At 3:43am

A punch.
A hard, gnarly punch in the gut. I felt it when I went through all our old pictures. You only read about this punch in the gut but I felt it today when I saw the people in those pictures, ran an eye across the room and failed to spot any of those faces around. I felt it when I realised these pictures were from  two years ago. The fist stuck to the gut and ground itself in more firmly. I wanted to somehow magically put my hand through the picture and pull us out here again but we will never be what we were. Now I can't decide if that's good or bad. This exact question will probably cling to me for quite a long, long time.
Some times, I don't know what's more unsettling: the amount of time which has passed by this speedily or the thought that we've moved ahead too far to ever go back to being the way we were. But then I ask myself if I want to be let gone of the same way. I remember my position in the scheme of all things. I see my own lack of power over our time and I also see the necessity of change. So I keep the pictures away in a safe place and I let you go. 

She taught me how to walk. But now why can't she walk on her own? Why can't I be her legs? Why can't I be her back when it's given up on her? Why can't I give all my strength to her? Why can't I give the rest of my long life to her in exchange for hers? Why can't I when it's probably one of the few things in life I very willingly want to do? Why is there no answer?
A part of me is crippled for life. 

And again.

It's almost 4am. I am about to switch off the lights and curl under my blanket.
I know I won't fall asleep for another 3 hours though. I feel a slight shiver run down my spine. We're in the middle of summer but I feel a slight chill come on. I think it's here again. It doesn't let me sleep at night. I think...Yes, I sense a light draft of air crackle through the hidden crevices of the windowsill. The windows are quite old after all, creaking, reeking... It's all quite old to be frank. All with its fair share of cracks and fissures.  All with their fair share of cries for repair jobs.
I think I just saw the hem of the curtain ruffle again; almost caught a glimpse from the corner of my eye. Ruffling curtains, that's how it arrives: on the wind. Every night. Softly pushing the door open, only a few millimeters ajar. Tip-toeing... leaving me searching the empty corners of  the room, half-moons cradling my heavy lids for another night. I can't sleep again because it's back. There's the sound. I'm not remotely tired. I should get up. The sound again! The bratty laugh of a bunch of school children in the playground. A whiff! Smells like warmth. I can't stop staring at the light. It's like sunshine even though there is no sun.  Looks brownish. I don't want to switch it off anymore. The brown frock. The gray kameez. There's still sunshine. A sudden lull in the room now. I think I'll crawl  back under my sheets. Maybe if I just shut my eyes first, I'll fall asleep automatically. Wait, did I just hear a step? Those footsteps. I know that clicking sound. Typically him. He was such a good friend. It's 5 am. He can't possibly be... My parents will kill both of us if they see a boy in the house. And at 5 am. Umm and after that they'll shoot themselves too because they won't be able to live with the fact that they killed their own child. Ridiculous. Yes? We were almost best friends. There is no one. She was right, I'll buy a sleeping mask tomorrow once and for all. Maybe earplugs too. In fact I need the earplugs more. Shit! Where are my headphones? I hope I didn't leave them in the office drawer again. I wasn't even hungry I don't know why I had that tikka. Bitch, stop whining. I probably would've been asleep by now. What shuffled?! Unannounced. Like every night, it won't let me sleep before 7am again. I just know it. Can't forget how we skyped  through the night till 7am once. Crazy! Fuck. These memories don't let us sleep.

This, again.

Every time I set a limit for myself, I eventually end up breaking it. Every time I map plans, I end up deviating from them. For each of these times, you may call me careless or carefree or plain reckless but what I see, on each occasion, is the inability of life to be held back with reins, the inaccuracy of our judgments as naturally as they may come to us. For each of these times, I feel as if I have been reminded that even though I thought I had got it right this time, I haven't yet. It's cliched but it's true... how do I put this? Life is funny? No actually. Life doesn't have a sense of humour. We do. We develop one eventually when we realise that we never quite will know it completely or know it all.
Actually, this is upsetting. Not funny. Humour doesn't come naturally to you when you see yourself doing the things you probably never saw yourself doing. It's not funny when the winds suddenly shift their course, their temperature, jolt your body into adapting again and it's not funny when you observe people change right in front of your eyes, jolting your entire being into adapting to this idea of a new person within the same body, with the same face.
I guess we must eventually see that the seasons, the weather, the winds and the behaviour of the people around us should not move us more than it has moved itself. Acceptance; in every form; And it only comes to us when we understand that nature is not constant. We perhaps must at some point in time understand that in order to keep walking we have to tackle the turns at the corners and the twists and bumps on the ground. We must understand that those twists and turns are not the grounds' vengeance upon our feet but merely the nature of the ground- the earth beneath our feet that does not care.
This doesn't end here though. It is a mere link in this chain.
 The stage is circular, surrounded by an audience at every turn of an inch, and you imitate the earth as you revolve. You, like a dervish continue to enrapture us with your repetitive motions but we keep looking in search of an imitation, a fleeting reflection of our self. There is more to figure and this again, is not it. So we don't know what it is towards but like this dervish, we keep going on and on...

