Hiraeth
I write I write everything on the raw pages...I want the ink to make words of my thoughts; I want the words to untangle my contents and make them stand in line. I put words, throw words and they become passages and passages.
I write in detail, the stories I have lived, I want people to live in them too. I write and write to empty my collapsing brain, creating new viewpoints every second. Writing is in my breathing, I write to live, instead of live to write.
There are millions of stories to cage myself in my loneliness and I put it in words. Words become lines, lines become passages and passages become books.
I bleed on paper, I cry on paper, I die on paper and I live on paper.
I started writing when I was feeling suffocated in my own house when Declan and David became strangers more than my biological brothers.
I vented on papers, I rested my head on papers and wanted it to pat my head like Declan, I hugged my papers to feel David's muscled arms. I did everything to turn the memories into some edited books. But I couldn't forget the memories, which never faded, it still is in my brain, prickling and tickling. The memories were on the pages and in my head; I thought to let people see the pages, read hurtful stories, and never make them like myself.
I wanted people to feel my pain, my feelings, my thoughts, millions of thoughts.
I published my first book, 2 years ago. I was the youngest bestseller. But people haven't seen me yet; I haven't made any appearance in any of my premiers. I don't want people to see me but only my writing.
I have always read people's reviews and tried hard to smile through the compliments. But as time went on, my books started becoming dark-themed, and I started getting lost in my ocean of ideas. I started losing emotions, feelings, and reactions. I tried my best to behave normal, but I couldn't. The more I wrote the more empty I felt, the more less I felt. At one point I wrote people's perspectives, not my ones. I wrote others' stories, and my books were still the number one best sellers, but they never represented me like the first one of mine.
I was lying on the hospital bed seeing the elder nurse dressing up my wounds, she was eying me for so many minutes. Maybe because I didn't react to any of my skin getting burnt in the first place when they were curing me, or maybe I wasn't reacting to antiseptic which is now put to my burning skin scars. Maybe because I was bleeding a ton a second earlier while they were cleaning the scars. I am habituated to scars.
I am habituated to people's reactions to me; I am different in everyone's eyes. I observe everyone's behaviors, reactions, expressions, moods. I will write about those. I can't relate to all of the people but I can replicate the thoughts I am gaining from their expressions and words specially. I don't talk to people, sometimes people come to talk to me, and I listen to write about those stories. It's because I can't handle any more memories caged inside me.
I write about these ordinary people who want a happy ending to their lives but can't get one, I write about their ordinary wishes, not like mine, my wish is to escape this concrete jungle, their wish is to be alive in this concrete jungle with their remaining strengths. That's how we are different, many people wish to win this Concrete Jungle, and many are just barely satisfied with coming second and third.
The concrete jungle is like this, a more comparative one but not hollow from the inside. Concrete Jungle is the extreme strength to forget their stories and make new ones, to let their memories fade; they never store each of the words, or lines in their brains like me.
They don't care about people like us who hold onto everything. They crush people like us under their feet for not being that much competitive.
Their hearts are made of rocks I guess. Declan's and David's too.
They need to move on unless they can't survive the concrete jungle, but I couldn't. I got stuck in that place and got crushed under my own brothers' feet.
Declan as a person is not bad, he is difficult to understand sometimes. After Mum and Dad Declan started handling my dad's business without even creating any drifts in between his dreams and wishes. I am sure he has his wishes. I had asked once and he said he wanted to be a film director. He was always fascinated by those filmmakers. Stanley Kubrick was his favorite American film director. All of a sudden Declan was made the wise president of our dad's company and all of a sudden a lot of documentary works were given to him. He was an amateur, he was frustrated at first, he had to handle these big companies on his own, he was pressured, and he was stressed. And after coming home, he saw he had two more souls to feed and take care of. He couldn't have grieved about our parents properly, he couldn't have failed in the business, and he couldn't have shown his tension to David and me. I loved Declan more than anything in this world. Love meant for me was always to feel safe around someone, I felt at home in Declan's embrace. Declan buried all his emotions, anger, angst, and frustration into his brain and never let out those, I never wanted to blame Declan for being selfish that day, but I couldn't see my home getting snatched away by the emotions of selfishness. Declan always used to come to see me at night, he helped me with my science projects, and he always helped me to study a lot, but never pressured me to study over the limit. I am forever grateful to Declan. Declan slept only after confirming David and I were home and safely tucked in our beds, Declan became our father and mother. Declan understood my depression regarding a lot of things and held me when I had anxieties.
