Feel the presence
Jarin Tasneem Shoilee
Those memories were like holes in the middle of a rotten book, as if dug inside by some worm.
The conversation started like this:
---Don't you feel afraid if someone makes you laugh today?
---Why would I feel that?
---Because it's the same person who'll make you cry tomorrow.
There was a pause. A silence that was uninterrupted by the intervention of outside noises, the chirping of birds or the slashing sound of leaves falling from the trees above.
She held the diary open onto her lap, allowing the dry leaves fall onto it with the wind. She got back to the lines again.
---Where to find the opposite of anything?
---My dear, it's in the very deep of something.
---In the depth of your love hides the hatred.
She merged into thoughts. Believing in forgetfulness is brilliant. It's the nature of human beings to forget and move on to newer things. Without forgetting some, it's not possible to have something else further. But its the silent killer sometimes. Every wound has a sound and a silence. It's exposure and closure are relative. In the middle of bursting laughter, a momentary lapse happens, giving sudden remembrance of that pain. This way the pain doesn't seem to go away. This way a little second of pain destroys hours of happiness, just because the pain comes of something that was so meaningful once.
She jerked herself off the intruding thoughts. On her lap, the diary lay like a bleeding wound, giving her ghastly chills. Yet she fingered the pages softly, intensely, continuing reading again.
---If you are to choose between fantasy and reality, which one would you pick?
---From your mind?
---Well, no. But it's something everyone has to surrender to.
---That's the problem with us, my dear. We think like everyone else.
---Will it be fair if it's fantasy?
---If you are an artist, then.
---Not everybody is an artist, but most of the people love fantasy.
---Because fantasy has its strength of pulling you into a separate world, and allows you to be in the real world and unreal world at the same time.
Her eyelashes shivered. She knew, what she had decided to do would kill her from inside again. The diary --- it's her wound in the guise of some memories. But reading it again was something obvious for her, to let it go finally, and unlike a Phoenix. A Phoenix bird can take thousand births through rising from its ashes, forgetting memories of its previous life. This type of purification could only grant peace like forgotten memories. But how could a human mind be purified that way?
She smiled and breathed a bit. The flowery words recklessly called her to concentrate again. After pages and pages she went through, thinking about all that her foolish mind had done. What change would it make if she really adhered to reality? Even reality wouldn't bring him back, let alone the fantasy. But fantasy could do amazing jobs sometimes. It could make someone believe that the lost person was dead, when there's no hope of his return. Passing all those beautiful times, writing conversations together in the diary to preserve memories seemed nothing but a delusion to her.
Her eyes stuck at the last words at the bottom of the last page, remaining unnoticed yet. This excerpt wasn't a conversation this time. It's a monologue, either silently waiting to be answered if read, or to be unread totally.
"Sometimes some people can act as the bridge between fantasy and reality. But my dear, after all that, you have to choose either one. Either you have to sink into oblivion or drown in the depth of misery. Reality is never pleasant. It's a black hole that will constantly pull you towards it from your fantasy world. The lonelier you are, the more you are the prey of reality. Because lonely people seek the shelter of fantasy, no matter for how short time it is."
Perhaps he knew. He knew he had to leave one day and that's why, kept saying all those scholarly speeches- made of keen observations. She looked far away and suddenly realized why he inspired her sometimes to be in delusion. Practically, living in delusion hurt people less.
---Dead. I'll believe you're dead. That's how I'll make use of my fantasy. That's what you wanted, didn't you?
Her enraged soul couldn't wait any longer- by doing nothing but tearing the diary into pieces and throwing them into the water, as quickly as possible, as if it attempted to burn itself just like a Phoenix.
With stoned eyes and a crowd of hair flying around her like cursed demons, she exhaled deeply, pretending to let go of the memories but forgetting to answer to the last excerpt.
Her concluding soul ringed with the words,
---...Yes, I was lonely. Now I have come to reality, but I'm lonelier.
Jarin Tasneem Shoilee is schooling with Jahangirnagar University.