Adrift

You don't need caffeine to keep you awake when you have anxiety and uncertainity pushing your thoughts to the edge of sanity. You need hope and comfort to put you to sleep. You need faith to have one night's peaceful rest. You need to know your compromise will lead to something of pride, something of contentment if not happiness. You need to know you're alive.
There are so many sensations my mind rejects often now. The need to touch you, the impulse to feel your skin against mine is almost natural. I'm almost afraid to say I've never felt it, almost afraid to see my own name on the tombstone before the opportunity to mourn- or maybe just too afraid to confront herself. How do I say that there is nothing to confront in the first place. Perhaps I am just the ghost that I thought I almost saw from the corner of my eye when I was all by myself. Dead. Dead other than the ghosts of the memories that meander inside and out almost every other night. How do I say I have no narrative to this very-essential chapter of life without sounding like an echo or looking like a shadow? To look in the mirror and see no reflections of your own touchable, tangible body but only the circling, buzzing wisps of words flounder around you, the words you exchanged today or yesterday or want to say tomorrow and maybe even publish some day, only the smoke that comes from the fire of purpose; the purpose that lights up your conscience every morning and turns every carnal need, every desire of the flesh to ash.
 If to want touch you is to live, then I was never anything more than an apparition. Perhaps I am a projection of your thoughts, and if I confess to you, I'm afraid I'll read out my own obituary.

Every atom of her being shouts, "Live!"

Dear O,
I wanted to write this letter to you months before but couldn't find the-- to hell with the excuses. Today I finally found the courage to put pen to paper.
At first I wouldn't have chosen to mention your name openly here. But then I put you first, before this letter. I decided this letter should bear your complete name, declaring to the world out loud, 'O is this friend. O is the one this letter is about' and there was absolutely nothing I did not want to tell the world about you. I want this letter to be like you- brave, sincere, unafraid.
A part of this letter will be a product of sheer selfishness but I hope you don't blame me. It is because you have enriched my life to this extent that I am compelled to speak about you, on you, to you.
You bring joy. You bring hope. I don't think I have known anyone as extraordinary as you, ever: Someone who is as frank about the vulnerabilities that come with being human, as she is ready to enjoy the moments of happiness. Most importantly, someone who is as unassuming and brave in the face of the consequences of those vulnerabilities, as she is in the face of all the good our lives have to offer.
When we receive good news, it is natural for us to want to tell it to possibly everyone we know, flash it on every public platform and tell the whole world. I think you have come to occupy this important place in my life because you are there in the tough times with me as much as you there in the good ones. In speaking to you, I find the strength to show the wounds, share the bad news, the little complaints we bring with us more often than the good news, the guilt, the gray areas we are afraid to confess for the fear of being labelled as the vile ones. I find it because I know you will know the meaning behind every word I say. I find this strength because I see you face the same and deal with the same with the spirit of a hero and the smile of a princess. The winner's smile. The winning smile.
I am often forced to compare the people in my life to some image, create some metaphor or symbol, a place for them in my mind. O, when I think of you I don't see any image other than a strong, bright, shining light. Not the kind that's too strong too look at, or makes the eyes water. It's the kind that calms the eyes, gives a sense of complacence to the mind and sends warmth to the heart. I will not attempt to paint a perfect picture of you. You are full of flaws. But I never want you to be without them. If you ever were, this light would lose it's warmth. Don't you see, you are perfect because you are flawed? You are flawed and you completely fit my definition of perfection.
O, you make me want to be brave. You make me want to laugh at things I seethed at before. You made me see things I have never seen. You made me see that to carry on, we must be able to laugh, at a time in my life that had very little room for humour. Most importantly, you made me realise, that to laugh is to hope. You made me realise laughter is the greatest form of generosity- a means of only giving, sharing and never taking away from another, a means of forgiving, of moving on and in return gifting to  your own self a piece of the happiness we all so desire.
It's funny how so far in this letter I haven't felt the need to mention once how we have never met face-to-face; how we have never physically met but talk to each other as if we have known each other for years on end. I think remaining friends with you is a lesson in the power of words. Just words. Isn't it only words and our voices that got us this far? With someone like you, words can never be a handicap. I think on your birthday, this letter full of words is only apt as a testament to the power of words in our friendship
 O, in my opinion, this freedom, this ease and trust is the greatest gift any human being can give to another. It is the gift you have given to me. So even though on this birthday I would prefer to give you something more tangible(because yes as much as people matter, material matters to our existence too and does hold a considerable value), I hope some day I can give back something to you that is equal in worth to what you have given to me. I hope someday I can be to you what you have been to so many.

My warmest wishes, selfless and sincerest thoughts with you always, no matter what part of the world you are in, or how many years later you read this.
(I would totally catch a plane to Lahore right now.)
Happy Birthday!
From
Cocoa.

Doubts and stuff.

Often we may observe that the things which we cannot perceive with the eye, or feel through our skins may either be irreplaceable to us in value or non-existent all together. Similarly, the limitless idea of trust and belief is invaluable. The moral and emotional support we receive is borne out of it. It is irreplaceable. You either get it or you don't. There are no prerogatives for moral support. If you find it, you are shaped by it. It will build you and make you whatever you go on to be. If you don't find it, it will break you. Mostly because you're looking for it so hard.
It, however, does not have to come from outside. It doesn't always have to come from sugary words of kindness and appreciation either. Mostly, it does not necessarily have to come from anyone other than your own self.

If you search and don't see it around, create it! If you don't find it, have it find you. A lot of the things that we get done in life are with the encouragement the people around us, important to us, have to offer to us. A lot of what we will go on to do will be through their moral and emotional support. But if it isn't there, there is just one less contributor to this equation. If they aren't there, they perhaps shouldn't have that much power over you. Maybe to achieve things, you have to be able to have them solely through your own power. Dependency doesn't do much for productivity. Maybe you don't have to depend at all. This may be life's attempt to teach you that you should learn to find inside yourself what you find lacking outside. Perhaps, you should be enough for yourself.
In fact, scratch the perhaps!