today after a long time i had this huge wish to write something. . and after a long long time i wished a day had more than 24 hours. . say like, 30. yes. that would be good. but in that case there should be an option too. . like some days it could be 30, and some other long and painful days, it could have been 20. but then oh, the joy of being a wishful thinker has its own sorrows.
its so easy to be accepting. by easy i mean simple. maybe because im a pacifist, do i feel that way. if only everyone could be accepting, and not rebel needlessly against everything. . and not argue, and not have to argue. . there wouldnt be fights, there wouldnt be quarrels nor general disrespect of opinion. no barriers and no wars, to quote Mr John Lennon.
there’s this video sire made me watch today.
i loved it. in 10minutes it brought back so much. watching her speak, i went through a flashback of old days. sitting alone in school here and there during recess cause i would want to hide, and either sit in the chapel in the nun-block far upstairs, or creep into the basketball court in the hope that the girls who played would be busy enough not to spot me. . or else walk past the church behind the convent and sit under a tree in the woods. recess was 20minutes back in school. but some days it seemed enormous and would fade away with my notebook, pen and an apple. . and i would write. simply anything. what i thought, felt, or imagined. mostly imagined. . and i loved how time flew. i loved to see my hands work their way on the paper, the black ink making words on white. . the ink making beautiful rounded patterns and every word glistening beautifully in the sunshine. . and i would sit in class, my head down on the notebook, left ear touching the paper. . and i would hear myself write. . and how i loved listening to that simple sound of scribbling. sometimes i feel sorry for myself. i hate it. till i was 14, i couldnt speak properly except in tit bits to my family. not one sentence, without sounding like i would choke and die, or so rushed that it seemed i had memorized that line out of compulsion, or simply that i was a retard and hadnt enough sense. even having to say something as easy as “thankyou” was enough to make me cringe with shyness, and i would stutter until it was too late and the person would be gone.
i know how i made it right. and i can speak to the world today for minutes without feeling exhausted. but i know me. even though i have learned enough to look composed and almost intimidating to the world, i still am as feeble and timid. . and i realize it every time i falter at the hands of others. its a curse to come to earth. . worse so as a human being. to be sane and rational and live through a lifetime with the soul of an 8year old. . . i remember i woke up one morning to mum, climbed out of her arms, and out of bed. . rubbed my eyes to sunshine and walked out into the terrace. it was a bright summer morning, and the last day of summer vacation that year. and i stood and i saw birds flying in flocks across the blue sky. . and mom’s flowers in the garden downstairs looking fresh and vivid with color, in early morning dew. . and i went back climbed into bed and told mum. . “i dont want to grow up. i like summer mornings. . i like how i feel, and that i can feel so much. .and i know tomorrow i ll have to go to school and then it wont be the same again.”
its been 14 years, and now i know i was right. and i never saw that morning again. except a sunny winter day in an alien place. . i woke up to sunshine beside sire. . and the same evening that i sat leaning against him by the river. . and i knew that old summer-morning-feeling once again. . and felt alive yet one more time.
sometimes i wonder why sire chose to be with me. he is the man of the world, knows so much about everything. . stuff that i had no idea existed. . and he is patient with me, bears with all my meaningless banter. . im not polished, least ladylike. . and there are days when i look like a cancer patient. and worst of all, i am completely tactless, with no filtering system, and almost programmed to lose out on social cues. he on the other hand knows how the world works, tries to teach me what i must know. . almost teaches me unknowingly, to fend for myself so i’ll get less hurt. . tries to smile when i show him the moon or how pretty the sun looks. . and tries his best to be a father figure when im lost and brings me back when i weep in his arms. he understands me in ways perhaps i dont understand myself. and when he holds me, i always go back to that summer morning when i was 8. .
i know we cant have everything. but i wonder why i cant learn to be like others. why cant i say things and not mean them. or blame others, step on them and move on. . or win an argument with all the manipulation that is possible to make. why cant i just walk away without noticing puppies and pretty-big cow-eyes and how the darn moon looks, or how the wind feels. why cant my memories fade. why cant i just forget that summer morning and be a woman and live it through. death is inevitable they say. and everyday we move closer toward it. even though i can accept everthing as it comes, i wonder why i cant accept that its easier to live without feeling so much. . like just about everyone does. why am i so afraid to lose. . and i wonder what it is. even though i have nothing and no one that i can truly call mine.
how difficult can it be for a rational misfit to think lifelong through the mind of an autistic 8 year old. living with autism by choice, throughout my childhood, unknowingly, i preferred. . than having playmates i didnt like, nor growing up with pre-teens who couldnt live a year through without a new crush, and teens who obsessed with their face, waistline and men. the world has meant nothing, but it can do potentially everything to kill a thousand times. i chose once to break free, but i know i will pull through until the next time. i guess with every passing day, i have lesser to lose.
