When I called her, she said she was talking to the moon -asking him how the year would be for her. She said she had a neat shot of vodka in her hand, and lot of memories in her head.
I asked her what she had in her heart…she laughed it off…
I told her to quit drinking. She said she would. Obedience was never for her. But when she told me she would, I knew she meant it.
She told me about the gift he had given her, a sketch of them holding each other.
She told me about the people who had already wished her.
She told me her anxieties of becoming a year closer to death.
She laughed at the awkward feeling in her that she called insanity.
She told me about her sleepless nights, how she thought about her real parents.
She told me about the tears that come out of her eyes, ‘just like that…’
She told me about her new office, about the mallu community there.
She told me she hasn’t been reading or listening to anything.
She told me how she has put on weight.
She said, she finally said, Wish Me My Birthday!
That’s when I wished her…
She said Thank You
I hung up.
I knew I should not be wishing her birthdays again.
I felt relieved...she had grown up!
What went in my head...and then...
I don’t think I can blame her, if she feels extremely depressed about her birthday. The only reason being that until last year, her birthdays were an occasion for her.
She came to know she was adopted last year.
She had left home. When I called to wish her on her last birthday, she told me she was planning to drink till she loses touch with the earth. I told her not to, but in the evening, when I called her again, she was drunk. She cried out to me, said she bought muffins and cans of beer. Not that I think beer could make one any high…but she was. Any intoxication mixed with grief can make one high. That was, at least my experience.
Tomorrow is her birthday, yet again. I do not feel like wishing her this time. But I love her so much that I can not stop myself from wishing her. Ever since I have known her, I have. She has laughed, cried and frowned on different occasions. Reasons were weird. Sometimes, she was delighted thinking she was becoming older, sometimes, the thought of becoming more mature, sometimes, that I was late in calling her up.
Tomorrow, I should…do not know if she is still alive though. I call her only for her birthdays.
This year maybe she has lots more stories to tell me…
Happy birthday to her!
I asked her what she had in her heart…she laughed it off…
I told her to quit drinking. She said she would. Obedience was never for her. But when she told me she would, I knew she meant it.
She told me about the gift he had given her, a sketch of them holding each other.
She told me about the people who had already wished her.
She told me her anxieties of becoming a year closer to death.
She laughed at the awkward feeling in her that she called insanity.
She told me about her sleepless nights, how she thought about her real parents.
She told me about the tears that come out of her eyes, ‘just like that…’
She told me about her new office, about the mallu community there.
She told me she hasn’t been reading or listening to anything.
She told me how she has put on weight.
She said, she finally said, Wish Me My Birthday!
That’s when I wished her…
She said Thank You
I hung up.
I knew I should not be wishing her birthdays again.
I felt relieved...she had grown up!
What went in my head...and then...
I don’t think I can blame her, if she feels extremely depressed about her birthday. The only reason being that until last year, her birthdays were an occasion for her.
She came to know she was adopted last year.
She had left home. When I called to wish her on her last birthday, she told me she was planning to drink till she loses touch with the earth. I told her not to, but in the evening, when I called her again, she was drunk. She cried out to me, said she bought muffins and cans of beer. Not that I think beer could make one any high…but she was. Any intoxication mixed with grief can make one high. That was, at least my experience.
Tomorrow is her birthday, yet again. I do not feel like wishing her this time. But I love her so much that I can not stop myself from wishing her. Ever since I have known her, I have. She has laughed, cried and frowned on different occasions. Reasons were weird. Sometimes, she was delighted thinking she was becoming older, sometimes, the thought of becoming more mature, sometimes, that I was late in calling her up.
Tomorrow, I should…do not know if she is still alive though. I call her only for her birthdays.
This year maybe she has lots more stories to tell me…
Happy birthday to her!
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