Letters and Letters

Mitochondrial Eve

Dear Mitochondrial Eve,

People are battling over your existence and non-existence. Some say that the idea of you is mesmerizing. An idea of a founding mother. Am I really carrying your mitochondrial DNA? Do I have a whole history of evolution plastered on every cells of my body like you once did? Am I that important?

I still cannot grasp the concept of you. But I cannot help but imagine what you felt like when population went through the bottle neck effect. Of course, it wasn’t just a population for you; it was your family.  Because I cannot grasp the concept of you, I don’t even know if you were real. I would like to believe you were. The belief somehow feels like a security blanket. It makes me feel less chaotic and more real. I wonder about your village and your people. I wonder about your daughters who crossed Oceans. I wonder about your sons who perished. I could make up a whole unscientific story about you. I wonder if you loved making up stories too.

I wonder if you had a name. Would I be able to pronounce it? I guess, we would not even understand each other’s languages. It’s weird how small this world is. And yet, the people are so distant and different from each other. It is difficult to comprehend how dauntingly similar we are in the same way it is difficult to understand our magnificent uniqueness. Had you ever imagined the world would come this far? Or did you always know? Do you still exist in the fragment of our souls? Or did you not exist at all?

I am sure you were dwelling on similar questions. Maybe not. You had your own hunger games to win, children to feed and roads to travel. I am sure you must have loved passionately. Because that’s what we crave the most today. I wish we could see how obvious it is. The love. It’s right there, engraved in our DNA. Love is our heirloom. If we could realize that, the world would be a happier place.

As the science continues to debate over you, I will continue to write to you for reasons I don’t understand…..

 

Artwork by : Ashley Bickerton

Letters and Letters · Letters to self · Weekend Coffee Share

Letters to Vi

Dear Vi,

You’ve wanted that name since forever. You always wanted an alias, a twin who would know just what you feel and who would just know what to do. You’ve been sick. Your voice is all dried up and your throat hurts. But every morning, you wake up to face the mighty sun and work for a project that you thought would work. It isn’t working that well. Maybe you aren’t working that well. Maybe you need a breather. Maybe you need…. you.

I do not understand the need of approval you have. Why do you need to be approved? You are not a visa application form. And the fact that you think too much. About your flaws, about your future, about failures and lost opportunities. You spent the whole evening being sick of all those stuffs on your head. You could have just slept because it’s the weekend but you didn’t even do that. You cleaned instead. What kind of person plays with a can of pest killer and Mr. Muscles when they are sick and hungry? How stupid are you? You didn’t even get to drink tea today. Or meet your cousins and grandparents. I think you should be awarded for the stupidest decision maker. Because that’s all you did today. You made stupid decisions.

I am very angry at you. For being sick and for being the complicated bitch you are. You push yourself a lot harder than you should sometimes. And there are days you don’t even care. Why do you have to be the queen of extremes? Why can’t you just celebrate your victories before you kick yourself a thousand times for your failures? Why can’t you just stop for a while? Why are you scared all the time?

And I am sorry for being harsh. I need you to know that as pathetic as it might seem, you should still write to yourself. You are all you’ve got. You don’t need anybody’s stamp of approval but yours. You need to be healthy first. You need to not go out on the dust for a day. You need to stay home and read. Leave all your worries for a day or two. Things will work out. I promise they will. I am sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I promise to take care of you. Let’s start with a cup of tea!

Truly yours,

Your future self.

Letters and Letters · Poems

How does it feel?

Dear Junk E-mail,

How does it feel to be a Junk?

Dejected in some sidebar,

Looking up at the inbox full of “important” e-mails

Do you feel out of place too?

Maybe you were not meant to be there,

Maybe it was a mistake,

You have no way to correct it, do you?

So you accept your fall,

You sit there in the sidebar,

Stare at them typing away the replies,

Letters of love and hate, pass by you

And smile

With pity hanging

Into the end of their J’s, g’s, S’s and O’s

They are good letters,

Full of feelings and emotions,

Words full of rage, devotion,

You like them

You want to be them

You will never be them and you know it.

 

How does it feel to end up in a trash can full of other junks?

They are scared as you are.

They fear that little bin button,

A click and they will be gone

Nobody will miss them

Nobody will try to recover them.

How does it feel to know that there is nobody by your side?

To tell you that it is okay to be a Junk,

That you are important.

You will never notice them even if you tried

Because you know that, you are not important,

You will never be.

Knowledge kills you everyday

Hope still keeps you alive

And sometimes,

You find your way through servers

Ending up in the Inbox,

Shouting out loud your abilities, your worth, your words

Just to be frowned at and spammed.

 

How does it feel, dear Junk Email?

To be not worth a dime to the person you are sent to,

To be anonymous in the world full of names

Visibly invisible in the crowded shroud of letters.

How does it feel?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Letters and Letters · Stories

I miss my person

Dear You,

It’s been a while since we talked. And I miss you because we used to talk every single day about every single thing in the world. I used to call you when I needed to vent about thunder or sun or creepy people or anything minute that happened in the day and you used to do the same. We used to laugh so much. About everything and nothing. Do you remember all the places we wanted to go to try out the food? We haven’t gone to any of them. The chips place and the matka kulfi place in Patan. We haven’t even gone swimming this summer. And believe me, I can live without eating banana chips and kulfi or swimming but it breaks my heart a little when I don’t get to talk about stuffs with you like I used to. I know you are busy. Life is probably throwing lemons at you and you are busy making lemonade out of it. I am so very proud of you for the works you are doing and for everything you are achieving. I know you will do great in life. You will make all your dreams come true. And I know that things change. They will always change. I just cannot believe that they changed so suddenly.

