Winner Takes All

         They say you are an escape. An excuse to deny reality and responsibility. I do not wish to deny reality or to escape responsibility. But I always find myself doing so. And yet, comical as it seems, reality always seems to find me.

I know that I am afraid. I know that I am weak. And being a mere mortal is no excuse. For even you have been subjected to ordeals far more excruciating than these. In the literal sense, besides.

You are my escape -if that is how they term it. My way out of here. And I cannot, at times, help but think that you are jesting. You offer a way out of this volatile reality, and then bring me into another that has graver consequences and higher stakes. You tell me to let go of the trivial things that I need to survive each day to take on what you say is of bigger substance. You pass on to me a responsibility, when in it is you, in fact, who have put everything in motion.

I do not wish to scorn you. I do not blame you. I would only like to know why. If you do not want to answer me, you have the prerogative to not to. But enquiry is in my nature (as you of all, very well know) and I would like to ask for forgiveness in advance if I shall (and surely so) be pestering you with such questions in the future.

Still, every intimate relationship requires candour. I assume that that is what we both want. And so if you will not answer me anytime in the near future, I shall then try to convince myself that I may not yet be ready to hear the truth. Although of course this will not prevent me from choosing to be with you.

Yes. I would very much like to be with you. Although I do not trust myself. I have found that by myself, I am nothing. As my word is good for nothing. And everything inside me rebels against me when I try to be resolute in doing what you ask of me. And it is not seldom that even I frustrate myself. You must be running out of patience now. My love is quite sporadic. But my greatest desire is to desire you more than anything. That my hear t would be consistently in love with you.

I do not mean to take you for granted. Sometimes I just find myself waking up without you. And then I would feel heavy-hearted, knowing that somewhere along the way, I have traded something precious for fleeting glitter. Also, please forgive me if at times I am forceful and demanding. I know I am stubborn and unreasonable, and sometimes accuse you of being unfair. But I would like to think that my candidness with you draws you to me (and here I am flattering myself again).

Forgive me if I would not have anyone else’s word on it. I will not be contented unless you, yourself would speak to me. I want the truth straight from you. I do not want to be comfortable with hearsay and human reasoning. You are the only one who knows me from the inside out. You see, I have staked all that I am on you. And if it turns out that I was only hallucinating and fooling myself, praying to a non-existent being, then I shall face the humiliation. It would be very sad, however. But I have already placed my bets. And you, as I know you (call me crazy), have done so, as well. And your investment isn’t cheap. We both work on extremes, you and I. And I’m bracing myself, but I’m asking for your help in this. 

Because winner takes all. 

the big inconvenience.

It was a terrible dream and you want to cry. Your fears haunt you even in your sleep. Then you wake up to face the bigger nightmare – one that won’t go away. Reality.

Every day you find yourself wishing that the world would suddenly come to an end – with its child molesters, its politicians, its perverted justice and the whole dog-eat-dog material system altogether, so you wouldn’t have to face the pressure of striving everyday to become the person that other people want you to be. But because you believe in heaven and hell and the lost souls who need a chance to repent, you hastily reprove yourself for your selfish and twisted thoughts and set your mind on other things - such as your room.

You look around you and you realize that you haven’t been cleaning for days. You tidy up a bit and then you decide to go to the grocery to buy food that would last you for a week. You remember to do everything inconsequential (like lunch and the laundry) while carefully avoiding the nagging questions in your head. “What do I do with my study?”, “Is this what I really want?”, “What am I supposed to be?”and “What am I living for, anyway?” are all huddled in the other corner of the room silently watching your performance.

You refuse to look. You’re now busy typing down a blog about your dismal life that nobody would read. You feel the weight in your chest dragging you down. Down, beneath the sheets and the foam and the wood, beneath the vinyl and the cement, beneath the pipes and the earth.

You remember the boy with the storm cloud eyes. You remember the unpainted houses around you and the gravel beneath your feet. You remember the taste of the rain and its pelting down your skin. You remember the crashing of the waves on the banks, and the storm cloud eyes inspecting, the wind flirting with your hair. You remember the good old days when you didn’t have to toil and everything was handed free. You remember the nightly walk beneath the stars when there didn’t use to be street lights. You remember the conversations with a beloved whom nobody else saw, whispered, so other people wouldn’t think you’re crazy. You remember being so in-love that you could strap on a bomb and die screaming right then and there (which of course is pointless).

And all of a sudden, you realize that all your troubles started when you decided to grow up and become your own.