Donuts, Interview and Us

Dear You,

You gave one of the worst interviews of your life and the only thing you were worried about was that there were no donuts in your favorite donuts shop. You are a funny person. You walked all the way back home. You never thought a bit about that interview. You thought it was doomed from the very beginning, not meant to be. You walked all the way home. All those miles of footsteps and dust in your shoes, your ironed new shirt and pant, your face layered in air full of dirt and yet you only cared about how the clouds illuminated the light so beautifully. You never saw your reflection on the puddle but you saw purple trees. Beautiful purple trees lined up in places that were ruins few months ago. And you saw grasses and vegetation on the remains of Dharahara that died along with so many people two years ago. You wondered if they were still there. The people climbing those stairs wondering about the views they would see on the top. You wondered if they still remember as you do. Every detail, every memory of that day when the earth shook. Your mind took you to places and you remembered a detail version of a dream you saw yesterday. You killed a dragon in your drawer as she burnt you alive but you lived anyway because it was your dream. You are a funny dreamer too.

You got home and looked at the mirror. You saw sunburned and thin girl standing in front of you. Big glasses, small face, tired and confused. She did not know where to start. She was not you because you knew what the next step was. You knew that job was not meant to be. From the very minute, you walked into those doors; you could feel that the place was not meant to be yours. It did not feel right. And you knew that. But the girl in the mirror did not. She looked devastated and scared. She was just trying to belong somewhere. She was just trying to be a part of something big. She was trying to find a way because she always felt lost. Among her friends, she was the one who found directions to places. She was the one who never made plans. She was the one who was unsure and perplexed. You knew her well. You knew she would seek someone to talk. You knew she needed friends. So you did just that. You dialed for her and laughed off the problems with her and her friends. You talked about astrology. You talked about submission dates and deadlines. You talked about everything but the conflict inside you where you were fighting for your identity.

But you know right? You know everything. You found the way today, remember? You actually walked all those miles and failed and you came back all those miles again. You were not scared. You put forward your ideas. You forgot about the hole in your socks that could be seen so clearly. You never gave up. You did not doubt on your ideas even though they were so different from the views presented there. Because you believed in yourself. On being asked how you could influence people, you were so honest. You told them about your introvert-self that was quite and your intellectual self that could raise damn good scientific questions and find ways to solve them. You told them about how you pour out your souls in poems and stories and letters. And you asked them how a person who tries to write pieces of soul on papers could ever be bad at work even though it was not relevant. You felt stupid for saying that. Honestly, you were but who cares! You were good today. You were not the best and that is okay. And you know that. She doesn’t.

She worries and she goes to her silent zones hoisting wars with you. She ridicules you and she doesn’t let you sleep. She makes you study all night. She makes you think about all the bad things that could happen to you. She looks at you in the mirror and only sees a failed person with nerves sticking out of the bones. She cries.  She feels lonely. She wants to talk to somebody who understands that she is not a bad person. She is not horrible. You don’t know how to help her. So you write to her. You write to her about how purple the trees were and how the ruins wore the clothes of spring this season. You tell her how clouds never have identity but they still are sky high. You promise her a donuts. You remind her of tomorrow. You remind her of smells of Jasmine that air adopts every morning. You remind her of you until she forgets herself and sleeps. You will be okay and she will be okay. Life will be okay.

 

Advertisements

One comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s