buried alive

I am sitting in darkness that only gives in to small, flickering neon light in the corner of my Mom’s living room. The light illuminates an amateur painting of Saraswati, the Hindu Goddess of Knowledge and Wisdom, drawn in the common style of Balinese deity imagery. It seems to me that her eyes—at least from my view perched on the family sofa that lies adjacent to the painting—looks weary and swollen with tear. It almost looks like she is hiding deep in her soul an inexplicably great pain with holds a shattering force that banishes all happiness in her eyes. I could be wrong. If I lift myself up now and look straight now, I may see things differently. I am pretty sure the painter intended to paint eyes that exude wisdom, for that is what the Goddess stand for. But right now I have decided that Sarawasti is looking pretty grief-stricken, echoing what I feel at the moment.

I mourn for your death, Little Green. Daddy has decided to bury you. And now Mommy has decided to lie on top of your grave, mourning in silence. And all the while you are suffocating for you were buried alive.

Tonight proved to be tough, too tough. I felt wind blowing through my hollow chest that has not yet ceased to scream your name in silence, hoping for a sign or for you in any way to reach out to me. I miss you in the truest sense. The hours that are supposed to be filled with your soothing voice and enchanting laughter are now dull moments devoid of any joy.

And now I am lost. Your complete absence tonight catapulted me into a labyrinth without any sense of direction or time. I call your name again and again, in silence. I know you are hurting as I am hurting now. Come back to me.

I remember you said you believed in the metaphysics of our exchange. You said a certain force, the very force that makes up the basis of a relationship, is in the making now for we have an unseen bond that has always been there before man’s time. I believed you, but pretended I believed only half of it. As bizarre as it sound, for some reason I can feel your joy and pain although we are miles apart. And so I know that you too, are in pain.

My rational me steps in and dismisses this as a mere disillusionment. This is what fairytales brings to your life when you let them seep in for too long. But yes, I am a dreamer and dreamers are allowed to keep and live their dream. But I am also a coward, a big coward.

I can hear Little Green gasping for breath. I am lying on my side, hoping my tears that soaked the fresh-dug earth will reach her and tell her how much I love her. I could have done so much more for her, but instead I handed out the shovel that he used to dig Little Green’s grave.

I have not been fair to you. It is actually me who is the big liar, the big two-faced heartbreaker. I have not lost you, for I never had you, and you never left me, for you were never with me.

So don’t come back, move on and live your life. I shall mourn over Little Green’s death, and soon I will carve a tombstone out of the finest dark marble and plant a banyan tree to protect her grave, but please let me cry a little more. You may be the best I never had but I let you slip through my fingers. You didn’t kill our unborn baby. I did, long time ago.