I really don’t know…

Some days, I am a hundred percent sure that I won’t make it out of this hell hole. Other days, I bristle with enough rebelliousness to want to walk out right this moment, no heed to sense or money. Some days- most days- I retreat to my corner and lick my wounds.

We had a party yesterday. Twenty five people came over for lunch, two of whom I know at all. Just more people to show off for. My aunt brought the entire troop of her in-laws with her, each woman wearing at least four gold chains per flabby neck, and four fat gold rings per stubby fingered hand. And I truly hold them no grudge. It’s not like they showed up, we invited them formally. They were nice enough and simple enough, in fact some of them were downright sweet. The husbands, who I spoke to while serving the food and seating everyone around, were so normal that it threw me for a loop. I’ve literally forgotten how normal people can be, how normal families can be together. They kept insisting that we join them for lunch too, instead of scurrying around and serving. Because they don’t know the ground rules of our existence in this shithole. We serve. We clean. We usually dress up and keep the paper thin illusions alive. Usually.

Except facades tend to tear, as they are wont to. Two girls, one of whom isn’t twenty yet, can only fake so much after they’ve been forced to get up at 5.30 am to go for driving lessons (because if not at 5.30, then you don’t have enough dedication to drive a car, and so don’t need to learn anyway). After that you have to come home and pretend that the lessons were life-changing and/or you had the time of your life, because otherwise you too ungrateful to take them again, or study anything else, really. And if it’s just one or two things every day, you still manage. But things, in this godforsaken house, they tend to keep coming.

We wanted to shower and get presentable enough before the guests came, because between the house cleaning and helping the maids with the cooking, we’d gotten pretty dishevelled and food streaked. Obviously, we’d have to take turns, because we share one bathroom. We got our clothes ready and were putting the last touches to the living room, when the Decree came. Go to the Supermarket and buy soda. Okay, fine. That’d take half an hour but okay. Since Dad is always ‘busy’ on Facebook and Skype, we’d obviously have to. He can’t have us getting ready for a party now, can he. So we took the car and went.

Except ten minutes in, at the Supermarket, I turned a corner walked into my father. He’d followed us to the supermarket and spent the entire time eavesdropping on what we were talking about (specifically, whether or not we’d been talking about him). He jumped when I spotted him- clearly, he’d not thought that we’d spot him so soon. He babbled some nonsense about having forgotten to tell us to get chips, threw literally the first bag in front of him into my cart, and walked out again. When we came back home, mom told me that he was concerned we might be discussing him being unfair or something, and decided to go watch us.

And since guests had already shown up, there was no time to get dressed. In fact one of the grandma types even told us to go freshen up, but dad quickly interjected with a ‘my girls like to stay simple’. Or bedraggled, I suppose. We didn’t have a moment of peace till the guests left, the extra food was all packed and frozen for him just in case he has to leave soon, and the house scrubbed down to remove all traces of a party. Even then, even though I was dog tired and ready to pass out the minute I lay down, I couldn’t sleep.

I cannot tell you how disturbed I’ve been since yesterday afternoon. I keep replaying the exact moment I spotted him over and over again. It is just so viscerally disturbing, so bizarre. Even with the absolutely fucked up household I live in, it’s still way off the radar. When will this fucking nightmare end? I already double bolt the doors to my room before I sleep. I don’t shower or change when he’s in the house because I just can’t be sure. How am I supposed to spend every moment even away from home looking over my shoulder, to see if he’s come to spy again? Because now that he’s done this once, he will do it again, for sure. This man has a pattern. Once he loses his inhibition for something, it becomes open season on that front. And for the life of me, I cannot imagine more rules and restrictions that I already live by.

I barely have time for Facebook anymore, or for writing. I’m working the whole goddamn day doing nothing of consequence and everything of obsequience. I’m working like a slave, rinsing out bowls that are ‘still damp’ turning sofas upside down because my dad suspected ‘there might be some food under the cushions’. The three meals we sit down to eat are piles of food that would do a restaurant proud, but we can barely swallow down, because we have to ‘serve’ him while we eat and listen to him criticise everything from our faces to our personalities, the rest of the time. As if none of this were enough, he keeps clamping down tighter and tighter because he’s so sure, we’re trying to rebel on some front.

I.. don’t know. I’m twenty seven years old. I’m a doctor, and have an IQ that sits in the genius spectrum. I have love and friends and family but more than anything, I cannot breathe here anymore, and I’m afraid.

