Return to innocence.

 

"He jests at scars that never felt a wound!"

“When I was young and I misbehaved, I remember my mother used to lock me up in this huge closet of hers. Punishment it was meant to be, but that was the last thing I treated it as. My fondest memories go back to that steel locker for that was the place where a thousand of my childhood dreams were born. I used to think of myself as Cinderella, sitting on a dark cellar, waiting for my prince to come and set me free from the wicked queen.”

That’s Brook, when she was five. She loves to count on the various memories of her childhood being! Its how when you are a little kid, everything just seems to revolve around your life. You believe that if ever there was a fairy alive, it was you. If ever there was a fairy tale that came true, it had to be your life…

When we grew up a little, I remember we looked at Kate winslet in titanic and she looked so beautiful, we wanted to be like her. Our mum had promised us that we could put on lipstick when we grow up to be eighteen. We looked at the heroines on TV and whispered;’ when we grow up, we will dance like that.’ Eighteen year college going girls looked so perfect, we could give up almost anything to own the stilettos they wore or the black nail paint and mascara they applied.

There were days when we used to team up yellow top and green shorts together and thought we looked glamorous. We were psychedelic, our clothes and style were a trip in themselves. I remember Brook had once sneaked out a beautiful pair of peptones out of her mum’s belly collection and she wore that to play, nevertheless, she fell and broke her toe. We applied all our mum’s lipstick and nail paints and foundations and blush ons. It was not the love of addition and subtraction and English grammar that we had. Looking beautiful or rather elderly was the big motto in life.

 

Back in fourth grade, Brook had her eyes on a playmate. He was the cutest looking beanpole around with skin as white as milk and hair as blonde. She loved his fringe cut and rosy lips. She had run up to me one day to tell me, she was in love. Christ!! Back then, she thought to herself, she had fallen in love. We thought we knew what all the love-fuss was amongst the older lot. She had told me about her dreams how it would be like kissing him on the cheek and singing,’ my-oh-my’ with him.

Ever since she was young, she always had a picture of her own ideal girl in mind she always wanted to be like. From Cinderella and TV models to college going girls to models all over the fashion magazines, she dreamt of herself to be on of those. Long hair, big blue eyes and petal soft skin. Being one meant powering an impossible dream.

When she grew up a little more, 16 or so, she loved how her mum managed lives in her hand. A doctor she is, her white coat excited her. She’d told me, in a profession like her mums, there were moments when it was more than just a game. U either take a step forward or you walk away. I knew she wanted to be just that, a doctor. Frankly speaking, it was not solely for the love of helping the destitute, like 9/10 wannabe doctors say, that I thought she wanted to be one. It was the white coat, the big money, the challenge, the deadlines; the skill that I could see started her. It was for the rush, for the high, for the ride, the rollercoaster ride!! The life that seems go upside down. She had told me that when she will be 25 she wants to be someone who looks as pretty as Kate and who can handle it all when they made it hard on purpose.

Ever since then, I’d seen her working toward being that one perfect girl the world had never seen. They say, some people have all the luck and some people get all the breaks. She did not even want herself to be one of those; she wanted to be ‘the one’. Someone who did everything in the world but complain. Someone who’s got all the looks, all the brains, all the skills, all the men and all the fame. {That’s not all really!} All………

She’s eighteen today. Young, strong and going. Doing very well for herself in a medical school. She tells me, “Jane!! Great doctors are not made. They are born. It takes gestation, incubation, and sacrifice. A lot of sacrifice. But after all the gooey and cheesy and freaky stuff is washed away, the doctor you become, it’s totally worth it.” I see, it’s the high she is chasing. The high that makes a lot of things in her life fade. The high that has driven her to achieve what a million girls crave for. !!

There s a world of a difference in what she was when she was young, when she wanted to be that ‘someone’ to what she is today. If you look at her now, you will find almost no difference between the girl she wanted to be and the one she is today. She may know not the same, but I vet seen her grow from a little girl facing fantasies to a girl with purpose and high ambitions.

