldn't living be easier? Isn't living a miserable, lonely and ordinary long life punishment enough? Isn't having to live another day away from your dreams in the real world punishment enough? Isn't death merely the one good thing you give yourself? So I have decided to punish myself, by living a worthless long life.

He put down the blade and took a deep breathe. He had been postponing for quite sometime. Finding reasons to justify his existence. He crumbled his long note and threw it in the waste basket. Not that anyone would care what he wrote. The realization sunk in him deeply.

He found himself running out of reasons. Soon, his mind will be blank as his meaningless life. No more reasons to live. That day, the blade will laugh hysterically, for it's purpose will be served.

The blade waited, as so did his bike, rope, pills and everything else waiting their opportunity to take him to a world of emptiness. Because emptiness doesn't accompany loneliness, but the vast nothingness.

The Last Nights

I looked at my self. So pale. So white. So beautiful. The powdered face. The reddened cheeks. The lustful lips. Oh, why couldn’t I do it that well before? Perhaps everything is meant for a certain time. And the white dress? Enigmatic! I am in love with me. Or was I? Had I ever loved myself? Wasn’t the desire to be loved for me to love my self?

People I had known once came by and looked at me. They just walked by. Can’t blame them, they never saw me more than twice. But then came my old colleagues, college mates, school mates…. Some were emotional, some were stone faced, and some were just….them.

Then followed the besties. I hadn’t seen them in a long time. The concubine I hid myself was still evident, and the distance thus created had created a difficulty for them. They may have perhaps cared for me, or maybe they never did. Does it even matter anymore?

The parents and siblings came in the end, who hugged me and cried. Their loss on a living asset, a back-up plan, insurance, investment property…. Was I ever their child? Or have they failed in making me realize they loved me?

It didn’t matter. The cut wrists, the blue-coloured neck, the swollen eyes. It was three strikes that went successful. And now I see my self in a relaxing state. That was all I wanted….peace ad no more tensions. Just my self with me. This was perfect. I was having me-time with my self.

I might have wished for parents to ask me to take a break, but they never saw me, only the money I made. I might have wished for my friends to tell me that I am not alone, but they only saw a clown. I might have wished that I had someone to remind me that failures are natural, and even if I have to fight the whole world, they will be there to remind me that I can do it.

May be they had it in their minds. May be they didn’t. But once you ‘accept’ that you are alone, you start pushing people away. You try to find solace on your own for you start making yourself believe that you have only you. And when you stumble more, you realize that everything around you except you had you. So you will move to the last, resort. It might be stupid for you. I might never have had any problems worth doing it. But at my state, it was a blissful choice.

After all, I wanted to know who would come to see me when I did so. And here you are…

Darn, the alarm. It was a beautiful dream. She wakes up and looks around. One more day of chores, daily works, failed attempts and lonely slumbers. OK, get off the bed now!

As she brushes her teeth, she looks at the mirror, and sees her self’s tired lonely eyes. They might have been in a pool of tears the previous night, may be cause of a movie she watched, or a book she read, or because of the absence of words that didn’t pour into the screen as she wanted even after two hours.

She gets dressed, and goes to her office. Another day goes by as another second. In between she eats, works, eats, laughs, eats and comes back. Routine takes up the actual joys of life.

She watches the final episode of the show, and tries to write. Instead, she manages to write more words into the written letter she had prepared three months ago. She then looks at the calendar. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Gotta do it on Friday. Everyone will be free on Saturday and Sunday. They will be able to come then.

I will be noticed. I will have many people around me. They will tell others how important I actually was.

I am going to sleep well tonight as well.

As she lies on the cot and closes her eyes, she simply smiles, not wishing to wake up for another day of routine.

It’s Friday in three days.