Anything but Love...
It was a long and boring class. Like those at the end of a tiring day are wont to be. The man near the blackboard kept on uttering some gibberish in Mandarin, that the rest of the class repeated in their sing-song tired voices. In between trying to get the pronunciations right, all eyes kept drifting to the clock that hung on the far side of the room. Its golden needles crawling extra lazily that evening. Outside the sun had set and the darkness of the cold november evenings had descended to envelope into the night. And in this classroom with its brown wooden walls sat a boy lost in a world vaguer than the foreign language that sounded like the gramophone needle running over an ancient vinyl record.
His thoughts were not about the language that was being taught, for he knew that none of his classmates would be able to learn it. He was thinking about his own inability to learn. Not only the language which was but foreign to him, but also the inner language. The language of his heart. The language of love.
It's been 6 months, since that lanuguage became alien to him. So much so, that when he saw other lovestruck people, he started wondering about when shall they breakup. He never had the answers, for he never knew the reasons why it ever came to him. Circumstances are weird occurrences. While in passing seem so obvious, and having passed, turn into unknown strangers.
She had left him. Without giving any reason that may have seemed reasonable to him. She just left. And he still wondered what was his misgiving? Since then at every turn of life he had questioned himself. About his inability to take in cases of near proximity. He had this proximity phobia, everytime he found someone coming too close, he just built a shell around himself. A carapace to ward off any intrusion into his real self. Something he himself was afraid to touch.
And then this thought struck him. Maybe he was not destined to love. After all isnt love the giving away of oneself unto the beloved? To disssolve the concept of self, and seamlessly merge into each other. But he knew he could never do this, not since he had tried and found that there was no self that remained after she left.
His thoughts were not about the language that was being taught, for he knew that none of his classmates would be able to learn it. He was thinking about his own inability to learn. Not only the language which was but foreign to him, but also the inner language. The language of his heart. The language of love.
It's been 6 months, since that lanuguage became alien to him. So much so, that when he saw other lovestruck people, he started wondering about when shall they breakup. He never had the answers, for he never knew the reasons why it ever came to him. Circumstances are weird occurrences. While in passing seem so obvious, and having passed, turn into unknown strangers.
She had left him. Without giving any reason that may have seemed reasonable to him. She just left. And he still wondered what was his misgiving? Since then at every turn of life he had questioned himself. About his inability to take in cases of near proximity. He had this proximity phobia, everytime he found someone coming too close, he just built a shell around himself. A carapace to ward off any intrusion into his real self. Something he himself was afraid to touch.
And then this thought struck him. Maybe he was not destined to love. After all isnt love the giving away of oneself unto the beloved? To disssolve the concept of self, and seamlessly merge into each other. But he knew he could never do this, not since he had tried and found that there was no self that remained after she left.
His mind drifted between the reason and reasons. His fingers choreographed his pen into a verse that he never knew was coming. And while he read his own creation, he thought and thought more.
He was afraid, not of the hurt that may come again. But of being incapable of love. Of being the one who shatters those who somehow love him inspite of himself. Of making a crystal bubble and then breaking it into glassy shards. Of painting a canvass with shared colors and then burning it to cinders. Of giving wings to fly and then stealing the sky. He was scared of himself, inspite of himself. And so he knew that he should never let any love be broken because of him.
For he knew that some walls are built to be broken, but those rebuilt are always stronger than the previous one, for they know what can break them. And like he had read somewhere, endings and beginnings are irrelevant. Before and after is circumstantial. And thus after all that he had seen, through all that he had been. There was no love lost for her, just that the love had lost him.
He was afraid, not of the hurt that may come again. But of being incapable of love. Of being the one who shatters those who somehow love him inspite of himself. Of making a crystal bubble and then breaking it into glassy shards. Of painting a canvass with shared colors and then burning it to cinders. Of giving wings to fly and then stealing the sky. He was scared of himself, inspite of himself. And so he knew that he should never let any love be broken because of him.
For he knew that some walls are built to be broken, but those rebuilt are always stronger than the previous one, for they know what can break them. And like he had read somewhere, endings and beginnings are irrelevant. Before and after is circumstantial. And thus after all that he had seen, through all that he had been. There was no love lost for her, just that the love had lost him.
Maybe forever.
posted by AakASH!!! at 10:50 PM
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