Fall

Why did He make me from clay?
What did He do to me?
What sort of vessel am I shaped into
To contain these fallacies?
Blinded, blinded, I don’t know my face
The mirror shows me a stranger
But ask me yours, where your smile lies and
I will know all the answers
Who are you, who gave you this
Power, over me, over my sense
Of reality, how did you change
My touch to thought, to impermanence
The sky is raw and the earth bleeding
How did you construct this bent
world, did God destroy me, or did you
-Did you both?

And what was my offence?

I loved you too much by any measure
I knew there was a gaping void
I promised myself, I’d fill the indifference
I’d push hard enough from my side-
and I did, see-
I’m already crazy
A drunk girl laughing at the edge of a cliff
Inching closer to the precipice, and
The howling promises of the wind- If
Only, if only, I could step away
If I could tell myself I mattered, you’ll miss
The scattered moments in your life
where I appear, where I exist
Inside my head, it’s a nice illusion
A sweet lie to say, if only
If only I could step away

Oh, that fall beckons too much, today

(c)CM
09.10.2016

Some days, nothing makes sense. Nothing you do makes sense. The rain stops  your sky and the walls won’t let you breathe and you want, you want someone to love, someone who will sit with you when you’re trying to make sense of what’s even fucking happening. In a corner of your mind you know you’re raving, but the other corners drown that tiny one out, and the day passes in a bewildered blur.

Maybe you want more. Maybe you want one sign, one small fucking sign that this altar you sit by isn’t where you’re going to starve and die, but grow, bloom, flourish. Maybe you resent everything in the world today because none of it is fucking yours and you have no one to call your own except you- and you don’t love yourself anyway, so fat lot of help that is. And the self pity and bitterness steadily simmers and gains momentum, and you find yourself staring off the side of the building, wondering if today’s the day.

But today is horrible. Today was horrible, which means it can’t be the day. Life cannot fall like this. Today can’t be the day, so let’s sit at the edge and breathe.

Let’s wait for tomorrow.

To Catch A Thief, You Need A Shoe 

 

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To Catch A Thief

 

To catch a thief, you need a shoe
And maybe some blueberries
Skim milk, cereal-oh wait, that’s for
Breakfast- no, get cherries

A pair of socks will do you well
A bed head is a must
An itchy toe is just the thing
A sense of self robust

Spirit, willing, determination
To go get yourself shot
At least, get 1-2 fractured knees
Work with what you’ve got

To catch a thief, you’ll need the shoe
Berries are for a distraction
The pair of socks to help you creep
Up closer, ninja action

The bed head so your silhouette will
Strike fear in the hearts of men
The itchy toe will keep you awake
Where courage fails; then

Surprise the bastard in the dark
Pelt him with fruit unseen
Let him feel the point of your shoe
Poking his neck, lean! Lean!

Put your weight into it, if
You only stretch up chest high
And keep the will to get shot handy
Thieves tend to be ready to fly

Between the milk, and the stabbing heel
You’ll have a thief ready to be caught
Good thing you saved the milk for breakfast
– look at that, didn’t even get shot.

©CM

05.10.2016

My bedroom’s the one closest to the door. So at 4 am today, when the light outside flickered on and off for a minute, being the raging insomniac I am, I bolted awake. I listened very, very closely. There seemed to be some sort of scuffling near the gate. My dogs are on the other side. After a few moments of crippling sleep paralysis, I somehow moved with leaden limbs and dread pouring through me.

There was a thief in the house. 

I got out of bed, looked for a weapon, and picked up a heel off the rack. Then I picked up the blueberry jar in front of my door and tiptoed out very, very softly- Bruce lee would have been proud. In the span of two minutes visions of my dead family were dancing in front of me. It’s a wonder I didn’t flat out run or wobble in the dark- I’m one of those people who can trip on thin air. And I knew it- the front door was open.

I crept closer to the door from the darker side, just in case the burglar was standing on the outside. Still holding the heel- in retrospect, not a bad sleepy choice – and the damned blueberries. There was a steady clack-clack-clack coming from the yard- was he trying to get into the shed? Why did he leave the door open and go into the shed? Had he run out with something?

I did a quick survey of the hall. All the bedrooms seemed peaceful enough, all the doors shut. Swapped the berry jar for a torch on the counter and sneaked out into the yard, going barefoot and slowly because ninja and all that, but I didn’t want to surprise the man and get stabbed. I went around the house- he was there, a dark shape, washing something on the outside tap??? I froze, confused as hell. Suddenly he swung around and started walking towards the house, in my general direction. Now or never!- I let out an almighty shriek like an avenging banshee and jumped out onto him.

