Questions

Author: Mishmisha Copyright © 2006
Blog: My Life as a Mishmisha
Location: Kuwait

If I didn’t ask you to stay, you would still be here. With us. And I wouldn’t be here crying my heart out. I don’t know if I could live without seeing you everyday, but I will. And I am. I still see you, in my dreams, in my thoughts.

I keep telling myself that this is a dream that suddenly turned into a nightmare without me noticing. How much I want it to be a dream, but I know it’s real. I don’t know how, but I just know. Everyday I go down the stairs and I expect to see you there. And I ask myself where you are and then I remember that you’re no longer there. That you will never be there again. I feel so hollow and empty and I can’t do anything without seeing something that reminds me of you, or hear something that you once said…

I feel like this is just another joke, and the next thing I know is you’ll come over to me and tap my shoulder and say “gotcha!” Why are you not tapping my shoulder?

You are; were my best friend. The one that if I had any problems, you would advise me on what to do. So tell me what I should do now that you’re no longer here? I feel like I’ve lost a part of me when you left. Everywhere I go, everything I see reminds me of you. Because of you, all I see is black and white. Because of you I feel incomplete…

All of a sudden, nothing matters anymore; I can’t taste the food that I want to eat, I can’t feel the wind on my face. I don’t know if this is something that one is supposed to feel, but this is only a part of what I feel inside. And then, all of a sudden, I had all these questions:

Who am I going to tease when I have nothing to do?
Who is going to tell me the truth when nobody would?
Who am I going to blackmail when I want something?
Who is going to pick me up when I’m falling?
Who is going to replace you if you’re not there to answer my questions?

Will I remember what you look like? Sound like? Or even talk like? Or will I completely forget you ever existed? Will I ever laugh again?

I feel so alone and I ask myself is this how people feel when someone this close leaves you? I feel so angry at not getting a chance to say goodbye! Why do I feel so many emotions at the same time and they don’t make any sense? Why am I afraid of moving on and living my life?

If only you were here, you would know the answers.

My Refuge

Author: Mishmisha Copyright © 2006
Blog: My Life As a Mishmisha
Location: Kuwait

Sitting in the corner of my room, where I consider it my refuge, I cry. Not knowing the reason for my falling tears. But they fall nonetheless, leaving a trail of fire on my face, across my cheeks, on my chin, and then falling on the ground.

Picture: I am my own refuge

I keep on crying for another half hour. Still not knowing why I’m even sitting in the far corner. Why am I hiding? Why do I feel ashamed?

I lift my head from my knee and look around. I suddenly feel distant. I stand up and lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

I’m tired. I’m really tired of it all. I tried so hard to be the daughter they’ve always wanted me to be. And some days I can’t be myself so that I can make them happy. I’ve given up my dreams for them. I’ve done everything humanly possible to make them proud of me. But I guess it’s normal if they’re never satisfied with what I’ve done.

They think I’m happy. They see a totally different person. Now I remember the reason why I’m in here. They asked too much of me. They expected too much. And I couldn’t do it. And I couldn’t handle it anymore. I just had to get away from them.

This is my entire fault you know! I just can’t bare hurting people’s feelings, especially my parents. I just love making them happy. But sometimes they cross the line of sanity. They expect the craziest things.

I lift me head from the pillow and listen. They’re calling me. I wipe my eyes quickly and walk to the mirror, and check my eyes for any evidence of my earlier distress. I breathe deeply and exhale slowly. I try to smile, but it doesn’t go all the way to my eyes. It never did. I turn and leave.

Everyday, I sit at that corner and cry, feeling miserable and lonely, while they go on with their daily routine. I cry for being something that I’m not, for being someone that I never wanted to be and who I wasn’t. After I finish crying, I wish I could cry forever. For when I’m crying, I’m finally being myself. And I never wanted to be anything else.

Room Full of Memories

Written by: Mishmisha Copyright © 2006
Blog: My Life As a MishMisha
Location: Kuwait

Looking around me, I see a place where there was warmth and safety once. So full of memories that I will cherish forever. This place was a home. My home. I’ve experienced so many things in this house that I will never forget even if I wanted to. I’ve made things that I still have as well as things that I’ve lost. I’ve cried as much as I laughed. It is a wonderful place to have grown up in.

I was thinking that, when I arrived in front of the house, and I remember all the times that I came through this door everyday when I was a child. I go to my room, and I find it just the way it was when I left it years ago. Even though the paint looks a little pale and the room smells kind of funky, I guess I still think that this is my room; where I spent a lot of days wasting my time daydreaming and thinking the days away.

Everything feels so dusty and old. I can feel the dust in the air. And I try to clear the air with my hand, but no use. All I see are the silhouettes of my bed and desk. It looks so lifeless, and I can’t imagine how nobody has come in here for so long.

My eyes go wide when I switch on the lights. Everything’s still there. So used. Sitting there collecting dust. I hold my breath and enter, worried that if I did anything, I’d ruin the moment. And it is a moment I never want to forget.

I wander around the room, with a smile on my face. Everywhere I look, I find myself remembering the past. How simple it was. How innocent. And I find myself wanting to live in that time. And I remember how I had to let it go at such an early age.

I turn around and face my bed. I stand in front of it and hit it. That was a big mistake. Dust comes out everywhere. And I turn my head and cough. I stare at the bed. And think, what the heck, and lay down on the bed. And, I do what I usually do. I stare at the ceiling. I sigh, feeling content. I look to my right, and I see my prized possession, my desk. I stand and walk around to it.

I stop in front of my desk and slide my hand on the surface. I stare in awe at it. Everything’s just the way I left it. There’s a picture frame that I never used and pens and other things. I open the drawer and I find the notebook that was once my diary and open the last page I’ve written.

“Dear diary,

As of today, I will no longer write to you. It’s not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t see the point anymore. I don’t think I have the strength for it. I leave my dreams and thoughts in this notebook . . . I don’t have time for this anymore. Goodbye . . .”

Thinking back, I don’t remember why I did this. And I still don’t regret doing it.

“There you are. You ready to go?” Mother asks.
“Yep, just saying goodbye.”

I turn to head for the door when I remember. I go back to the desk and pick up the picture frame that I never used. Wanting to take a piece of my past with me.

The weird thing is I still feel the same thing I felt the time I lived here: at home.

“Why do you have dust all over you?” She indulges.