Pictures of You, Pictures of Me

“All photographs are accurate. None of them is the truth.”

 ~Richard Avedon

Each day, or should I say night, as I travel back home from work, navigating through hundreds of vehicles,  cursing at traffic signals that just have to turn red when I reach them, and trying hard to avoid killing pedestrians oblivious to vehicles and moving as if they own the roads, I pass homes, lots of them. At the time I travel home, thanks to my oh-so-exciting job, the lights in most windows are turned off. Some windows however, still shine bright with light. My eyes seem to search for these windows, seek them out in the otherwise dark backgrounds behind streetlights. Over days, I’ve noticed a pattern. If you look long enough, closely enough, these windows seem just like paintings, the view seeming to be almost the same each day. I know it may sound perverse but the people behind those windows, their routines, seem mine now. For the fraction of a second (or a minute or two depending upon the traffic really), that I pass by these windows, I feel like I’m living those moments with them, like they are my family, away from family. Today, I decided to stop and take a picture of each of these windows. Life seems so uncertain; you never know what tomorrow holds. I want to treasure these few moments with my “family”, and what better way then pictures?

Picture 1: A man, old enough to be my father, sitting at a table, eating dinner. The light here is almost always candle-light, like it is tonight, and the soft glow of the flame, lends wonderful color to the image. He sits at an angle, and I can’t see if he’s alone but I assume his wife keeps him company. Oh, for companionship at that age and a wonderful home cooked meal to come home to!

Picture 2: A couple, cuddling together on a couch. The woman gazing up lovingly every few minutes at something the man says, and the man bending down to kiss her forehead or smiling down at her an equal number of times. Oh to be in love, and be loved, and want for nothing more!

Picture 3: A teenage girl, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, with headphones on, dancing away to glory. No particular dance form, but yet so graceful. Dancing without the slightest hint of self-consciousness, she moves from one end of the room to another, sometimes frantically picking up pace, sometimes slowing down to just moving on the spot, the tiny LED’s above her head casting her in various colors. Oh to not have the worries of a ‘grown-up’ world!

Picture 4: A boy, at his study-table, studying by the light of a table lamp. He seems to do it each day, with the same amount of concentration, even when I’m sure the exams have passed and the next one is far away. Oh, to go back to a time when all that mattered were exams or more importantly, the holidays that came after!

While I have several more pictures, these 4 seem to strike me the most. The ones I’ll treasure for years to come, because they represent people with whom I’d gladly exchange my life, if only for a day.

The view from behind the window:

Window 4: Another night, the few hours before daylight creeps back. So little time, so much to study. If only these equations would start to make sense. My back hurts from sitting for so long, am sure I’ll be a hunchbacked old man. My eyes are droopy with sleep, but I can’t give in. not yet. If I don’t study this tonight, no way will I ever be able to catch up. Am already behind, so behind my schedule. At this rate, I will never be able to get into any of the colleges dad wants me to go to. Times like this, I wish I could just pick up my guitar, which I haven’t touched in days and run away. or maybe, if I could just put on a CD and listen to it. With headphones on. I won’t disturb anyone, but just a minute of escape, and then I’ll get back to studying, I promise.

Window 3: there. That’s better. Now all I can hear is the music, filling my ears, filling my world. I’m moving with it, and it sounds so good. No, no, I got to turn it up louder, I can hear them again, need to shut them out. Need to stop moving so much, maybe they’ll hear me, if they would just stop yelling at each other for one tiny second. The yelling, it never stops. Sometimes, it goes beyond that. And so, my music must. I might die old and deaf, but if it means I can’t hear them yell, I’ll gladly take it. I just hope that tonight, they stay out there, and my door doesn’t slam back on its hinges, with him standing there, angry, so angry, and me blanking out everything, bracing myself for the only ting that can come next. The first blow, that’s the hardest. Please, none tonight though. This is the loudest the music can get. Thank God for this music, and for my boyfriend, who got me into it. The sweetest escape. Both him and the music. Times like this, it seems so simple to just run away with him, and leave this all behind. Just him and me, our own little world. No worries.