But along the path, I never got the guarantee that he would be with me till the end. I lost him on the path to which I was blind. I was too happy with my life to see it would be ruined soon. Before I could hold Declan's hands, he snatched those hands away for me and expected me to walk alone.
I got over drunk with thoughts, I couldn't handle my panic attacks alone, I couldn't handle anxiety attacks alone, but before I could learn it, I always was hit with new raw battles. I was bloodied, and scarred, and then finally I stopped living in the concrete jungle and I became different. People have called me maniac, crazy, and abnormal because of my emotionless face, because I never smiled, because I always talked about death, about the afterlife.
Death wasn't a hobby but became a habit soon.
I was too young to see death but I feel more adult to abandon this world now.
I saw the nurses leaving one by one leaving me alone in the dark room. It is midnight. Death is sitting beside me, alluring me, wanting me. But I see hope
I Saw Javi roaming in the hall right outside my ward. I look down so that he doesn't see me. But I keep looking at him once again. I can't get over those star eyes, which beam even in the darkness. Javi, a star of my galaxy, which I couldn't see because I was blinded by the sun's rays. Still am.
Javi is a star-eyed boy, a boy carrying the whole universe on his eyes and his moles. Javi, a home I never returned to.
I saw those pretty black eyes wandering around looking for a specific someone. That someone isn't me. I know. But whoever that someone is is a literal hearty person to Javi. I can feel his pulse getting faster, his nerves hitting the limits; his sweat-covered forehead is frowning. I can see him passing my room without looking directly inside in search of a certain someone. I hope that person is alright. I can't see Javi in this distress. If I had a heart, it surely would have broken by now seeing the almost brimming tears in his eyes. I can see Oliver running to him from behind and they hug in a messy crash. A few tears fell from Oliver's dim eyes. Oliver is Javi's older brother.
The first time I met Oliver was when he visited our house, Javi's and mine. He came to check on Javi and told him that their father's cancer condition got worse. I still remember how Javi wailed while holding him. He had doe eyes and puffy honey-glazed cheeks and a lip almost fuller and puffed up in nature. His eyes aren't sun-like, but his eyes can cover the vast starlight of the stars. His hands are small compared to Javi's. His fingers are tiny but his height is also low compared to Javi. His hair was blond, not like Javi's hazel brown. He had short hair and was somewhat jelled, not as disheveled as Javi. His hair length doesn't go till his neck, it reaches till his ears tip, talking about ears, his ears have 3 hoops of earrings, and fake platinum rings are adored. He looks just like the prince described in the Disney movies.
He came wandering his jet black concerned eyes. His eyes were charming as ever. He shines brighter than the moon but less than the sun. His lights are all dimmed. Maybe because of worrying about his friend. But my Javi never runs out of lights; he is still lighting the whole sky
Oliver is a nice name. I found it nice because it was the safest place for Javi, so he is a nice man with a nice name. Maybe he doesn't need dead people like me. Who doesn't laugh, who doesn't react, and whose heart doesn't beat like a regular human?
That day Oliver looked at me straight in the eyes, as if warning me not to let any harm come near Javi. He was concerned because of me. I know. I am even worried about myself. What if my darkness lingers on Javi and his shine dims? What if his lights fade out?
Oliver is like a person who does not cry easily to matters, but that someone must be their very close one. Oliver is looking miserable. Oh my God, is it their father? I had heard Oliver would come to Boston with their father for a hospital check-up. That's why Javi left the house early this morning for their father's check-up. And I attempted..shit. Oliver is a mess right now. Where is the set of jelled hairs, where is the poised composer, where is the controlled stares here and there, where is the sophisticated expression, trying his best to not let the wall of his self-defense crack up? But today Oliver is broken; he is looking as if something is snatched away from him which was once adored by his heart so much. Today Oliver is suffering and is defenseless. As if he doesn't need to shield him anymore. as if the reason he was living for is being snatched from him. Javi, can't process the happenings, the tremble of his lips is saying he is soon gonna have a panic attack, right after that I can see he is getting breathless, he is getting restless in the embrace of Oliver who is also in the darkness of his grief.
