And there I was, with yet another pencil, and yet another paper. Looking beneath my chair, I could see the remains of what would have been the pages of my book, had I not ripped them off. I nibbled on to the back of pencil again, and again. Yes, it was a sign of nervousness for I wanted to do justice to myself- to her, to our little love story. Typical it may seem, but the word "love story" never appealed to me and the reason is very much obvious. A movie strip that goes on and on with the hero claiming every other second how beautiful his beloved is, or getting tickets for a movie, or a villain who's there to stop the wedding taking place, not to forget his big mustaches, that he twirls every moment, to keep people reminding of the fact that he is supposed to be the heroine's father. Another part of the picture, yes our heroine, the angel- the beauty- the what-not. I say, was every other beloved an emulated version of oh-she-is-the-only-beauty?
Coming back to my focus of concentration, I crumpled another piece of paper which found its way again to the intestines of the monster called my dust bin. Honestly confessing, I had dipped into the sea of emotions by then, visualizing her, picturing her every moment my pen touched the paper. Yes, it was her, but not another heroine of the story, neither am I the hero you would like to read about in any love story. My eyes unknowingly wet my paper and smudged the ink. I could not write something that would describe her, for she lived far beyond the limits of pages, words, materialism. Perhaps somewhere encircling the boundary of divinity-spiritualism. The messiah who held my hand and guided me throughout the time.
Since I was young, I had personality disorders. Raised up in a broken family. All I had been subjected to, since I was young, was closed doors, broken windows, attempts of abuse. Still at times, when I sit alone, I can feel the sounds ringing in my ears, echoing in the emptiness of my soul, my existence. The memories still rewind in my mind, engraved down my memory lane, written in black ink, so they never fade. The cold nights that I used to sit in the porch, bare footed, soaking to the flesh in the rain, the thunderstorms that scared me- the fears one has as a child, crawling up my skin, inside my mind, ensnaring my senses every now and then with no fairy called "security" to shoo them away. I suffered from extreme autism and God knows how life kicked me in the streets to get to what I am today.
Through my teenage, I was the shy person you see sitting in the dark corners. It was one of the monotonous days dated 18th December when I was sitting alone in the library. It was almost dusk when she walked in. A young girl around 20 years of age, with straight dark hair that touched her back, and a beautiful smile which she passed to me. I was taken aback when she drew the chair next to me and sat down. The tortoise that I was did not look up, but I still confess I did look at her into the eye once back then, with the luster of her eyes dancing beautifully in her arises.
"I’ve often seen u trying to hide yourself in that tortoise shell of yours. I study psychology and it’s been quite some time since I have been trying to get a hold of you, maybe I could help you in any way?" she began.
"Erm, no thanks, I am alright," and I rejected the offer with my usual shyness that I had with girls.
That was it. The start of the day. She didn’t lose hope, didn’t lose her spirit. She was trying to open that door which I had shut ever since my parents got separated. She was trying to light a candle in the dark corridors where even I had stopped wandering. She was trying to break the shell I had confined myself in, but it was a major risk. I was too unpredictable and I did not want anyone to be let into the empty loneliness that I confined myself in. And the next day, and the next, she came to me. Maybe it was a wrong guess but I often caught her looking at me, deeply with those eyes that never failed to hypnotize me, no matter how much I tried to run away. Perhaps she wasn’t going to give up on me so easily.
I still remember her laughter echoed through the halls of the university, and unknowingly arose a desire inside me- a desire to be happy. A desire to breathe, live, rise and survive- a desire that had perhaps nested inside me only when I was a child. Not noticing it myself, I had started peeking at her at times too. Maybe because she was the only person in the world up till now, who had approached me, or wanted to talk to me. But I was scared to take the risk of someone in my life. Not even a friend. Hours I used to think about the lonely paths I walked and perhaps I needed a hand. One day, she approached me again.
"So have you changed your mind? Care sharing anything? Anything at all? I would just say I’m interested in people who would arise a spirit in me, and you do give me a reason to think, a reason to work on."
"Erm, I don’t have any friends."
"What about a start?"
I could not take it any longer. Her eyes tempted me to say "yes" and for the first time in my life, I felt something what the dictionary defines as "pleasure". "Great! Let’s go have something to eat. You do eat right? Or do you starve yourself thinking the food would eat you up instead, the way you feared me initially!" and she giggled. I passed on a smile too. And that was the day she started. For the first time in my life I opened myself up to a human being. She cut open my chest with a blade and ripped out my soul, absorbed all the pain that had stung me. I had started to feel that perhaps all I needed was opening up. Initially I used to be quiet and she talked. Talked about the wonders and beauties of life that I was alienated to. She had a sense of spirit and color about her. I called her my "Rainbow". She was an amalgamation of every color I have ever seen. Taught me how to talk, my guardian angel. She held my hand, and led me through the dark paths I was walking on.
To be Continued...................................