Window 2: I could keep her here with me forever, I wish I could take us both away to where it was only us. It seems so comfortable to be here with him. So safe, so secure. Too comfortable. I don’t think I could ever love anyone as much as I love her. She’ so precious, yet so brittle. He loves me, I know it, and I think I love him. But why isn’t it enough for me? My search ends with her. She is the answer to all my life’s questions. Eternity would seem a small time frame to spend with her. Will she stay? What am I looking for? Will my search ever end? Only one way to find out. I have to leave, but I can’t let him know. If he asks me to stay, will I really be able to leave? But I can’t be happy here. She’s left her world for me. just as I know she will leave my world, for something she is searching. I cant ask her to stay, but can I really let her go?

Window 1: 14 years. 14 years and counting that I’m having my dinner alone. And I have only myself to blame. I wasn’t the ideal son, but I pushed my son to be everything I wasn’t. Pushed him too far. One wonderful woman left me and broke my heart, and the second chance that I got with another one, I blew. Never did treat her right. My wife’s dead. My son won’t come visit me. He became everything I pushed him to become and in the bargain pushed him too far away to expect him to come back to me. No more than I deserve. I look out of the window, I was sure I sensed a tiny flash, like that from a camera, and sure enough I see a young man there. Did he just take a picture of me? I try looking into his face, like I do for each young man I see, looking for my son. But it’s too dark outside. He puts down his camera, walks towards his car and rides of. Where are you off to my boy? Running away? Or seeking?

… Because they represent people with whom I’d gladly exchange my life, if only for a day.

~

Song Recommendation: Outside by Staind

I haven’t, and yet, I have

I haven’t lived long enough to know if death could be more pleasant than life.
I’ve lived long enough to know that what matters is to make each day  alive count.

I haven’t loved strong enough to understand two bodies one soul.
I have loved enough to know I cant live entrapped with not even my soul to call just my own.

I haven’t read enough to claim to know it all.
I’ve read enough to know that tomorrow I shall read something that amazes me more.

I haven’t traveled enough to know every corner of the world.
I’ve traveled enough to know only one place can ever be called home.

I haven’t been away from home long enough to know what home-sickness is.
I’ve been away enough to know you  can never go ‘home’ again.

I haven’t lost enough to ever have felt I have nothing more to lose.
I’ve lost enough to know I can never get back what I had.

I haven’t ever wanted enough to not want anything more.
I’ve wanted enough to know what a desperate measure is.

I haven't done a lot of things I wanted to do, but when I think of it,

I haven’t, and yet, I have…



Note: The line in italics(I haven't done a lot of things I wanted to do, but when I think of it) was contributed by my traveler friend and fellow blogger Angelo . You can look at some of the pictures from his travels here .

~

Song Recommendation: Lost by Coldplay

Reality is an Illusion

I thought I knew you. But I guess it’s easier… to see what we want, than to look for the truth. You think you know me but you don’t; and that means you don’t know what I can do.

‘Good morning’, said she one bright morning. For once when I wake up, I’m not grumpy, but happy. Who isn’t on seeing their best friend right? Now my friend, let’s not get into names, is seriously the bestest friend ever. No one gets me like she does, I know you’re thinking about me- she’s 15, what’s to get? But honestly, life is tough for a teenager. You don’t know the stuff we have to go through. And through it all, my friend’s always been there. Right by my side, always supporting me, always on my side, us against the world, you get the gist.

