x
October 29, 2018- The day I started out my journey to an unknown world with nothing but unfigured knowledge and a barely grown-up mind. But, I still had some hopes fed by my mother’s homemade green pickle. This journey was not a trip to the west on a luxurious cruise ship with a Jamaica kind of water pool and Blue lagoon cocktail. It determined the last course of my life, brought an interval to the journey of my future. Whether I would die or live, all depended on the results of my decisions. On this day I had a deep realization of myself as a person. My existence found its true meaning. I had hopes raised out of expectations that could flourish into reality. It was all so well until the devils searched their way towards my pure and determined landmark. They were of kinds who grew upon others’ happiness to satisfy their own failures. They easily took control over my feelings which became my ultimate challenge- to fight back all the hurdles and cope up with my beliefs. The real happiness was when I took over all such evils.
On this day I put up my story for a creative writing scholarship to get a placement in one of the best colleges in India. It took me almost two years for editing, making book cover, and addressing a proper composition which all together needed a great deal of effort to put up with my best presentation. This story is very close to my heart as all the effortless nights I spent with freckles under my eyes could never make me feel anxious. I was living the best part of my life. This story means everything to me, even more than my family whose existence was once a cover over the reality.
I told my parents about my dream which has always been the greatest source of my happiness. Once a teacher said,” When you work with happiness embedded in the core of your heart, however, you fail you reach to the top at the end of all”. So, I followed my heart, my passion, until…
“Mom, dad, I… I want to… become a wri…a writer”
I was quite hesitant, almost like I was committing a crime owing to live a happy life. It was made from the society, all the canned up feelings that made me feel like the victim.
After a throat deep silence,
“Have you forgotten that you are a boy?” my father asked with his husk tone that sounded deeper in that closeted room along with the growing silence that felt like a shier screech of chalk on board which at the end broke into pieces, just as destined.
My eyes widened as my heart grew so heavy that at any moment it could sink. Words erupted in my mind with question marks at the ending of all. My mouth remained open when the words got all lost in the infinity searching for a better speech of expression. I swallowed my rage that almost burnt my stomach remaining as an impact that still aches during a state of uncertainty.
I saw my mom clenching onto father’s sleeve as she said,
“And, rather than that do you know how many writers roam about haughtily without a work, cause they never get a chance. You need real talent.”
Real Talent?
Well, how much did they really know about me?
Had they ever asked me about my likings?
Do they know what made me stay up until morning, and never sleep for days?
Had they ever thought about why I was so introvert rather than other kids who always opened up to their parents about everything they experienced in their life?
Did they know how I used to hide behind studies to do the things I like?
Did they know anything, anything at all?
I grit my teeth and clenched my fingers in a fold on the wide space of my thigh.
“You can never make a living out of it. Have you ever thought about it, what others will think? What will I say to my friends and relatives, that my son writes poems? They will be cursing me on my back.”
My eyes shifted from the tiring gaze on my mother towards father when, the vision got almost blurry. He was looking away in the distance outside the window and I could see his jaws shifting their position from time to time.
I couldn’t look up, couldn’t cry, even though the stored up guilt was heavy enough to make it rain, enough to engulf the world under its mortal rage, swallowed by pain, living through the blood of guilt.
Finally, my father spoke up,
“Before I hear anything more obnoxious after this you better prepare yourself to be parted and be dependent on your own. It doesn’t matter how you live your life up until you free us from our roles. But, if you want to stay here, with us, you need to be normal like others, like your cousin who is an IT in Japan, a perfect example for today’s youths. I don’t understand the modern system and anyway, I don’t want it to be in my coding. But, remember, based on your decision it will be determined whether we are your parents, or not.”
The moment he said that I felt a rush of blood pulling down on my ventricles and mixing the pure and impure blood inside my heart, growing a lump in my throat that made me almost choke. My heart feels dangling with just a support of a strip of nerve, like carrying the numbness unloaded. It seemed to sink to the darkest corner of my being which was deeper than any black hole, lost and never found. But, my mind was still valid, conscious enough to have the knowledge that I was a boy.
BOYS DO NOT CRY.
I didn’t say anything, cause if I had put any more pressure on my feelings it would readily explode.
I stood on my feet and walked all the way out stumbling on the doorstep. It was almost like my cerebrum had lost its function to let me know the existence of my body in space. My figure felt vacuum, emptied, like all the weight was pumped out of my body along with the blood of rage. I had lost all my strength and didn’t even know when I fell asleep under the Banyan tree, who became my best friend, the only one I got by my side in time of need.
491Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpG9ipnf6oJ
