Back to life

Today I saw this girl. She must have been around 7 years old. She wore a pink GAP sweatshirt and jeans, her beautiful hair tidily tied up in a ponytail. Her high-cheekbones, fair colour complimented her. Her eyes shone so brightly, they screamed innocence. I couldn't help but smile at her. Thousand dreams were reflected in her glistening eyes. Hundred aspirations. She was so full of life. She played around the store, picking up the footballs and tapping them, and calling out for her mother who was shopping somewhere around. She looked happy, but more importantly, she looked content. She was happy with what she had, unlike most of us, obviously. She wasn't inquisitive like I am. She knew all the answers she needed to know. That girl loved colors, I could see. I could see how she would get fascinated by the smallest things. That girl didn't care what people thought of her. She paid no heed to what she heard because she was so busy in her own little world. She was very unlike me. I have always been an inquisitive child, always wanting to know more, sometimes, even more than I needed to. If someone wouldn't tell me something, I'd somehow manage to dig out what I wanted to know. I was never ever in my life content with what I knew. The hunger to know more and more kept increasing day by day. My eyes reflected only the need to know more and more, and a little more.

But maybe, those inquisitive eyes DID reflect dreams, hopes, and aspirations. Maybe, just maybe, everybody, along with me, failed to see it then.

But then, today I did. I realized something I should have realized quite some time back.

..somewhere deep down, in those eyes of that little girl, I saw me. I saw the girl who loved to dream, and believe. I saw the girl who was content, but somewhere I knew, that little girl in me had died.

And, I'm trying to bring her back. Bring her back to life.

My Best Friend

This is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance is totally unintended.

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Everybody has friends. I do, too.

But there is one special friend. The One.

We've been together since pre-school.

She knows me better than I know myself.

She knows that I'm not okay even if I say the opposite.

She knows the stories behind the wry grins. Behind the tears not shed. Behind the swollen eyes. Behind the pink-ness in the cheeks.

She doesn't know my stories...she has lived them with me.

She has been there for me when I was fragile, when she knew an incorrect word here or there, could break me. Into pieces. Millions of them.

She is the best thing that has ever happened to me in the sixteen years of my existence. She chose to stick with me not only in the good times, but the ridiculously sad times. I love her. To pieces. Forever. Till the end.

We are and always will be inseparable. We're like conjoined twins. We're like family. We're always together. She makes me feel loved- in every sense of the word. She is the most important part of my life. Yes. Mum's there, too. I enjoy mum's company, but when I'm with her, everything is different. It's magical. It's so...special.

I know, that no matter how many times my priorities change, she will still be Number One. Always. We never fight. It's amazing how we gel so well together.

She has been like a sister to me in the sixteen years. And I trust her to punch the guy who breaks my heart. She’s always been like that. Easy-going. Caring. Considerate.

Most of all, she listens. She listens patiently. She never interrupts. She gives unbiased advice. She doesn’t always agree with me. She knows when I’m wrong, and instead of plying along, she guides me to what is right. A mother, an elder sister, a role model-all rolled into one.

The bond we share is unbreakable. Nothing in this world can ever change what she means to me. Her value, I can never forget.

One fine day, Mum wanted me to go see the doctors. She thought it would be good for me. Therapists, she called them. I reluctantly obeyed.

They said something horrible about Her.

But then, They never knew her.

They never knew how much she meant to me.

They never knew how much she cared for me.

They never knew how she held me tight when everybody walked out.

They never knew how she protected me.

But it turned out, that she was always there, for me and only me.

They blamed my mental health.

One horrific word changed it all- SCHIZOPHRENIA

And my knees hugged my chest,

And I cried, for 5 days straight.

I cried till my tears dried.