I’m a little surprised Mum let her in; she’s not too fond of my ‘best friend’. Can you believe that? My own mother, not happy I have such a brilliant friend. Not too fond, is an understatement, she practically despises her. I may be sounding a little too harsh but it’s true. Actually, its not so much Mum not liking her that bothers me, its just, well, how do I say it? Whenever my friend is around it’s like my Mum doesn’t like me. I’m not being jealous, she honestly doesn’t like my friend, in fact she seems scared of her. She won’t even look at me. And she speaks to my friend in a weird way. I think my Mum’s a little messed up in the head. Sometimes, when we race home from school, my friend reaches home before I do, and when I am looking in the door, before either of them realizes I’m there, I sometime notice my friend and her - and it’s like she’s her mum and not mine. But my friend’s smarter, like today, she probably got into the house without Mum knowing she’s there. Didn’t I tell you she was awesome? She knows the deal with my mum, but she is still my friend. Some kids at school call us freaks. They just don’t understand. Sometimes, even I don’t understand.

Like, I don’t remember how or when I met my friend. It’s like she was always my friend, and when I met her, it was like two long lost friends getting back together. I don’t remember what my life was like before I met her. It’s just like she’s always around me, part of my family, part of me. She ends up calling my parents mom and dad too, and I’m only gladder for it coz I’m an only child and who doesn’t love to have a sister? I’ve never even seen her parents, let alone met them. But from what she talks about them, they’re just like mine. Do all parents go to the same school or something, before they become parents? Anyway, back to mom, I told you she’s been a little weird lately haven’t I? Not just her, the whole world seems crazy to me.

Like she secretly took us to see this mad man! She dint even tell us where we were going, and she dint mind that my friend was tagging along. But of course, she seemed scared of my friend and wouldn’t talk to me. That guy seemed normal at first, even nice. His place was part office, part kid-heaven, with all kinds of toys and stuff. But of course, it wasn’t really a kids-would-love-it kinda place. It was too… grown up. So he and mom spoke for a bit in a different room, and then he spoke to us. Spoke more to my friend rather. Asked her lots of questions, some weird, some stupid and whole lotta crap about me. I mean HELLO!!! I’m sitting right there, ask me directly why don’t you? He did speak to me sometimes, but again, like I dint exist. He’d ask me a question and then before I could even say anything he’d act like I’d said something, and move on to the next question, like he was entertaining sum imaginary baby! I just couldn’t wait to get out of there. He sent us out again, and he and mum spoke some more, and she came out with a small paper bag in her hand and looking a lot more relieved than she’s been lately. For the first time in a long time, she smiled at my friend –a sad smile, but like the smile she sometimes gave me when I got hurt as a kid, that said, it’s going to be fine, you’ll be fine.

Like I said, the world’s going crazy. And all that craziness has started to affect my friend. She’s begun to act more like the rest of them. My mom seems to like her more every day and increasingly ignores me. Not just my mom, every one else. Some other school kids have started acting friendly with my friend, again not noticing me. Initially, I once confronted my friend. Asked her where her loyalties lay, got really pissed off and for the first time ever, and I swear to God this shouldn’t happen to anyone, my friend appeared scared of me. This is the worst! The one person who was the best in the world, acting like every one else! She broke down. She said she wasn’t trying to do it, this was just happening to her. She just seemed to suddenly forget about me. But she swore she loved me, and that she’d always be my best friend. I dint entirely believe her, I thought she was hiding something from me, but in the name of our friendship, I let it pass for now.

I am happy to see her. But she seems really different today. She’d been getting distant for quite a while now. It’s been quite a few days since we’ve talked AT ALL. Sad right? She seems serious, and all grown up like. I almost want to throw a pillow at her and laugh and ask her to cut it out, but I don’t think she’s trying to be funny. My mind is reeling, blanking out as she speaks to me. She tells me, she’s been really sick lately for a long time now. But she’s getting better. I’m her sickness. (I really conked out for a bit after that). She says she’s been getting better lately, taking medicines the doctor gave her. (What doctor?) And finally, ‘You’re not real. You have to go. I have to be normal. I have to get better, let my parents and real friends be there for me. I can’t let you ruin my life anymore’. I seem to have lost any or all power of speech. Tears are running down my face, she can see it and she seems pained too. I tell her it’s her mom, she’s been doing all this crazy stuff to her, and she mustn’t listen to her. Again she speaks and I’m stunned. She's almost in tears, and she’s really close to shouting out loud now. ‘No, stop it. She’s not your mom, she’s my mom. Stop living my life like it was yours.’

