Healing
But you must know that it is not your fault. It is never your fault. Because you mean too little to even have one. We all have a story, and it seems that I am one of the few who can let it be heard. This is how I communicate, by not allowing you to speak. Humans don’t like to be seen talking to themselves because it makes them look different, nicely put. Am I in black and white now? I heard that in the past, when television had no colour, dreams were in black and white. I remember seeing red in mine, lots of it. I suppose our lives are enriched now. But there are just some things that, when remembered, hurts even more in colour. The images will be vivid, and you can almost smell the salt in the air as I try to calm you down while you make sense of this situation. I don’t blame you, because that’s how I tell stories. It is my unique way of entering your head while you are asleep. But don’t you get it? I am the only one who lets you scream out in fear when you need to, because it’s such a private place- the land of dreams. When you awake, you will smile to yourself and wonder where in your head you hid the words which will be spoken to you. You will tell yourself that the brain is something of infinite possibilities, just like many a times where you knew the answer to something which you don’t know anything about. But since all are one, I can very well be the little tinker in your head, whispering in your ear and having you pray that I go away in case anyone sees you talking to yourself, which you absolutely despise.
We all want to be understood, and sometimes that term becomes confusing. We lower ourselves to let others understand us. We change, so that they can grasp the subtle difference of us and them. But don’t you understand? That isn’t understanding. We have become all the same. They change to suit you, and you change to suit them. You result in just understanding yourself, but that, too, is wrong. Because you have changed yourself. Let’s face it, shall we? We will never understand others unless they lend us their boots to wear, and we will never understand ourselves unless we watch our lives in third person.
To yearn for affection, and to be loved- nothing hurts as much as when we are denied these. We want our words to be appreciated, and to be admired. We want every syllable to be treated as something important, as something which will make a difference to another’s life. And we say that it is being considerate, to want to make a positive change to someone else’s life. But we are deceiving ourselves. Humans are programmed robots. We only do things which benefit ourselves. Our acts benefit others, but we gain something from them. We all want to be happy. But it is enough like that, primitive relationships between humans. I want you to be kind to the old lady who lives down the street. I want you to offer her your cookies when you bake them because she likes them like hell. And mostly, she hurts inside because they smell just like the ones she used to make for her kids. I want you knock on her door, scrutinise the delight on her face when she opens the door, and fall into her embrace. I want you to treat her like she is your mother. What’s that you say, she’s your mother? I know she is, and now I want you to treat her like one. No, actually, forget that. Don’t even bring the cookies. Just bring yourself. Why do you laugh softly in your sleep like you are embarrassed? Why do you whisper with your head down in shame that this sounds like a cliche in the old movies? The last time I heard, movies were meant to teach you something. It seems that you haven’t learnt anything yet. Please cherish her as she grows old. It doesn’t matter what she did to you when you were young. We can make choices. We cannot make choices for other people, but we can make choices for ourselves. You had this question lingering in your head all your life, and I am going to answer it for you. I hope that if you hurt, you’d go somewhere else because I am incapable of consoling anyone, much less you, whose head I am inside. I only tell you the truth which you had long known but could never admit. Yes, you were the one less loved. But you were also loved. Did you dwell too much on the first statement that you forgot the second? It is a blessing to be loved. If you both committed sins, you’d hang your head is bigger shame, for your mother loved you less but still did love you, while you left her and swore never to return. But I am glad that you hurt so much, because if you hadn’t loved her, you wouldn’t have cared. It is a blessing of the humans to love, but we must live with the consequences of hurting when we are denied the affection which we yearn.
It is a natural reaction to change to please. I understand that it hasn’t served you very well. What have you got, at the end of the day, besides losing your identity and blaming yourself for being so weak? Truth hurts, but it is true that we are the only ones who can fend for our existence. It is easy to love, but it is also easy to grow tired of loving someone other than yourself. We don’t like sacrifices. Unless you’d like to be stuck in confusion when someone changes his mind, perhaps it is better not to think too much and just open your heart. Forget your needs, and remember others’.
So now, do you see? You think that I am here to tell you my story, but this is about you. It has always been about you. It is a shame if you are forgotten by others, but it is just plain sad if you’ve forgotten yourself.
