I claim what should not be claimed,
I claim darkness to see the fireflies and the stars,
I claim the serpents to love them more than the hatred they get from others,
I claim a mortal to live with sacrifice and hope,
I claim the winter to see the dead tries rising up with more strength,
I claim a wound to realise the weakness I have got,
I claim death of man/womankind to make the earth live in peace,
I claim sadness to measure the depth of the grief,
I claim fantasies to be in a fiction with a woman wearing a chiffon gown,
With soft steps and two drowsy eyes filled with the syrup of fairies,
I claim the curse of love more than the potion of power,
I claim the woman from the fiction to be in your serene beauty,
When you arrive I see you inside the seductive literary woman,
The watch keeps rolling over to unite at a place where I feel,
You must be wondering what, right?
It is the feeling which I usually trespass, even when I lie deep in the unconscious mind,
The feeling of loving you more than the woman,
The feeling of loving the negativity of the fiction,
To gather the courage of diving inside her lust,
And seek you with all the peace and fight loving each other.
After spending the whole day aimlessly roaming around in the city, and tonnes of selfies and hundreds of jokes later, with empty stomachs you and your friends find yourself inside a pizza parlor, laughing your guts out and enjoying yourself to the brim. Seems perfect, doesn’t it?
Well, picture this. A friend is recalling some random moment from the day and everyone is interrupting him with their own recollections and passing comments at each other and none of you is caring about how loud you are being, and you take a bite of your third slice of pizza, and just like that something inside you dies. You don’t know what it is, but it is overwhelming, confusing, and saddening. Time slows down, your friends are oblivious to what just happened, you feel your heart beating against your chest and it seems like it’s trying to break out, your body temperature rises, your palms get sweaty, you feel like crying; but there you are, munching your food down, looking at your phone even though it didn’t ring, smiling, and definitely not crying. You try to shake it off but that feeling holds on to you. You get silent, your appetite dies, your friends ask what’s up, and you just say you’re getting late and leave.
Back at home, when you’re finally done with the day and you’re on your bed, getting inside the covers, it suddenly hits you. Your eyes are closed but you try to picturise that moment once again, you put your mind on rewind and play the tape real slow trying to figure out what happened. Nothing did. You don’t understand, you were having a perfect day, you felt happy after a long time.
“Hmmm… maybe you shouldn’t have gone out and enjoyed yourself, maybe you shouldn’t have been happy and uncaring, because you don’t deserve it.”
You spring right up. “Hey! Wait a second! What? Why did you say that to yourself!? You certainly deserve being happy! You’re not a perfect human being, but you’re a perfect you! You shouldn’t think like that!”
“But, what if you’re right? I’m not saying you are, but what if? There’s loads of stuff you have to do, things are not going the way you want them to, you are still so far away from your dreams, you’re not really making a difference, you’re nowhere close to being the person you want to be, and you’re definitely not the person you should be. So… should you really be happy and enjoying yourself?”
“Maybe, you’re right! But then, what should I do? I certainly am not making a difference even when I’m trying my best, so why not take a much deserved a break. Won’t make difference anyway, would it?”
“It won’t. But you shouldn’t do that. You need to be ashamed of yourself. People expect so much from you. And if you don’t care about them, then what about you? You had so many dreams, didn’t you? Are you really not gonna try and be the person you should be. I don’t see any reason why you should be happy. There’s so much to worry about!”
“But.. I want to be happy. I’m trying to be happy, aren’t I? That’s the big picture. And since I feel good in these little moments, I fail to see what’s the harm.”
“You’re wasting your time. I told you, you don’t deserve to be happy because you’re stupid and worthless. You’re pathethic. Have you ever looked around yourself? People your age, people younger than you, are doing so much more to make this a better place and you, like a selfish little prick who doesn’t do anything other than fantasizing about how amazing the future is going to be, do nothing! Why are you even alive? You’re nothing but dead weight.”
“Stop saying this again and again! You’re not helping me!”
“I’m not here to help you! I’m here to remind of all the things you aren’t and couldn’t be.”
“But it’s not my fault!”
“Hahaha! Keep telling yourself that. It is your fault. Everything is your fault. Had you been a bit wiser, things wouldn’t have turned out this way. But no, you can’t keep your mouth shut. You always mess things up, and you always mess up bad. How are you not ashamed of yourself!?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s happening. Shut up. Leave me alone.”
“Oh, please! Now you’re backing off because you know I’m right. You disgust me. You don’t even deserve to be alive. You should just stay at home and keep yourself locked up inside a room, because everytime you’re out there things are bound to go wrong. You could’ve been such a better person, but no, you only care about yourself. No one can be more narcissistic than you. You’re useless, you’re……”
And without even realizing that tears are streaming down your face, you give up the fight. With a heavy heart you listen to your banter, agreeing. And you fall asleep.
The next morning you wake up with no remembrance of last night. But just when you’re getting up from your bed, last night’s encounter hits you like a speeding train, and suddenly you go numb. You stare at the chair infront of you, trying to remember happy moments(because people say it works, right?), but your mind draws up a blank. Boom! You’re dead again. You look at the clock, you don’t have time. You pretend it’s like any other day. And you get ready and you’re standing in front of the mirror, you look at your swollen eyes just for a second, and shift your gaze to your hair. You adjust your clothes, you touch-up your make-up, but you don’t look at yourself, afraid that the horrors of yesterday might catch up with you again.
As you’re stepping out of the house, you silently promise yourself that today you won’t smile.
Today, you won’t be happy.
But guess what? Hours later, just when the sun is going down, you find yourself at a coffee shop laughing with your friends and by now, you already know how your day is gonna end.
Pratigya Esther Ram is a 19-year-old undergrad commerce student in Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh in India. When she got in touch with me, I published this here on Bhor and here on Medium.
Poet, Writer, Artist, Wanderer, Yogini. Mental Health and Domestic Violence Advocacy. MBA Boston University, MA Creative Writing, University of Westminster.
Fiction Editor, Open Road Review, Editor, The Woman Inc., Managing Trustee, Bhor