Sara’s Journals Part II

Summer

It was as if you were my own source of light,

Like in your presence, everything felt so much more bright.

 The star shone in the blue sky and the cold suffered defeat,

With you by my side, there was no pain that I couldn’t beat.

Life was blissful, no sorrow, no grief, no anguish,

As if you were the only answer to my every wish.

May 14, 2016

As life goes on, you stumble upon random people, memorable adventures, and unexpected surprises. Sid and I have come so far in our life that when I read my previous journals, I couldn’t help but laugh. It still feels so surreal when I think about meeting him for the first time in a cemetery. I can’t believe our story started at a place where the journey of life ends.

          Maybe it was just the God’s ways to show that there’s a good in everything sad. There’s love in everything hatred. There’s a sliver of hope in every tunnel of darkness.

          That’s enough of the serious talk my grandkids! Oh, yeah, if it’s not clear by now, let me help you in there. Sid and I got married a few months later when he dropped that question in the ladies.’ And then he got to know that I have a habit of writing journals. Surprise! Surprise! He wouldn’t have known but it’s kind of difficult to hide a shelf full of journals from your husband. Although I have threatened to cut off his balls if he ever touched them. I guess the poor guy didn’t know what he was marrying into.

          So, for about thirty to forty years from now, when you will hold this old journal of mine, know that your grandparents loved you if we’re not there to tell you. And yes, even I think silly that I’m writing all this when I’m still in my twenties and very much young! Wink! But this is something that you will cherish if I’m not there to see you kids growing. I know if I had one of my own from my grandma, I wouldn’t miss her so terribly. Besides, you need a few tricks to learn from me.

          A tip to you, my baby girl – Always maintain an element of surprise. And for you, my boy – Try to be smarter than your grandpa.

          When Sid asked why do I keep these journals safe and not just throw away, (Believe me; I hit him before he could finish saying ‘throw away.’) I told him that I’ll pass on these journals to our grandkids. And then they will know everything about our love story. I knew in my heart, I was a born writer! Sid was not that happy with my answer. Why would he? I mentioned all his stupid acts in these journals and told him so with absolute glee.

          I think he was embarrassed. He should be! Because there’s no way I couldn’t have written all about the romantic way he proposed me for the marriage. And when I got to know the reason behind his urgency, well, let’s just say that I really made him pay for that. The poor guy slept on the couch for a month!

          Turned out that when I was puking my guts out in a toilet because of way too much drinks, my stupid boyfriend thought I was having morning sickness. In the evening! (Well, I later got to know that it’s possible and it bloody happens in real.) This guy had been hiding that lovely ring from me for four months. Four months! But he didn’t have the guts to ask me one simple question. And when I was spewing out every last drop of alcohol out of my system, he suddenly was brave enough to drop the question thinking I was pregnant. He was nervous to drop the question already but didn’t have the guts to do so but I a thought of baby made him do it. I think this was God’s way of telling that there’s stupid in everything bright!

I’m so sorry to tell you my grandbabies that your grandpa was a very stupid man. Men and brains are such rivals sometimes!

But now when I’m sitting on the front porch watching Sid playing with our little bundle of joy, our son, Dane, who is already one, I can’t help but fall in love with him all over again. Because he might be a bit stupid but he is my stupid guy. He brings all the joy of the world in our home and every bit of laughter with his funny side. And for that, I love him all the more.

Sara

***

          I don’t like rain. I hate it, in fact. I don’t get it why people call it a romantic setting. Do they not know that people die because of heavy rains? 

It’s still early in the morning and I am still lying on the bed, listening to the pattering of rain against my window. I hate that sound, it irritates me. If only I could block that sound and go back to sleep. I twist and turn on my bed and still can’t the find the serenity that I am longing for. All because of that stupid rain.

Let’s not forget the thunder which I am sure is the result of clouds fighting and hitting each other. That roaring noise gives me chills, unlike any other thing. It’s scary and I hate to be scared. Even more so when Sid is not there to hold me, to protect me.

It’s Sunday today and I need to be at the cemetery. But listening to this rain makes me realize now that it might not be possible. The ground is soaked, the air is chilled and the sun is hiding behind the clouds. I turn and look out the windows and see that the sky is grey.

