He fidgeted with his hands. It has been chilly lately and he just isn't as young as he used to be. "Dear, the sunset's beautiful, isn't it?" He turned to the warm smile on his wife's face. Smiling back at her, he said, "Do you remember when we first met?" He smiled down at his worn down shoes as he flashed back to that time in primary school.
He had moved from another city because of his dad's work. The first day of school, he walked through the corridors with care. Even though they were just children, they were still scary for the new kid. That day, he ended up spending recess at the school playground, swinging slowly on the swing set. For weeks he did that, until one day, he felt someone sit beside him and he can feel that someone's eyes on him. One day, he felt the person walk closer to him but then stopped and walked away when they heard the bell. Finally, one fateful day, he felt light tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see a girl. "Hello." She smiled at him. He smiled back at her briefly. "My name's Isabella. What's yours?" Isabella asked him. "James." He answered shyly. Isabella beamed at him as she sat on the swing next to his. "Hello James. I'm new here. I just transferred." She said. "Really?" He didn't know what else to say. She nodded. "Yeah, my dad moved us here because of work." James didn't make a sound but instead he stared down at his shoes. "Hey, do you want to be friends?" Isabella asked. James half smiled. "Sure." He didn't know that she would be with him her entire life.
"Do you remember the day that I told you? I was a mess." James said to his wife. They were eighteen and they had were walking around in the mall after a movie. "Wasn't that great?" Isabella beamed up at him. "I know right." James said chuckling. He couldn't believe how beautiful she looked in her white sundress and flats with a butterfly head band on her head. He didn't know how he could be so lucky and all he wanted was for her to know how he really felt. At that moment he decided he needed to tell her. He was sick and tired of other guys breaking her heart and he knows he can do better, so he stopped and said, "Hey Izzy?" Isabella looked at him. "There's something that I need to tell you." And so he told her everything. "James..." She said at the end of it all. He, on the other hand, ran away like a coward. They didn't talk for days after that. She was the one to approach him. And they decided to stay friends and somehow, James accepted that.
James smiled as he remembered the time they were in uni. James still felt protective over her but he accepted the fact that they were just friends. That is, until one day in summer. They were vacationing at a friend's house in the country and for the first few days they were there, Isabella hadn't been herself. She was fidgety and on edge. He could never quite figure out what was wrong. Then, when they were having a campfire, Isabella pulled him aside and told him something that would change his life. "James, I have to tell you something." She bit her lower lip. He furrowed at her. "What is it Izzy?" He urged her on. "I don't want you to freak out, but I think I may feel something." She said. James had been confused. He didn't understand what she had been on about. "Well..." James's eyes grew wide as he listened to what she had to say. By the end of it all, Isabella was crying and was telling him that it's okay if he didn't feel the same and that she understood. "What are you talking about?" James said in a shaky voice. Isabella looked up at him, tears were welling up in his eyes. "I loved you and I still do and I always will." Isabella lunged and hugged him. She felt almost relieved.
James was brought back to the present by a small voice and someone sitting on his lap. "Grandpa." The little boy said. "Jack. Where's your parents?" He caressed the little boy's head. Jack pointed over his grandfather's shoulder. With difficulty, James turned to see his son and his daughter in law smiling at him from underneath the shade of a tree. His daughter in law had a baby wrapped up in her arms. "My new born granddaughter." James thought, smiling at the couple. "Is grandma in heaven?" Jack asked. James turned his attention to his grandson. "Yes, yes she is and she is up there with angels that will always protect her. She will always be looking after you." He said pinching the boy's nose, making Jack giggle. "Come on, let's go." Jack got up and bounded towards his parents. James slowly got up, placing a hand on his wife's tombstone and said, "Honey, I'll get going. I love you." Tears welled up in his eyes, which he wiped away with a shaky hand. He knew that she was always there, in his heart because he had promised her that he would love her forever, until the day he died.
Saturday, 26 July 2014
Friday, 18 July 2014
A soul
He watched as the world went by. Sitting on that old rusted, bench, watching the children jumping and running around in the playground. He then looked up at the sky and wondered, "Why me?" Tears that had been pooling in his eyes finally rolled down his cheeks. He didn't even bother to wipe them off, he was tired of hiding them, he was tired of being afraid.
He could hear them taunting him and throwing insults at him. He never knew primary school kids could be so mean. He was pulled back to the little him, chubby and bespectacled. He remembered the other kids sneering at him, pretending to smile at him, at best. He struggled to shut them out, to stop their taunting. They wouldn't stop and so he found both his hands flying to his ears. He was sick and tired of it and so he changed himself. He lost all the weight and got contacts.
Then, just as quickly, he was pulled back to the beginning of secondary school. Everything got relatively better and he started making friends. But there was something not right and he could feel it in his guts. They were always smiling way to elastically, and they were always there at the worst of times and not to mention, the homework. He chuckled a wet chuckle as he sat there on the bench. He should have known when they first handed him their home works and smiled all too sweetly at him and saying thank you in the shortest and almost emotionless possible way.
