Another moment I sat alone in the bus. Outside, the lights flickered. The street slowly became silent, or maybe it whispered something I could hear. I opened my phone... on my playlist, I listened to my favorite songs-old, but quiet enough to express my inner feelings, enough to heal me.
I walked up the stairs of my apartment. It was the 5th floor, and the lift was broken. I was again standing in front of my lifeless apartment. Keys in my hand, but I didn't want to enter... I didn't want to go inside. The fear... the loneliness captured me. The voice of silence gave me ghostly sounds. I was afraid of myself... my own company.
Is it really me? Or is someone else inside my body? The weird thought comes every day in my life. I usually feel like I'm in a prison... but I was free. Then why did I feel so alone... in the crowd... everywhere I go?
I opened the door unwillingly, stepped my left foot inside, then the right. I stood at the door without locking it, scanning the whole hall-the couch, the pillow, the window. I didn't have any fancy woodwork or furniture, just the necessary things I had bought.
I sighed, walked in, threw my bag on the bed, and entered the bathroom. I undressed myself, stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself naked-the untouched, the broken one.
I took a shower. The water falling on my body felt like it was healing my unseen wounds.
I dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, then sat on the couch. The TV was on-first the news, then shows, then sports, then movies. In one movie, a man grabbed a girl's waist-one hand on her waist, the other in her hair. He kissed her gently.
I changed the channel without any expression. Again news... again shows... again sports. I repeated it several times.
A day passed without any excitement, without any good memories. What is my life, actually? A thing of nothingness? Or am I just breathing... surviving?
I want excitement. I want someone to hear the scream inside me. But no one is here. No one has time to listen to me. Or is there anyone?
Everyone lives their life peacefully... except someone like me.
Sometimes I wish the world would end, like it happens in movies... a zombie attack or an alien invasion. I want to disappear with everyone-at once. If that happens, maybe the regrets would be fewer. If the world ends, there's no point in living in it, no desire for survival. No regrets if death comes... we'd simply accept our fate.
I was missing my mom. She used to comb my hair, dress me... she always called me "princess."
Was I?
I chuckled, "Every girl is a princess to their mother."
Nothing special. But at that time, I thought I was special.
I don't know why, but I used to feel like I was different from others.
Now, I'm just trying to become like them... adjusting myself to fit their definition of a human.
If you don't fit in with them-the crowd-they throw you away like a tissue.
It's better to adjust.
Go clubbing, have dinner with friends, get a boyfriend, get married, have a child...
And even then, there's no 100% guarantee they'll accept you.
But at least... you have to try.
Mom called me. I didn't answer. She calls me every night at 9 p.m. I'm just tired of it.
She called again. The phone's ringtone echoed through the hall.
"Hmm," I replied in a low tone.
"Had dinner?" she asked carefully.
She asks this question every day, and I reply the same way:
"Yes... finished."
"How was your day?"
She just wants to hear my voice-and me too, in a way. It's our way of telling each other:
Yes, Mom. I'm fine. Nothing happened. No need to worry.
"Are you coming home?" she asked-the important question.
It's the weekend. An office holiday.
"Yes... Mom, I'm coming."
I sighed and replied again in a low tone-like there was no excitement at all in coming back home or seeing her.
What's the point of going back home?
I live the same here... and there. Nothing really changes.
Just seeing my father working hard in his farming business.
Mother doing household chores, making mango pickle, snacks for me and my brother.
We sit on the floor, eating our meals... silently.
That's what has happened my whole life-all 25 years of it.
Every holiday, it's the same.
Seven days pass like that...
And my brother?
He irritates me... like always.
I really don't want to go home and do this repetitive stuff. I'm tired of it.Now, please... just shut it down.
In the morning, I started packing my clothes. I already have clothes at home, but I still packed a few-just for the day. Mom usually buys clothes for me. I know how it goes: I go there with one small bag, and return with four more, along with my original one. So, overall, I bring back five bags from home.
Mother's love... you could say that.
I came down and walked through the street with my head down, quickly. I caught my bus, then the train. Sitting silently on my seat, I waited for my station.
My hometown is far from the city-it takes six hours to reach, and then another bus to get to my village. Very few people live there now. Every year, more people leave their homes behind and settle into city life.
But I find peace there. At least there are no honking horns...
Instead, you hear birds chirping-but that doesn't count as noise. Their singing relaxes your mind. It feels like they're with you... encouraging you, whatever you're doing.
Whether you're brushing your teeth... eating a mango... or sitting alone on a stone bench.
Time passed silently without any noise. When I live in my hometown, it's hard to pass the time, but in the city... you don't have time to talk to yourself. But in the village... time feels infinite, or like time doesn't exist there.
Time is only created by city guys-doing this in that time duration, this on that day... but in the village, they do things when they want.
My station came. I stepped out of the train. The whole train seat was empty... only I was sitting there, my head down like always. I walked ahead and sat on a bench, waiting for the bus. Only one bus goes to my village, and it was scheduled for 4 p.m. Now it was 3:57.
The bus horn sounded. I got on and took a seat. The whole bus was empty except for two people. One guy was also sitting on the bus, but I had never seen him before. He was silent, wearing a plain white shirt, holding a black bag. Looked like an office guy.
Who is he?-the question kept roaming in my head.
He sat behind me-at the very back of the bus-and I was in the middle. Now there were only three people inside: the driver, me, and him.