A grey sky always looks morbid to me. I don’t like this gloomy state. It’s like the sky is crying and shedding a rain of tears. Pouring everything out, like that will lighten up the burdens of sorrow, pain, and grief. I blink and soon realize that it’s not the sky but me who is crying.

I sniffle and reach for my journal that had been lying on the nightstand untouched from last month. I prop myself against the headrest and open it. More tears fall and I hold the pen and try to gather the courage to write something. I try with everything that I have but I just couldn’t. I drop the pen back along with the journal on the bed and climb down the bed and rush to the bathroom.

There I stand below the shower while shedding my own rain of tears, letting the salt mix with water. I don’t know how long I stay there. Maybe a few minutes or maybe a few hours. Because now that I’ve managed to come out of the bathroom, I see that the rain has stopped. Good! I fucking hate rains!

I hurry into my closet and wear the first thing that comes into my hand. Dane must be still sleeping with mum so I don’t have to worry about him right now. I grab the journal from the bed and slip it into my backpack. I hurry down the stairs and pick up my umbrella resting near the front door and step out on the drenched earth. The fresh air doesn’t work for me anymore. The wind feels heavy like my heart.

I make my way towards the cemetery in fast strides, all the while keeping my head low. I’ve lost the ability to greet anyone now. I’m in no mood to talk with anyone. I reach the cemetery and sense a feeling of déjà vu. Every bloody time, this happens to me. Every bloody time. A sick joke or what, huh?

Because this is the place where I met Sid for the first time and now I’m here visiting his grave. Yup, the man I married is buried underneath and here I am breathing. Breathing this very fresh air that feels more like stale to me. He is under there but I feel the suffocation. I am the one who feels trapped above the ground.

The rain has washed away every bit of dirt from his gravestone. And I’m so not thankful for that. Who feels grateful when you have a dead husband? I don’t need God or His stupid rains to do that. I can do that on my own. Sure everyone can take care of their loved ones who are dead. And I don’t even need you, grandma or your dead friends. If this was the lesson you had for me in mind then I’m better off without you all.

I sit beside Sid’s grave on the drenched soil and open my backpack. I take out the journal and try again.

                                                                                         

Monsoon

We met on this very soil,

And tangled in a way, hard to uncoil.

I remember the way you did smell,

 Fresh aroma after a downpour, like a sweet spell.

Now you lie in grave and me in vain,

I know now the dessert hurts when it misses the rain.

I stop writing and take a deep breath but it’s no use. My tears start falling on the pages of my journals and I don’t bother with it anymore. 

July 18, 2018

          I don’t know what to write anymore. I really don’t. I always thought that I would be all grey and old with Sid beside me with wrinkles on his handsome face and would read these journals to our grandkids. And now, the most important part of my imagination is missing. My soul is missing. Because I’m an empty shell without you, Sid. I’m hollow from the inside. And there’s just nothing in this world that could fill this void. Not even your son.

          I don’t have the courage to tell him that his dad is dead. That his father is not coming back again. That one just stupid accident took away his dad forever. How am I supposed to say that? Just the thought breaks my heart and the reality shatters the already broken pieces into dust.

          You are the person that kept me going, Sid. And now that you’re gone, I’m becoming a bitter person. You know, I was never like this. I was never like this until you were snatched away from me. I’ve started hating rains, Sid. You loved them so much but now I hate them as much as I hate God for taking you away from me. This rain took your life then how can I like it?

          Will you come back if I tell you that though it was not the best place to meet the love of my life but I’m still glad you came to the cemetery that day? Will you come back if I admit it that I loved your proposal even though it was the most stupid place to ask someone to marry you? Will you come back if I tell you I would burn all those journals on your just one word?

          Because I will do it in a blink. I’ll burn all the damn journals and save you the embarrassment.  I’ll shout from the rooftop of getting the world’s best proposal. And I’ll happily write a story about how we met here at this very place for the first time. All you need to do is, just come back. Will you?

          Will you come back, Sid? Because the days are not getting better. Everyone said it will but everyone lied. This pain is becoming unbearable. Like hundreds of splinters piercing my heart. I feel the grief like a dagger to my heart. This is not what I signed up for. I can’t do this.

          So, will you come back? Will you come back if I beg you? Will you?

Sara