It’s when I turn into the gates of the layout.. that’s when I think of you. I’m still doing it out of habit… it’s when I’ve always thought of you. That moment right before I got home… everything melted away in the anticipation of seeing you, waiting for you to come greet me and for that single moment, everything was nothing. It was just you letting me know that everything was okay. All was right with the world. Just you being there made everything simple and significant.. or insignificant sometimes. Life was pure. You meant a whole lot.. more than most people will ever mean to me and I miss you. 

To my mother

It’s been 16 years since i last saw your beautiful face. There are days when i can’t quite understand why you went away. You didn’t have a choice, did you? it’s not something you can quite argue or debate over. But, most times, i know exactly why things happened the way they did. This world is made for people who know can’t quite figure out what they’re doing here. You were here for a reason, you were here to keep everything in balance. And you did so, before you had to go away.

It bothers me that i can’t quite remember what you sounded like, or the way you laughed, or the way your hair felt when you let me brush it. I can’t really understand why my memory can’t hold on those little moments, and why i can’t feel you hugging me whenever i want. I remember clearly the time when i slammed the door in your face cause you brought me to school late or the time i tried running away from home cause i wouldn’t eat what you made for lunch. Yet, everything before that is a blur. I look at pictures, and i used to tail you like a puppy. But i don’t remember the way you smell. I smell your perfumes and wear your clothes, but it doesn’t take me back. I try and listen to the same music you did, but i can’t relate. I tried knitting, and stitching just like you, but i was never very good at it and i gave up promptly. I even tried copying your handwritting, i now resort to typing, cause my handwritting looks like a scared puppy pissing itself.

I have the one picture of you in my wallet, and it’s faded out completely, but it’s of you laughing. I don’t laugh like that. It’s of you dressed so wonderfully, so epically put together. I dress like a confused hippie. You had wonderfully manicured nails. I have nails with black nailpolish. I still pray to you and cry to you, i’m sure you know that. I can’t type this out without tearing up. 16 years later, and although i can’t remember much about you, i still feel you. I can’t quite explain it. I cried when you went away, but not alot. I went to school and described dramatically to my friends oh how you coughed blood with a straight face and strange hand movements. I celebrated my birthday 11 days after you left, it took me 11 days to get excited about something else. Apparently, you helped pick out my birthday dress after you left, oh so i claimed. But i don’t remember how.

I’m reminded of you through everyone’s memories, they remember you clearly. They remember what you laughed about, they remember what upseted you, they remember what you used to cook and what you wore and what you said to them. They remember. I see videos of you, and see you speaking to me, but i dont remember any of it.

I often wonder, how would i be if you were still around? Would i wear chanel instead of burberry,would i buy at actual stores instead of at flea markets. Would i be in graphic deisgn, instead of a doctor or an engineer. Would i say ‘fuck,hate’ and the billions of other abuses i use on daily basis? Would i make cuisine instead of instant noodles?Would i have waited patiently for the love of my life, instead of always settling for whatever is convinient when i’m bored? Would i send hand written cards to people instead of leaving a post on their facebook walls(when i get a reminder ofcourse)? Would i have friends who would remember everything about me after i leave? I probably would have grown my hair out, or atleast ran a brush through it on a regular basis. I probably wouldn’t burp or fart in public, or talk about them. I probably wouldn’t wear torn jeans and stained tops. I probably wouldn’t wear converse shoes.

I am comfortable, fairly, with who i am. I’m alot like her, and you woulda liked her. You woulda understood her immediately, you woulda told her that she’s doing the best she can and a wonderful job given the cicumstances. You woulda told her, that i’ll say mean things but never mean them. You woulda told her that my brother will take a long time to come around, but will probably never think of her as a mother. She woulda told you, that i needed guidance, but i’ll never really say it. She would have told you, that my father is a lovely human being who has been through more grief than one should but adores you deeply. She woulda told you, that i’d grow up to admire and respect the kind of woman you are. She woulda told you that although i can’t quite bring myself to call you mummy, that you are all mother to me.

They say i look like her and act like you. They say i sound like her and say the things that you would. They say that i’m strong like her and even stronger because of you.

One day, they’ll say, she brought me into this world, but you kept me here.

I can’t say i love one more than the other. To me, you both are just the most wonderful women in the universe.

My boyfriend is fun with everyone and anyone; but me.