She pulls me to a mirror, and what I see there leaves me frozen. ‘Look,’ she says, ‘you’re not real. You have to go. Please go. Please leave me alone’ and she goes off crying. And while I’m staring in the mirror, all confused, wondering why I can’t see myself, I see her reflection running to door and opening it, and there is mom, no, her mom running in hugging her, both of them in tears.

I’m lost, I don’t know what to do anymore. But I know one thing. Just because she forgot I was her friend, doesn’t mean I’ll forget. I’ll wait right here, biding my time, because I’m sure one day she’ll remember. One day she’ll look into a mirror, and I’ll be there right by her side, and she will be able to see me.

Author's note: Woohoo! Finally did it. My first entirely fictional piece. Too long a read, I realize, but I just got carried away! If you’ve read till here, then I thank you just for having read this. Would really appreciate feedback and comments on this thing. 

I didn't intend for the post to end where it actually did, but the end I had in mind seemed to both trivialize the entire plot and to make it spooky. But if you’re still interested, read on:

But that may be a long time away. Till then, maybe I need a new friend. Someone who will appreciate me. What about you? You seem real nice. Will you be my friend? Look into the mirror. It’s not just you that you can see right? Look closer, I’m there, right beside you. Can you see me?

~

Song Recommendation: Stranger Inside by Shinedown

Can you hear me?

Note: The lines in italics are a poem I read on the net somewhere. It is not my work and I take no credit for it. The lines surrounding it are my creation, my take on the poem, in prose. This post should be considered as an inspired creativity.




Can you hear me now?


I’ve been calling out to you for ages... you haven’t even looked back.


You hear the words come out of my mouth, it’s turned up in grin, the words are something funny and you laugh like you’ve heard nothing funnier. Can’t you for once realize it’s a mask? Cant you for once try to listen to more than just the words... to where I’m calling out… screaming out… for you?


You come to me with a story of your own, you know that I will listen if you want me to, opine if you need me to. You ask me questions you know I don’t know the answers to. You want me to listen, you want me to answer. Can’t you for once stop and think that maybe I need someone to listen to me at some times? Can’t it ever cross your mind that I may need some questions answered too?


Can you hear me yet?


What will it take for you to hear me? Do I shout? Would you care enough to pretend then? Do I sit quietly in the corner… aloof... then will you look and realize? Do I write you a letter confessing it all? Will you claim you read it?


Do you really need to see me break down to believe I may not be the mask I portray?


Maybe what I need to do to get your attention is something drastic. Leave without ever returning. Leave without a goodbye.


Oh, wait, isn’t that what you did? Did you really think I’d never need you? Did you really think id be fine? Did you not know me at all? How were you so sure id keep coming back to meet you? How did you know that id be the one who made sure the marble slab 6 feet over your head would always be clear off flowers? How did you know? And why won’t you answer me yet?


Can you hear me? Can you hear me at all?

I wish you could hear me. Maybe someday, someday, but for now I’ll continue to sink.


~

The entire poem:

Can you hear me? Can you hear me at all?

Probably not, I’ve sunken to far into the darkness to be heard anymore.

I wish you could hear me. Maybe someday, someday, but for now I’ll continue to sink.

I look around; all I see is emotionless bodies, unrecognized faces. It’s all shadows down here. I can only wish yours was somewhere in this misted dream.

It’s more like a fogged nightmare.

If only I could wake up. If only I could find some sort of light in the black nothing.

No matter how dark it gets there is always some light, somewhere. I’ll just hold onto the scrap of hope I have left. The hope to find my way out and see you. If not be with you, I want to say goodbye.