I tried to move my feet, but my feet are burnt in most of the places and it is numb and pestered in so many places. My arms are both attached to the IV machines, many syringes are inserted in my wrist and I have been given saline doses through a few of them. My right cheek is rotten and there is a black disgusting-looking scar on top of it, almost looking like dried blood stains. I hate my complexion. People will vomit seeing me. my left cheek is not burnt wholly but the flames left rashes. My forearm was bruised by the fire and it is also bandaged. Ugh. I can't move without feeling my whole self piercing as if some kind of knife is stabbing me relentlessly.
"Javi"
I called too low for him to hear. There is nothing but dread in me to see his reactions to seeing me, to see the disgust, to see the disappointment.
He would see through me and there is nothing but a dead soul inside with a living body outside. I should keep my distance so that my darkness never shadows over him.
I kept my eyes on those crying boys, they pulled out of the hug but still, there were tears in those star eyes and those dim eyes. I heard a guy the same age as Declan talking to someone on the phone so loudly, that it was blaring near my ears.
Sometimes I wish Oliver was my brother, the way he caged Javi makes me feel a lot homelike. It spread an unknown layer of warmth through my system and I am grateful.
"I saw your friend Oliver here, he is with his younger brother…I accidentally bumped into him while walking and he seemed not okay at all. He was crying and his brother's eyes were also swollen. I asked why in the hospital in the first place. He said their father just passed away this morning. Their father was suffering from liver cirrhosis."
I froze in my place. Javi was crying that night because of his father. I can never understand what it feels like to lose a father, I was very young when our father died.
I took a deep breath trying to calm my raging pulse to see Javi right away. How he must be handling himself by losing a part of him. his whole world must have gone away with them. I don't know about their relationship. But seeing Oliver drenching utter silence dread, they must be close.
I need to see my boy, my pretty star-eyed boy.
I need to hold him, touch him to make him feel alive again. I can't let his shine be taken away right now. I need him to be alive with feelings and a beating heart, not like me.
"nurse, nurse"
I started screaming, nurses panicked and came running to me. I kept pushing the bell to ring with blaring sounds for the nurse to get a hint and come running to me.
I felt this much thrill to protect someone and embrace someone from all the sadness that is lingering on his head after decades. I need to comfort Javi and this mere thought made me scared. I wasn't supposed to feel this sudden pull toward any human, especially a specific star-eyed boy. What if my grief consumes him? But he might need me. Why would he need a dead person anyway? I couldn't stop my heart and brain from arguing whether I should run to cage him in me to never let his tears be visible to anyone or should keep my feet frozen to where they were and never let Javi destroy my feelings anymore. I killed myself a lot of times earlier then and as tempting as the second option seems to me in the aspect of my killing myself habit. I need to choose the first option because I need to be selfish for Javi to be alright.
My mind is saying he will come down to see me, I know those eyes are fond of staring at me. I somehow can understand his urge to see me now. But it might be all my assumption, it might be all fake. He might not need a dead person like me; he might feel uncomfortable seeing me, he might push me away, or he might not recognize me.
I told the nurse to hold me and take me out on a stroll
I was hit with the smell of antiseptic and medicine the moment I was carried by a wheelchair to the alleyway of the hospital. I need to find him. I am being so paranoid right now. What if he doesn't need me? But what if he does? What if he wants me? But am I worth it? Worth the want? No. But I need to see him fine and I will run away if he wants. I need to control the irregular buzzing that happens every time I think of Javi.
I can see Javi now. Crouching down beside an ICU. Might be his dad's. I don't see Oliver near anywhere. Why did he leave Javi all alone? I can still see his dried-up tears but entirely not getting dried because new tears are coming one after another like a stream. I can see his pulse still shaking, his nerves are palpitating. I need to run to him to soothe the frown. I need to wipe the dreadful tears. He is too pretty for people's eyes bulging towards his tears. I need to hide him. The sudden urge got me scared. but I need to take this step for Javi. I can see his finger getting restless the more times when his arms were wrapped against his knees and he was hugging himself tightly, trembling like a maniac. Oh my god, this is another series of panic attacks.
