Sunday, March 21, 2010

Learning to laugh

I watched ants making their way up the wall a whole hour. Watched the stinging hot white sky shooting painful rays into the room, shriveling my soul into a dried walnut – wrinkled, hard and useless.

When the detergent frothed up in white foam, I blew them out of the window. They fell down in wet patches, glimmered briefly in rainbow colours and then burst with tiny pops. For some reason it reminded me of distant mountains, walnut brownies and long walks through misty forests.

When I wrung each cloth, I imagined them as people, situations, lost opportunities. I break their necks one by one, squeeze out their lives, unsaturate them and spread out the skins.

The evening was spent in deliberate absence of remembrance, in staving off the inevitable, the imminent heaviness, the despair that will hit me with its monstrous blows. I laugh, I converse, I bite small mouthfuls of chicken dripping in sauce and chew, swallow along with a sob that rises from the throat, stifle an urge to scream.

I am nagged by small things, the unwashed lunch box, the dusty shoes, the very existence of the cloth bag, the silver mascara that I now will never use, and the memories that I’ll have to lock up in tiny cupboards, seal with beeswax and drown in the watery chasm of forgetfulness.

A pillow soaked in dilute salt, a pair of sticky eyes, red, bloated. For some reason I laughed hysterically at each lame joke that went on in that stupid movie - Jab We Met. What an irony life is! The cruelty of it was choking. I smirked mirthlessly at the heroine’s pathetic antics, her contrived liveliness. When the second portion of the movie dragged on I shut out my mind, eyes turned glassy and my face froze into a glassy smile.

Sorted out a portion of what needed to be sorted out, erase a line of memories. A rudimentary, unsuccessful attempt at lobotomy. New folders, large shopping bags dragged out to be stuffed with things that recently lost their significances.

A candle blown out in the unavoidable wind. Oh, the choices we make, the chances we take, the ruthless turn of events that level all decisions, all plans.
That night I got some lousy SMS forward that made me giggle uncontrollably - a metallic, hollow giggle that came from a heart-shaped hollow that once held something warm, happy and hopeful.

Fantasies have exhausted itself.

Tomorrow is another, another day of silences, of emptiness, of brave nonchalant plaster smiles, of immersion into mundane Monday work, and learning to laugh, to fake, to forget.


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