In a few days, I will be heading out to god knows where with so many different people. It will be a whole new world for me. When I got the news today, I was very excited. Do you know I read the letter ten times? I don’t know if I should be this happy. But I wanted to do this forever. In the interview, they asked me about my weaknesses. I told them that I was too emotional. And as I am writing this letter, I know that this weakness is going to be the death of me. I mean, you call a person if you miss them, not write a letter! It doesn’t even make sense. Nothing really makes sense.

I try to write a lot these days. There are words and words and words that get crowded in my head. I feel so grateful for being able to write and read. I am also grateful for being able to hope. The part of my brain where “existential crisis” keeps blinking with a red light, hopes mercilessly about everything there is to hope for. It hopes that you and I will talk like we used to again. I understand that you probably need a lot of space right now. And you probably don’t need a whining presence in your life to talk about all the superficial details. It’s just that I miss you a lot. And it’s okay to not miss me as much. I know there are probably a thousand things to worry about right now. I want to say that I’ll be there for you but I don’t know how to be there. I don’t even know where you are. You’ll probably say that you are right here. And then proceed to tell me that I am over thinking and there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll probably say that you are just tired and you’ll talk to me when things get normal. Maybe I am. I always over think and over react.

And maybe, I will over miss just this once. You are my person. And I get to miss my person.

Alles Liebe,

 

 

 

Letters and Letters · Poems

Papa

I wish I could remember the day I was born,

To see you smile when you first looked at me.

I wish I could remember the first step I took,

To see you proud and laughing with glee.

But I am happy with all the memories I have,

Of slides and boats and swings and sweets,

Of holding your index finger every Saturday afternoon

To ride on trains that felt like dreams.

I never really understood what sadness was,

Because you shielded me from every pain

Like Aegis you scared all my monsters away,

While teaching me how to fight even in the rain.

Today, I am strong enough to defend myself,

Stand on everything I have ever believed in,

Because I am half you,

Stubborn and never ready to give in.

It is not easy to be you really,

But I try hard to be unbreakable.

In all my glorious failures and fall-downs,

I am also learning the power of vulnerable

Vulnerability is misjudged as a weakness.

But it’s not.

With each passing day, I learn

That vulnerability is being

Courageous enough to accept imperfectness of things

Vulnerability is the ability to say, “I love you” first,

To people who matter the most.

So today,

Your paradoxically strong and weak,

Gentle and tough,

Passionate and platonic

Sociable and loner

Daughter,

With all her heart and soul,

Wants you to know

That you mean the world to her

And you matter the most

Because you are the best Papa in the world

And I love you.

 

daily prompt · Letters and Letters · Letters to self · Weekend Coffee Share

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.

 

Letters and Letters

Love (?) Letter

Dear You,

How do you start a letter where you intend to wrap your soul into pieces and not care about what happens to it? How do you not hope because rising hopes are guaranteed to push you down a mountain top? I don’t know how people just utter those three words. So casually that it loses all the meaning behind it. Or does it make it more meaningful? It’s because my mind is made up of thousands of things, valid and invalid, loud and silent, that makes me want to contradict myself in every steps I take;  it’s because of that I cannot comprehend if I love you or if I hate you.

Once upon a time, I used to walk along the bamboo trees, thinking about chaos theory and the way universe blends in space and the world still limited to boundaries that it made. I used to think about being a president, being thousands of things, dreaming about colors that rise out of people like aura. And I was happy. I was content. I was holding on to me. And now, when I walk alongside those same bamboo trees, I can feel the smiles coming out of nowhere remembering the things you said last night. And I laugh shamelessly at nothing sometimes. I keep wondering if you woke up already or if you ever slept. I keep wondering what you are thinking at the moment. And if you being in the whole other place, with whole other people, will it be ever possible to blend like the universe does? Or will we be two separate worlds: Boundaries separating the rivers of your world to merge with the oceans in mine. What will it be like to hold your hand and walk silently beside you? What will it be like to speak in real? To not just type in the feelings, and say it out loud, to be able to know how you hold a coffee cup and how you stare at the pretty ladies passing by and how subtly you hide it. I want to not think about all these because they are eerie. They don’t make sense. Why would I want to meet a person who didn’t exist in my life a while ago? But I do. Why would I dream of crossing the hills and roads that dance in circles just to find out if it was just me making up stories in my mind like always? And maybe that is the reason I hate you so much. I hate you for not being in a place where it is easy to give in. I hate you for making me think about all the nonsensical stuffs! I hate you for not being out of my head for a moment. I hate you for making me feel high and low at the same time. And I hate you for making me go into the road, I have never been in. I am wandering the woods all alone without even knowing if I am the right person to be there, if I am in the right place to be there. Do you know how terrifying all of this is? Do you know how the “giving in” and “committing” doesn’t really fit into my dictionary and now I have been wondering if I can replace some of the words with these? It’s not easy and it’s not hard as well. All it is is new. I have never been like this before and I hate it or maybe I don’t. I don’t know.

So I cannot figure out where the reality stops and dreams begin. Where do you stop and my version of you begin? I cannot figure out if it’s you I love or you I made up in my mind. I cannot figure anything out and still, still a part of me tells me that I am in love; may be not with you but the idea of you. And it is haunting. It is scary. I don’t want to go into places that don’t have a good end. I don’t want to explore the thorns in this whole other set of feelings. I have my own to explore and there are many more to come. But still, it is nice being able to say that maybe… maybe I am in love. And it’s okay if you aren’t.

Yours truly,