"Javi"
His name slipped my lips and it felt so familiar to me. I screamed his name yet again until he saw me
"Javi"
He snapped his head in my direction and I saw him looking at me with a horrified expression. Did he get scared of me? Am I looking that ugly after the burnt scar on my cheek? Is he disgusted? I can leave. I saw him coming towards me getting up from the floor. He came running to me and I told the nurse to leave us alone.
He came and I felt entering a maze of thoughts. These thoughts are entirely different. The thoughts include, how his lips are quivering in pain, how his shaky eyelids are on mine just like that day, and how his lights are a little dimmed. How he is trying his best to be alive in this concrete jungle. How death came to his life and took his dad in front of him. How he experienced death in the most brutal way this concrete world can ever offer to him. How he is now adapting concrete jungle and he isn't happy with it. How he is becoming mature in seconds. How those star eyes are still glittering but less light. But his gut feelings are still there. He is still fighting the urge to leave this world. It's not too late. He can live if he tries. But his hopes are attached in a thinner string than it was before. I am terrified. I can read him like an open book.
He came and knelt in front of me. For a second everything stopped. The surroundings froze and I felt just that moment, a literal heartbeat escaping so loudly out of my heart that I felt he might have heard it. he became silent completely to consume the silence of mine. I could hear his heartbeats, beating as fast as ever, just like that night when we kissed. His tears were dying up but I saw him crumpling in my embrace and I felt my heart never felt this much pain anymore. As if after feeling absolutely nothing, the amount of pain is double now. I felt my chest tighten so hard that my heart might jump out of it very soon. I never felt this kind of pain. This kind of hurts. I never felt for anyone. This happened after decades just by seeing a boy cry in my arms. What is he to me?
I hugged him back, making him snuggle into my neck. this is all his, my arms, even if it is cold as hell. But this is all I can offer him and to him only. I will be his every second if he wants me.
The sudden urge to burn this concrete jungle and change their destiny to just not see tears in his eyes. tears never suit the stars.
I kissed his forehead. Hasn't he checked my scar yet? He might have but ignores now. He may push me away seeing me this much helpless, seeing me as bipolar. Who wants to stay with a bipolar? In this empty hallway of the hospital. I felt at home after decades. I felt warm. I felt covered by him, I felt hidden by him and by him only. I felt my world was no more mine, it was his.
His gut-wrenching sobs cut through my chest like sharp knives. What if something happened to me? I wasn't supposed to feel that way. I hugged him tightly. As tightly as I wanted to hold my sanity back in the past. I can't let him go, but I have to. Once he knows I am bipolar, a maniac trying to kill herself now and then.
I need to forget who I am for now. I can't let these feelings get to me. I am just a passerby in this world. Mistakenly came.
I tried to push him away but I felt warmth on my lips. He kissed me. He kissed me and I got burnt. I closed my eyes, jerking myself away from reality and trying to keep pace with him. it felt like flying, the kiss felt like death to me. Full of freedom and no ounce of mind-numbing thoughts, no paranoia, no contents were collapsing, I never heard any other voices damming me, I felt no presence of powerful something pulling me towards them. He was holding me; he was holding me to life. I was living. I was living with him. I felt his lips gliding my lips as he was curving a mold so soft that it might break, but he was willing to curve it. His eyes must be closed as I caressed his closed eyes and wiped the remaining tears. He was kissing me as if he needed it, just like we need oxygen. He needs reliance, assurance, and a reason to live and that reason is me. I can tell. I can read through him and it is frightening.
He sighed on my lips and slowly slowly looked at me with his eyes open now. I kept caressing his cheeks and hair. His eyes landed on my scar on the cheek as more tears fell from his eyes. Are the tears for me? In my concern. I am fine, Javi. I need you to leave me alone but I need you to never leave me alone. Why am I like this?
His fingers caressed my right cheek as I felt I would vanish soon, or get burnt again. I need this warmth forever. But forever isn't for girls like me.
How I got so much attached to this star-eyed boy. His worry-filled teary eyes were sending shivers down my spine. What is in him that makes me feel every kind of emotion that I was so perfect to not show to the world? I can't become a part of this concrete world anymore, but what if the wall is made of two veiny arms wrapping around me, caging me just like he is doing now? I can become a part of it. My world is him.
Right now, I want to hold him until he stops crying. He is wailing, as if his heart is ripping apart but still the pain is much more than that.
Crying isn't bad, but it loosens someone's confidence in living a little by little.