Since
everybody is basically a romantic, you said, please take a moment to sit down a
while and read this envelope-less letter of mine. Let me give you a word or
two; let me tell you my story.
Sometimes
when I am on my own, in the middle of the night staring at my room ceiling, it
feels like there’s a question hanging above my head; what if I close my eyes
tonight and wake up the next morning to be somebody else? Somebody with a
different mind, different eyes. Somebody that is more… skeptical.
Maybe
those nights of questions are my version of drowning in melancholy. And indeed,
Sir, I am so drowned.
Here
is my confession; I was born on September 26, 1996, raised in a religious
family and went to recitation at least until I was 9. But deep down, Sir, as a
child, I questioned my faith. I was thinking that if I was born to the family
next door, I would have write quotes from the Bible right now. I was, am,
thinking that it was not my call to pick up my own religion. How could a
9-years-old think of something like that?
I
love no one, Sir. That is also a confession. I have got a trust issue since I
wore red skirt to school. I remember talking to people and knowing that they
were lying. I could see it right from their filthy eyes, how could I love
people who fed me on lies? I could stand right in front of my own Father,
Mother, and Brothers and still question myself about my love for them. Do I
even care for them? Even less after the disintegration of my parents’ marriage
a couple year back, I can say nothing more about love.
Now
that I finally live on my own, now that I finally met you, I am scared,
Sir. My next confession is that Macbeth was not really my thing, though I
personally liked “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” and your explanation
of it. There was no time I would give to sit on your class only to hear
about those kinds of things. Don’t get me wrong, Sir. I adore the way words
formation can be the most heavenly existence on earth, or even the deadliest
weapon among men’s war. But that was not the thing I expect to get from you. It
was the little chat, the extra topics, and the “Can you even imagine?”s that I enjoyed
the most. And when I said “enjoyed”, I never meant “It gave me inner peace.” Those
things terrify me, Sir. It is making me worse.
You once
asked me why I choose the answer “Tragedy” for your question about which is
higher between Comedy and Tragedy. I really wanted to say that it was simply
because I loved Tragedy, and Tragedy loved me. It is probably the only thing I love.
And by all means, Sir, Comedy is just a bunch of craps for me. I just prefer
things that I can relate to. Comedy? I can’t.
I was
born a pessimist, Sir, and it had becoming the template of my everyday life. You
always said to all of us, “Don’t trust things easily”, “Don’t make it a second
thought, but make it a third, a fourth, a fifth,” and then what is the point of
trusting anyway? We trust, we’re being lied to. The concept is so simple, no,
Sir? Why do we have to give a single damn to the things that we believe is untruthful?
Here is my last confession, I don’t need
either to sleep or wake up first, Sir.
I’ve become somebody else.
Somebody that is more skeptical than
before.
To
the unmemorable things I really wanted to say,
Ananda