Capitalizing on her timeless universal look that can launch a thousand ships, she bears under her belt today, beauty, brains, charm, hospitality, personal style and feminine allure to its very best. she looks perfect. Long hair, big black eyes, petal soft skin and voice as serene. She acts like summer and walks like rain. She listens like spring and she talks like June. She’s articulate, yet not boring. Having an unending affair with life, she a concept which is absolutely attractive to the human eye.

Her potential is like a Jeanie in a bottle. She was wise enough to rub it the right way. She’s matured enough to know which way to take in life, which surely unlike the others is not the beaten one. She dares to dream, yet not make dreams her master. She’s perfect to the extent she has no one she can look up to. She is her own ‘ideal. She is her own ‘inspiration’. She makes her own theories and she has her own rules. She dares to live by them, stand by what she believes in and fights for what she thinks is right. She has set her own priorities. She always scores. She always outsmarts and outdoes the other guy. To her life is a competition. She often said, the one who quoted, ‘winning was not everything’ perhaps never raised a trophy. 4 weeks a month. Seven days a week, fourteen hours a day, she’s doing something or the other that can carry her forward in life.

Yes!! She’s not the one to fall for a man because of the way he smiled at her or held her hand. If she overhears you saying,'ohh my!! He’s the hottest in town!” she would think to herself, “hottest!?! So what?” she does not think that make up can make up her look beautiful and that not wearing a micro-mini and a noodle strap can not make her look glam. She does not believe in doing the ‘in thing’ or following the world blindly... 

To the world, She’s rational, sensible human, conscientious, civilized thoughtful and the oh-not vulnerable. She is a girl with whom almost nothing is wrong. She’s like the red apple hanging high on a branch of a winter apple tree. The red apple where a lot of contenders want to reach but often can’t.

Casually, she seems like the happiest, funniest and the coolest young one. They say, ‘smile. And the world smiles with you. You cry and you cry alone.’ With her, she makes it work that way on purpose. She’s the one who will go all the way to cheer up your day even if she can’t cheer up hers. She may sell her brain and brawn to the highest bidder but she will never put a price tag on her heart and soul. However, she will never fall back on you to help her get up. You’ll never almost see her crying. She’ll never turn up to you with an emotional drama. She knows how to rescue herself. She knows that crying in front of you will fetch her no good. She can slay her own dragon. She can dream her own dreams. That knight in shinning amour is her. She knows how to set herself free. For her in her life, breaking point is a sign of weakness and she would do everything to avoid it. There is this thing about being ‘her’. It’s not the pride but it’s about being tough. She will never admit she needs help unless absolutely necessary. That’s certainly not because she is arrogant but cause she is tougher than that. She seems like a brave strong girl. For her, emotions are messy and she follows the simple rule of tucking away emotions neatly. For her, an approach to anything in life is as simple as a three way process, cut, suture and stitch.

Wait, there is more……..

People have scars in all sorts of unexpected places. I realized, brook was no different. She had told me, her personal diary was a secret roadmap to what’s going inside her. A diagram to her wounds and happiness alike. I never knew what she meant until I came across this page that let it loose….

0030 am IST

Dear diary,

“Early morning, I wake up by the knock on the door. I know its time for me to make up a perfect smile; it’s me they are all waiting for. They all say, I’m so lovely, an eighteen year old girl. But I often cry and cry in my lonely heart thinking, if I’m really lucky and if I’m really the star around, then every night before I hit the bed, why is it the tears that come at night ??

I won’t like to say, I’m lonely but I know no one to fall back on. What is the stardom for when not one out there knows who I am? I hate to call myself emotionally challenged, but there’s no one who can look at that side of me. I want someone to step in, hold me by the hand and tell me that I am not alone. I do not hate to be perfect, but I long to go back to innocence. I want to live a life like my girls do. Wear my pair of jeans, top and make a pony tail to go out playing ball with girls. I want to wear that red checked short skirt and black converse shoes and pose for memory photographs. I’ve seen the girls say,’ cheese’ in front of the camera. I want to do exactly that. I too wish to look at boys and make fun of them. I too want to dress up like a doll to impress the big boys of the town. I want to make my own mistakes. I want to play it naughty. I sometimes wish I could tell a lot of guys how darling I find them. For the world, I may be this passionate focused fighter, but I wish to go soft. Stammer about a boyfriend and wait for inspirations. I want to know how it feels to live by quotes which describe what exactly I am going through. And whenever I say, “I’m ok”, I actually want someone to pull me by the hand and say, “tell the truth!”

