Worse than dead, better than alive

I think about my past often. I know it is not a good thing to do, but, I can't help it. I guess, thinking of my past is some sort of a tribute to that difficult time. Your past is the only thing you have when you have neither a present or a future to look forward to. Your past is the only thing you can hold on to, because it stays where it is. It does not change. And if you have been lucky, it has some happy memories too.

Of course, all that is of no use because your past is frozen. You cannot relive it. Like a painting you wish were for real, so that you could touch the things inside and speak to the people in it. I think a lot of people and things in those paintings frozen in time.



I see children, I see myself amongst them, I see myself wanting to play with them, I see myself standing amongst them with half-a-heart because they didn't want me around, because they didn't want to touch me.


I see myself sitting on a study table, daydreaming, my books open, thinking of things we spoke about, back at school.. the moments I snatched from the hands of misery to have fun with classmates. I see my mother getting annoyed at that, I see myself getting beaten.


I see those old test papers, with pathetic marks, I see myself trying to hide them, in different places, afraid of my mother finding out, and not sad at performing badly, in the first place.


I see empty papers. I can feel the thrill at seeing them.. at the end of books, in drawers, papers lying around unused, because a blank paper meant an endless trove of creative possibility. I see myself contemplating what I would draw, even if I was pathetic at drawing and then never being able to begin drawing that dream project.


I see a desolate teenager, angry, desperate and helpless, alienated most probably, by people who thought she was lowly and all she deserved was being laughed at. I can feel the rage that caused a havoc in her head, the disgust at their ways which she found unruly and ruthless.


I see an older girl chasing butterflies, birds, moths and other insects. Studying them, wanting to be closer to them.


I see a girl, drowned in her thoughts, fingers pressed against a pencil, engraving lines on papers, flicking at it to make strokes that will make her drawing alive..


I see tears streaming down her cheeks because she lost a friend to his busyness. The fun time she had with him, talking her heart out, and in general wanting him to be happy. Feeling the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach when she realised that instead of making him happy, she was a cause of his misery. The devastation it brought her, that broke her deep down...


I see a girl talking to things, spoons, dishes, water, wind, trees, flowers, birds, anything. Even if they would not talk back. Because they were better than people who did indeed talk back.


I see a girl, her head on a young man's shoulder, arms linked through his.. eyes closed, a
peaceful smile, a relaxed body.. Love... long lost. Lost to her own mistakes...





I see my life in pictures. Pictures that cannot talk, pictures that I cannot relive, every faded colour reminding me what it is not, but had been. My past. I wonder what I'd have been like, if I never had them - those people, those hobbies, those feelings. Sure I would have been worse than dead. But I'd also have been better than alive.