Saturday, August 21, 2010

Within Me

I once heard that when you are writing, you are getting into deep with yourself, that self you know, or think you do; then start talking in symbols, unfathomable to everyone but you. So I’ll try, I’ll try to break that boundary, try to decrypt my words for you to understand, making some room for you to enter me, be...within me.
  The fading strings of night circle around my heart, it never tries to escape them, they are its cords to play with the beating that keeps me alive; so that the night never really departs…today is tonight, and tonight is my ephemeral form of eternity where my imagination fires up and bits and pieces of my soul clamber for you to see. And when I imagine, nothing can be more real, or at least that’s what I dupe myself into believing. So many faces are mine but no eye gets to see them but that  of my mind. Remember that girl with shrill voice who uses her hand a lot while talking and has an awkward pronunciation of the  “r”? I hate her, and hate that she’s all they get to see of me. Me…..I always make you in my fancies the only one who knows her. We’d meet up and talk for hours about me, but you never reply. You know why? Because within me, you are not you, you are my reflection who can’t split into half and have a voice of its own to speak. And till  now, I still wonder if I loved you or merely  another version of myself. But you never got to see me, that’s why we talk a lot about her. Sometimes, I'd see you in my room, checking up the stacks of books on my shelves, and sometimes, you'd be reading my journals. I never managed to get over the fact that when you left, I was a person that makes me embarrassed when some fleeting memories stream in my head.
   Last time I saw you in real life, all I’d wished to do was saying goodbye, even though nobody knew it would be the last, not even you, and not me, just my heart. But you know, it wasn’t really worth it, it came up too awkwardly. Years later, I learnt that ends are overrated, the final chapter in a novel is not the best; it’s the one that comes  before it. When I learnt that I’d never see you again, I cried,  I pushed myself into it, it was inadequate not to cry. I knew You never left, you were there. Always there. Hidden between those strings of night, breathing within the folds of my brain.
  I never knew how diluted is the effect my memory holds on the sight of you. But today I knew that;  I saw you again. The chance represented itself to me to finally have a mutual conversation with you. But we didn’t talk because you never knew I was there. I was stoned in my place. I couldn’t move, not a step and couldn’t breathe. But when I did move, it was the other way….I feared you wouldn’t be like the you I’d created. 

10 comments:

She Writes said...

Wow, have I stumbled upon a writer's blog? YAY :)!

Brian Miller said...

love that line about the final chapter in a novel...it rings true...nice write maha..

dulce said...

It's a great step to get to accept oneself... all the parts of the self...

Magpie said...

"I’ll try to break that boundary, try to decrypt my words for you to understand, making some room for you to enter me, be...within me."
Such a line!
This was a wonderfully confusing piece.

Oddyoddyo13 said...

That was a-maz-ing. Truly. The image of yourself you'd rather have than the person staring back at you in the mirror....sometimes its like you're reading my mind.

Sam Liu said...

I agree with Dulce's comment, self-acceptance is cruical. I think it's true that often as writers, we tend to write for ourselves, forgetting that our audience may not understand the personal workings of our mind. Your articulate yourself beautifully, in a profound and poignant manner.

Liza said...

"making some room for you to enter me, be...within me."
so visual.
I love this piece!
thanks for sharing.

Claudia said...

one line gripped me…ends are overrated…the best chapter is the one before the final chapter - i like this - because then, everything is still open..

dianne said...

This is really beautiful dear Maha, we see our true self in so many ways, we have many layers, some are never revealed to others but we give little glimpses or our self when we write or in our prose or poetry.
Your are an amazing writer.
xoxoxo ♡

Barry said...

You're wonderfully gifted Maha. And at such an age! I've always said this of you. The ability to write is becoming a dying art, but people like you are keeping it alive and for that I'm grateful.

You have this way of writing, you've always had a way of writing, that's magnetic. I can almost feel myself drawn towards the page, between your words, into your mind. What an amazing place it is.