I feel the worst when I open my eyes today, knowing, there is no fairy tale. That castle, well it might not be a castle. And the frog, it may be just that and no prince. And that it does not seem as important to live happily ever after. That I should be contended by being happy now.

I had thought I am a rock, I am an island. I am a hero. I liked to think I was independent. That I was fearless. I could explore all the lands and seas and soak up new experiences with my own mettle. That all I needed was my studies, my co-curricular and my persona to sail all through. Undergoing the heavy combination of youth and tequila with friends was not on my gamelan. But the truth is, not even the best of us can do it all by himself... That I thought I could survive alone was a load of bull. Life is a team sport. I never always knew what I was doing, but acted like I did. Exposing my weakness is not me for I ve done everything to guard my inner self. Yet today, in a fix, I scratch, I bite, I claw, for real. But tell me, how many them know it? How many of them know what it takes out of me to hold that ‘angelic face’ on my shoulders? Do they even get the slightest hint when I breakdown?? Do they realize that I am just an eighteen year like them trying to live a life? That I am no Einstein’s ascendant and I do not belong to the ‘know-it-all’ category. That I may be seem flawless at science but there inside my room, I hammer E=mc2 over ten times to get it right inside my head. I hammer and hammer. Why? Because it feels so good when I stop.

Deep down, every one of us wants to believe they are hardcore. I was no exception but being hardcore, I realized is not about being tough. It’s about acceptance. I accept, I can’t be tough every moment of my life. There is a reason why I {to-be-surgeon} like to wield scalpels. I like to pretend like I’m this hard, tough girl, that I am fearless. But somewhere down there I want to cut what truly haunts me-fraility. I have had enough of denying. Denying to the world and denying to myself. I thought I saw what I wanted to see and thought I believed what I wanted to. I have lied so much perhaps that now it starts seeming like the truth.

People do not understand that I have a heart. That if you cut me, ill bleed. That I’m not always smiling. That there are things I hate. And that, in everyone’s life, including mine, apart from death and taxes, one thing is certain- no one is perfect. No is actually tough in the bosom. And that for some people like me, there may be a sea of a gap between what they are and what they show they are. I want shout out the truth, perhaps to hear it for myself. And the truth remains- ‘the toughest part of being tough and perfect is wanting to be so’. too much of anything is bad, even if its love or perfection. But personally, I never got to know how much was too much. I wish there was a rulebook. Some kind of a guide to tell you when you have crossed the line. Exactly like my physics book which tells me that nothing can go beyond the Newton’s three laws. But then again, perhaps the rules for life, there are none for they will not keep troubles out; the rules will only fence us in. That we have to define the rules for our own selves. 

I want to shout to the world, “Tell me not, I’m brave because I hold a thousand fears tonight.” Why did I ever want to be ‘the ideal’? If I had to guess, that’ll be because I was fearful. Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. What if I go wrong? What if I make a mistake I can’t undo?

I sacrificed a lot in life to achieve what I am today. Sleep, friends, party, prom, dates, a good life. Today I learn, that before entering the battle, one should decide how much he is willing to lose, for nothing comes without a price. With me, it was the other way round. I did not see my sacrifices coming my way. I was robbed of the time to measure the potential loss. So in life, when the battle chose me and not the other way round, the sacrifices I made became pretty difficult for me to bear.

Was this that was actually my dream?? To be beautiful? To be thoughtful? To be rational? To have won all laurels? To be hardcore? To be everyone’s candy? I think not .because if all this was really, id like to wake up. And if I was headed for the great beyond today, this is not how I’d like to spend my last day. Sometimes I am reminded of my childhood and I can’t help but long to go back. The days when the biggest worry used to be if I will get a doll for my birthday or will I get golden clips to decorate my hair. I mean seriously, the good reputation, great shoes; straight A’s at school and all perhaps fooled me. Today I long for the most basic need of life- peace, happiness, simplicity and something as simple like the truth.