Hopped out, more like. Dad screamed right back at me.

He’d got an emergency call at work and was leaving. All the sneaky fuss had been to make sure he didn’t wake us up- mom had already gone back to their room. He was waiting in the yard for the cab to pick him up, when he noticed the dog’s dish was lying in the grass and went to rinse it. Which is when I came charging out from the side of the house in my pajamas, holding a high heel aloft. And all the screaming woke the dogs up, who, bless them, had slept through every scrape and rustle we’d made till the surprise-surprise!

I mean, my response isn’t completely kooky. This exact thing has happened before when I was little. One of the nights when dad was away, mom got up next to me suddenly and walked straight out to the living room and chased a burglar out. She’d counted an extra head, and instead of screaming, in a fit of adrenaline fueled courage, gone after the thief before he went into our rooms. She actually did chase the man out. And he was so shocked by this charging specter out of nowhere that he ran for it. He took all the VCR and the speaker system with him though. Mom chased him into the street, and then he just ran for it. It’s weird how almost ten years later, I did exactly the same thing.

And if you think I’m making any of this up, think again. It’s now 5 am and I’m writing this down because I can’t sleep, and what the actual fuck, I nearly my stabbed my father with a shoe.

 

 

 

 

Destiny 

 

Destiny is such a strange thing

Some of us take the same paths

Twenty more are walking

All in a hurry to pass

The rest, and surge ahead

Treading on footsteps still fresh

Where the dust has not even settled yet

Repeating victories of our own imagining

But some of us stop, and

Carve roads of our own

Eschewing the rest, to

Where none existed

Hewn out of rock and stone

Scraggling through impassable terrains

Struggling to stand, then walk alone

Which is destiny?

Is the man who walks the beaten path

a man who cannot see?

If I burrow through a mountain for

My whole life

Is that foresight? Or tunnel vision?

What if the stream dries, halfway home

Before it reaches its destination?

Was that my part, or is carrying the pennant ahead, it?

How much is foretold? How much writ?

How much of myself do I follow,

what part do I create

What fraction is preordained, what value self made?

Have I chiselled myself for greater things

Or has Fate?

Because there are footprints behind me

And nothingness where I push through to

Destiny, you are a strange thing

And I don’t know, whether

Ambition or folly are winning,

But how much of this is me

And how much you?

(c) CM

30.09.2016

I ask to give credit,  I ask to lay blame. For every decision I chose to take, I can count two that I had to take- and even with my choices, where did the choices come from?

Who am I, to plan and scheme and chart my future? I don’t even know what I’ll have for dinner tomorrow night. Every time you switch the TV on, you hear of so-and-so number of people who were killed by an attack or killed in a retaliation. Did they decide to become a statistic? Did someone make them a statistic? Who made them a number? Am I a number, are you?

And what have I done, that I was allowed to live, and agonise over stupid things like what shoes I should wear today, when in some corner of this human hive, someone looked at the sky with flickering life for the last time? Am I worth more than them? I know I’m not. Luck, merest chance keeps us alive. Something unidentifiable keeps us alive. Master of my fate, captain of my soul- really?

I think not.

Whether or not you choose to believe in a higher power, believe in this. You are inches away of from being a statistic. You are a passenger, you are evanescent, you are inconsequential, you are mortal. You are small.

But you are not weak.

We choose what we leave behind. Even if we do not choose our options, we have some control over our choices. We are all here, and we are all leaving, sooner or later.

Choose what you will leave behind. That much, I think, is left to us to see. That much is not just destiny.

Love, love, and light,

Cookie ❤

Going Downhill

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Going downhill.. 

It was just a glimpse but I

Saw us standing ‘cross the road

He was embracing her tight

Just the way that I would fold

Dappled in the noonday light,

Steepled in the buildings’ shade

While we walked the other side

The same love but hunched and aged

Years are but just one upside

Of a relationship that grew

Like a vine, with lives entwined

Within the hearts of me and you..

From glowing to a little blind

Running free to joint joint pains

From babies to chubby grand kids

Living our childhoods again.

And just like that, they were seated

Honeymoons and bags and pills

Past and present, smiling on a

Tram slowly rolling downhill…

CM

02.02.2013