Because I think I am dead. I think I’ve died, and this is the end.

I’ll just keep on sinking, sinking further down.

The Perfect Ending

A bright sunbeam decided today that I shouldn’t be let to sleep in. My mind struggles to clear the fog of my dreamless sleep. Dreamless... that’s what all nights have been since… well, I can’t remember. I look around. Not that there’s much to observe around here. I might as well have been in paradise, it’s all so white. White walls, white bedspreads, white curtains, white everything… even this excuse of an outfit I’m wearing is white, now why on earth would I buy something like this? Besides the white, there’s the smell… its unbearable, like everything has been washed 10 times, and then some weird sorta cleanser has been used 20 more times. Does everything have to be so clean around here? There’s some stuff in the room too (maybe just to distract a person from being blinded by all the white). Some medical mumbo-jumbo, a small table with a jug of water on it and a diary...


A diary? What’s that doing here? I know I shouldn’t be reading it, but I can’t resist. Only a few pages have been written in. Before I can do any reading, a woman walks in (dressed in white, you guessed right!) She has a tray with her, with some food on it, and medicines. Something’s oddly familiar about her. Maybe she feels it too; by the way she’s smiling at me. She gives me some tablets, the food is my breakfast. I suddenly realize I’m starving. As I eat she asks me about how I feel today, well - as bright as..uhmm.. She smiles a bit sadly at my sudden loss of words. She asks me to read the diary, says its mine, says I might find some answers there. She leaves me to finish my breakfast and leaves, saying she’ll come by tomorrow as usual. As usual? Was she ever here before?


I begin to read. Well, like I said I haven’t written much. Well to sum up what’s written in there, I have what could be called total amnesia. How I got here, I don’t remember (well, duh!!). But the sad part is not just that. I came here in a very bad state, and even though the fixed me up pretty well (I got out of a coma after a month, just before they were about to take me off life support, having given up all hope), and while I can function as well as the next human being, I have no memory of what I do, even temporarily. And it’s getting worse by the day. I am forgetting even the smallest things. There are sudden moments where I remember stuff, but not more than that. But that’s not what scares me. I’ve written that I’m supposed to read this every day. Every day? I don’t remember how many days I have been reading this. I don’t remember when I got out of a coma, was it yesterday? Was it a year ago? Does it matter? Tomorrow I will wake up again with no memory of today, read this same crap again and ask myself the same questions.


Suddenly, this white room seems a lot smaller. Who ever said light colors create an illusion of space? Now everything I do, every thought I think, I wonder how many times before I have thought it. I haven’t written about whether my condition is curable, which leads me to believe it may not be. I’ve just been asked to write it down, so I don’t go insane wondering about stuff. From what I’ve written, I gather that no one has ever been to visit me here. The guy who found me was the doctor himself. I’ve not yet been told of the cause of my condition, to spare me mental trauma apparently. Mental trauma? Seriously? I can’t even remember my name. I don’t know how old I am. I don’t even know what I look like, no mirrors here.


All I know right now is that I’m choking. I’m choking and there are invisible metal fingers that are clasping my windpipe and I can’t breathe no more. I stumble towards the bed and sit down heavily on it. I need something… but I don’t know what. I look around helplessly, hopelessly at the white around me trying to figure it out. My eyes land on my uneaten breakfast plate, there’s a spoon and a fork. Before I know what I’m doing, I grasp the fork.


After it’s all over and done with, I realize it’s not the fork that killed me. It’s not the metal fingers around my windpipe. It’s not even the blood flowing along my wrist, staining the white bed sheets red and disturbing the flow of white in the room. It’s the uncertainty. It’s the “not-knowing”.

I wanted a perfect ending.

Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme,

and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end.

Life is about not knowing, having to change,

taking the moment and making the best of it,

without knowing what's going to happen next.

Delicious ambiguity.

~

Song Recommendation: Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park