I remain to be fearful today. I’m scared to strip the truth bare. And that’s the truth-I’m scared. I often worry that these insecurities of mine, they will pile and pile up and take over everything and one day I will have room for nothing else until I’ll be so full of these I will burst. Sometimes I feel, I am carrying around a giant tumor and you thought I was speaking metaphorically…

Bones break, organs burst, flesh rips. We can sew the flesh, repair the damage, and ease the pain. But what when life breaks down? Is there any science? Is there a hard and fast rule? Can an E=mc2 come to my rescue. I think not. We just have to feel our way through it, waiting for it to subside. Its not like an everyday wound that u can wash it, slap a band-aid and forget like it never happened. The best solution I think is to leave it open and live through the healing process. But for a person like me, there’s nothing better, there’s nothing worse.

So now you know, I want to end the old and begin a new. I want to celebrate the fact that I am still standing and admire the struggle it takes for me to be just about an average human. I want to be close to somebody, close to nature, close to everything that’s real and fall in love with imperfections. I want to cheat a little and take a break. I want to play, play, play and play fast. I don’t want to win, I just want to play it, harder, faster and louder……

So tell me diary, how much will it actually cost me to return to innocence??

Love:-
{Your crankiest keeper}
Brook

I thought to myself, communication may be the first thing that we learn in life but know what the funny thing is?? The more you grow up and start talking, the more difficult it becomes to say, or to ask for what we really need in life. Brook had said, ‘most of the time, we can’t say what’s wrong with someone by merely looking at them. After all, they can look perfectly on the outside while their inside has a whole other story to tell. Talk about communication and perhaps, she was talking about herself. I could feel how lonely she must feel at heart. They say, no man is a lone island, entire onto himself. Of course it’s fancy when we hear it but it’s not all the fact. Life’s like a ceramic doll in a china shop. A chip here, a crack there. Beautiful may the doll look from outside, but it comes in a box that warns, ‘handle with care.’

I wish brook could set herself free out in the world. That’s the thing with secrets. She often forgets how good it feels when you finally set your secrets free. And once her secrets are out in the open, she won’t have to hide behind it anymore. The problem with secrets is even when you think you are in control, you are not.

I could see that she felt, ‘once upon a time…happily ever after.” The stories that we tell are the stuff of dreams. Fairy tales don’t come true. The reality is much stormier, much murkier. Looking at her page I realized, even if we grow up, we still have the same problems when we were five. We are still forever stumbling. We still crave for that one hand that can hold us. We still look for that one person in the world to tell us, they are all not the same. The basic insecurities, the wounds and the pool of doubts just grow with us. I have heard that it is possible to grow up, but i ve never seen anyone who has actually done it. We get taller, we get older and we get sensible. But do we really grow up. ?? For most part, we like a bunch of kids running around in a playground, trying desperately to fit in. every one wants to be ‘perfect’ or may be just a little less than that. For the world they may be, but deep down, no one really is. Brook could give to the world a lot of things- smiles, but no tears. A lot of love, no hatred. A lot of undivided attention and advices. She is smart and smooth around the edges, rough and tough inside or this is what she wants you to think. She redefined flawlessness to the world she was everything one could want to be. But could she give something as simple like the reality?? They teach us when young, ‘the truth shall set you free’ but do they not know, the truth freaking hurts. People think that they can give the awkward truth. But the big question yet remains, “can they really??”

Then again, it’s hard for brook to let go off that childhood fairy tale entirely. She yet believes The Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, the prince charming would come all so close, she could hug them. The fairy tale would be exactly like she had dreamed. She can’t let go off that tale entirely. Like everyone, she has the smallest ray of hope that one day she would open her eyes and it would all come true. That her return to innocence will finally be achieved.

That was just a page out of her diary. Wonder what an entire volume could do…….