He was happy for a moment, doing their homework, if it meant he had "friends". He was okay with the long nights, sitting in his room finishing the bunch of home works. But then, it all got too unbearable. He started losing sleep and his grades started to drop. His "friends" were pushing him and pushing him until the brink of exhaustion. So he confronted them. He told them that it was too much and maybe he could just help them instead of doing it for them. They scoffed at him and said, "What kind of a friend are you?" They left and never offered him a second glance.
That's how he became the freak, the smart,geeky kid, the ugly one and sometimes, even the stupid kid, which is contradicting to being called the smart, geeky kid. He held his head down, walking through the corridors. He knew he couldn't stop them but he tried to drown them out as best he could. Although they were just murmurs and whispers, he could feel them pointing, he could sense them staring. He would hide in the lavatory, just to get away from it all. It got to a point where he started cutting himself. He never really understood why people did until he experienced it for the first time. The feeling that he got was overwhelming. It was intoxicating. He got so addicted that he did it up to five times a week.
His parents, concerned, took him to a therapist. He scoffed at the memory. It was just like talking to a robot. The psychiatrist was just trying to understand him instead of actually trying to help him. He went just because his parents wanted him to. He knew they were afraid for him but he couldn't help feel resentment. He hated the fact that they didn't know about it earlier. He hated the fact that they didn't notice. He hated the fact that he didn't tell them sooner.
The vision of secondary school became blurred and replacing it was the image of him entering sixth form college. It was somewhere he thought he could start fresh. He did at first. He was so busy with assignments and class that he didn't have time to think about anything else. And thankfully enough, he had kicked the habit of cutting himself.
The second semester rolled around and they had to start thinking about the kind of jobs they wanted to do. He remembered experimenting with a lot of stuff. He was sitting in his room one day and the notepad and pencil on his bed caught his attention. "That's right." He had thought. He grabbed the notepad and flipped through the pages that were filled with lines and lines of poetry. "This is what I want to be." He gritted his teeth as he thought to the genuine smile he had on his face. He felt disgusted with himself.
He optimistically and naively went and told everyone that he wanted to be a poet. The other sixth formers stared at him like he was some kind of lunatic. They laughed awkwardly and slowly but surely distanced themselves from him. Now, whenever he would walk up to a group, they would disperse like he's some sort of dangerous plague. He smiled but they never returned it and he called out to them but they never answered. They talked about the crazy kid who thinks he can make a living out of being a poet and he once again drowned them out, not all of them but, most of them. Even the teachers were saying that it was impossible.
Tears left a wet trail down his cheeks as he was sucked back to the present. He covered his face with his hands and muffled the wet sobs. He sniffled and looked up, his eyes red from the tears and not quite dry. He patted the lump that was showing through his jeans pocket. A bottle filled with pills was stashed in there. He smile at the thought that it will all be over soon.
"Hello?" He jerked his head towards that angelic, sing-song voice. Next to him stood a girl, about six years old. She had her hair up in a ponytail and she looked intently at him. "Hello." He answered weakly. "Why were you crying?" The little girl asked innocently. He sniffled and smiled at her. "I'm just upset with my friends, that's all." He answered. He couldn't tell a six year-old girl that he was thinking of suicide. "Why?" The girl asked again, cocking her head to the side. "They just said some things that made me upset that's all. And I don't think we're friends anymore." He didn't know why he was saying all of that to a little girl. The little girl stepped closer to him and placed a fragile little hand on his arm. "That's alright." She said reassuringly. "I'll be your friend." She beamed at him showing two missing teeth at the very front. It made him choke up. All of a sudden the resolve and the thought of suicide started to fleetingly escape his mind. He didn't expect someone so little and so innocent could have such a profound and empowering effect on him.
He knows that everything is not okay and he doesn't really know when it will but something about the little girl's smile reminded him that no matter how cruel the people he knows are, there are some out there, somewhere, who are ready to accept him for who he was. And so he smiled down at the girl and said, "Thank you." The little girl giggled delightfully. "You're welcome." Then suddenly, as if remembering something, the girl said, "I have to go. My mum is calling for me." He looked up to see a woman waving to the little girl, calling out, "Angela!" Angela let go of his arms and skipped away, waving as she did. He returned her wave all the way until she reached her mother.
He sighed a sigh of relief, as if all the burden had been taken off his shoulders. He smiled a weak smile, but a smile none the less, thinking that for once, maybe things were going to be okay, but he had to be strong. He never saw the little girl again, but she remained to him a reminder that not all are bad and some have the special ability to touch other people's lives, it's just that they don't know it yet.
He could hear them taunting him and throwing insults at him. He never knew primary school kids could be so mean. He was pulled back to the little him, chubby and bespectacled. He remembered the other kids sneering at him, pretending to smile at him, at best. He struggled to shut them out, to stop their taunting. They wouldn't stop and so he found both his hands flying to his ears. He was sick and tired of it and so he changed himself. He lost all the weight and got contacts.
Then, just as quickly, he was pulled back to the beginning of secondary school. Everything got relatively better and he started making friends. But there was something not right and he could feel it in his guts. They were always smiling way to elastically, and they were always there at the worst of times and not to mention, the homework. He chuckled a wet chuckle as he sat there on the bench. He should have known when they first handed him their home works and smiled all too sweetly at him and saying thank you in the shortest and almost emotionless possible way.
He was happy for a moment, doing their homework, if it meant he had "friends". He was okay with the long nights, sitting in his room finishing the bunch of home works. But then, it all got too unbearable. He started losing sleep and his grades started to drop. His "friends" were pushing him and pushing him until the brink of exhaustion. So he confronted them. He told them that it was too much and maybe he could just help them instead of doing it for them. They scoffed at him and said, "What kind of a friend are you?" They left and never offered him a second glance.
That's how he became the freak, the smart,geeky kid, the ugly one and sometimes, even the stupid kid, which is contradicting to being called the smart, geeky kid. He held his head down, walking through the corridors. He knew he couldn't stop them but he tried to drown them out as best he could. Although they were just murmurs and whispers, he could feel them pointing, he could sense them staring. He would hide in the lavatory, just to get away from it all. It got to a point where he started cutting himself. He never really understood why people did until he experienced it for the first time. The feeling that he got was overwhelming. It was intoxicating. He got so addicted that he did it up to five times a week.
His parents, concerned, took him to a therapist. He scoffed at the memory. It was just like talking to a robot. The psychiatrist was just trying to understand him instead of actually trying to help him. He went just because his parents wanted him to. He knew they were afraid for him but he couldn't help feel resentment. He hated the fact that they didn't know about it earlier. He hated the fact that they didn't notice. He hated the fact that he didn't tell them sooner.
The vision of secondary school became blurred and replacing it was the image of him entering sixth form college. It was somewhere he thought he could start fresh. He did at first. He was so busy with assignments and class that he didn't have time to think about anything else. And thankfully enough, he had kicked the habit of cutting himself.
The second semester rolled around and they had to start thinking about the kind of jobs they wanted to do. He remembered experimenting with a lot of stuff. He was sitting in his room one day and the notepad and pencil on his bed caught his attention. "That's right." He had thought. He grabbed the notepad and flipped through the pages that were filled with lines and lines of poetry. "This is what I want to be." He gritted his teeth as he thought to the genuine smile he had on his face. He felt disgusted with himself.
He optimistically and naively went and told everyone that he wanted to be a poet. The other sixth formers stared at him like he was some kind of lunatic. They laughed awkwardly and slowly but surely distanced themselves from him. Now, whenever he would walk up to a group, they would disperse like he's some sort of dangerous plague. He smiled but they never returned it and he called out to them but they never answered. They talked about the crazy kid who thinks he can make a living out of being a poet and he once again drowned them out, not all of them but, most of them. Even the teachers were saying that it was impossible.
Tears left a wet trail down his cheeks as he was sucked back to the present. He covered his face with his hands and muffled the wet sobs. He sniffled and looked up, his eyes red from the tears and not quite dry. He patted the lump that was showing through his jeans pocket. A bottle filled with pills was stashed in there. He smile at the thought that it will all be over soon.
"Hello?" He jerked his head towards that angelic, sing-song voice. Next to him stood a girl, about six years old. She had her hair up in a ponytail and she looked intently at him. "Hello." He answered weakly. "Why were you crying?" The little girl asked innocently. He sniffled and smiled at her. "I'm just upset with my friends, that's all." He answered. He couldn't tell a six year-old girl that he was thinking of suicide. "Why?" The girl asked again, cocking her head to the side. "They just said some things that made me upset that's all. And I don't think we're friends anymore." He didn't know why he was saying all of that to a little girl. The little girl stepped closer to him and placed a fragile little hand on his arm. "That's alright." She said reassuringly. "I'll be your friend." She beamed at him showing two missing teeth at the very front. It made him choke up. All of a sudden the resolve and the thought of suicide started to fleetingly escape his mind. He didn't expect someone so little and so innocent could have such a profound and empowering effect on him.
He knows that everything is not okay and he doesn't really know when it will but something about the little girl's smile reminded him that no matter how cruel the people he knows are, there are some out there, somewhere, who are ready to accept him for who he was. And so he smiled down at the girl and said, "Thank you." The little girl giggled delightfully. "You're welcome." Then suddenly, as if remembering something, the girl said, "I have to go. My mum is calling for me." He looked up to see a woman waving to the little girl, calling out, "Angela!" Angela let go of his arms and skipped away, waving as she did. He returned her wave all the way until she reached her mother.
He sighed a sigh of relief, as if all the burden had been taken off his shoulders. He smiled a weak smile, but a smile none the less, thinking that for once, maybe things were going to be okay, but he had to be strong. He never saw the little girl again, but she remained to him a reminder that not all are bad and some have the special ability to touch other people's lives, it's just that they don't know it yet.
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