Stranger

Hey Stranger

I have all these people around me. These people who love me but I can never find myself to talk as openly as I would like. There is always a wall that will stand between them and me. I build this wall and refuse to climb over it or let anyone break it down. When times comes, I might let the right person break it down or I will.

I subconsciously always refrain myself from telling you all my truest feelings because I don’t want my stories to burden you or I don’t feel comfortable telling them to you no matter how much I love you. I don’t know what the problem is, all I know is that I am not comfortable with crossing that boundary.

I hate myself for that, but I also don’t. I don’t think I can remember ever having much open conversations where I have laid out all my true feelings. This does not mean I lie to you, I just haven’t laid out the full picture. I have only given you the icing, the information I think is necessary or the maximum I can give. The whole cake remains, and I don’t think I will let anyone take that entire bite.

When I try to tell you it all, something happens that makes me not tell you. These might be excuses my mind conjures up into tricking not to say to you, but I believe these excuses. I feel like I let you open up completely, but you don’t want to do it for me. Maybe this is just my mind. I don’t know.

If I ever want to explode and spill out all my secrets and the feelings I am harbouring, I think I can only do it with a stranger because they don’t know me. We both are going in with zero contextual knowledge of each other. So I will not be afraid of them judging me or having to worry about how I am burdening them because we might never see each other again after this.
We can talk and talk and promise to never meet each other again until the next time or perhaps move onto another stranger to avoid all the connection with the previous.

I guess I feel more at ease about talking my truest stories or feelings with strangers because, with the people I love, I don’t know how to. I guess I am afraid of thier thought process when speaking to me and maybe of the words they would use to reply back.

It’s too complicated. I value your love, maybe that’s why it hurts. I am afraid of things changing after I tell you about what keeps me up at night. I guess I am not sure if I want to let you in on all my vulnerabilities or my thoughts.

I can’t seem to place a finger on what it is that is keeping me from exploding my secrets to you.
Perhaps it has been in my family and nature not to reveal too much of ourselves out to the world because then that is how they will perceive us, through pity eyes. Perhaps it is the doubt of you taking advantage of my vulnerabilities.
It is never one reason. It is a whole multitude of them.

I have always made up these stories of spilling out everything, having these talks I have always wanted to have with someone. I am not sure if it will ever function in reality, considering I can’t even share the truest of my feelings with my family and best friends.

It sucks, it’s not their fault. It’s mine. I can’t seem to do it. It looks so easy, but it is so hard.

When you ask me how I have been, I give answers such as I am fine, which I actually am. It’s there will always be these buried stories and pain with me that I can never truly get out in the open. It’s just there continuing to live alongside my life.
So I keep all this inside me, and I just let it be because that is how I have done and I don’t know anything that could change it now.

So that’s why I talk to you stranger because you know me because you are me, but I can’t even be brutally honest with you too because that would crush us both.

So Readers, I place the burden on you and spill out my secrets to you because it is your concern now. I am not afraid of you because you have become my vessel upon which I can spill onto. You hold me.

You and the world are now my strangers. You will always be my strangers. I tell you a majority of the story but never the whole truth because that’s just how. I hide the truth in lines I know you will never be able to decipher because that’s just how.
So in a way, I tell the whole truth. Sometimes.

Seeds of hope

Stage 1

Seeds of hope are sowed carefully onto you knowingly or unknowingly by a sower.

That sower can be your mom, dad, your friend, your enemy, a stranger, God, the universe or even you.

Hope for love, hope for money, hope for happiness, hope for more; different seeds like these are sown.

When sown, you think nothing of it. What it would do to you and What you would do.

Stage 2

A seed of hope has been planted.

Every day is spent in agony wondering how the seed is growing.

Many a times, growing these seeds are good. The nature of it is what matters. In this case, a bad seed has been sown.

A small seed is enough to cause a massive stir. The smallest insignificant detail slowly tends to outgrow the practicalities in you. It descends upon you and drives you into madness slowly.

I am exposed and stripped to my very core. I need an armour to fight off the delusions planted by my sower.

It takes days for the seed to develop into something.

There is still hope for it not be something.

Stage 3

The seed has begun to sprout under the watchful eyes of the sower.

When the pests try to contain the seed from growing, the sower adds fertilisers to your mind protecting you from the realities outside.

Seasons change, different conditions and temperatures have started to affect the seed sown. It is rising and nothing seems to snip it down. It is seeding now.

With all the right conditions, it will turn into a sapling. A step closer to a greater fall or a greater good. I am not sure until I am provided with the cirucmstances.

Stage 4

The seed has sprouted into a sapling.

A sapling is under nurturing, being nurtured to be a part of something big and unknown.

It continues to grow without no feller cutting it down. It would have been an easy and sad death with minimal consequences.

It is growing to withstand amongst the harshest of conditions and very little gentle breezes.

Some one cut it down before it matures into a tree. I beg of you. This tree will only end up in a sad demise once grown.

Stage 5

During the fragile years of the sapling, it had been fed false hopes that could have been true if fate had not altered the plans.

If the feller or the sower would have shown mercy, this tree would not have to suffer for as long it was intended.

This tree could have been snagged at the very beginning but instead, it has chosen to grow and be in the wild.

Since it has matured to its very peak, no one no longer showers it with love or give it a pretence of a false hope. Instead, it is now slowly beginning to survive in the wild, learning, watching and suffering.

Stage 6

As the tree starts to grow older, the hope starts to die by bits.

The tree learns how to live with what it has been given but the sliver of hope still remains. That sliver of hope drenched in fantasy is what might keep it going. A fantasy of being nurtured and loved.

The regret of that hope sown is evident. The tree no longer stands with the vigour its predecessor carried. It now stands cracked, grey and leafless.

The decayed bits of the tree return back to the soil, its nutrients waiting to be soaked by the future seeds.

One will never be lucky enough to reap the fruits bore by the tree.

I guess that seed was sown just to be killed later.

The two men

It has been three days since I had gone to the gym. Three idle days of sitting in bed, reading and watching.

Today I went to the gym, it was energetic. It is a small gym with three equipments and some weights and a bounce ball in the building on the same floor as I live .

Nine huge glass windows were mounted to one side of the gym and a plain white wall on the other. The treadmill among the other gym equipments faced the windows giving me the opportunity to look out at the people on the streets indulging in their routine and/or activities. 

I have a specific time when going to the gym here. Eleven A.M to Twelve P.M. I spend around an average of Forty minutes at the gym. During this time, I watch new and old people on the streets do their thing. 

I am not much of a good observer. I just look at what the other people see. I see but not observe. I am trying to improve on that. So when at the gym, I teach myself by setting people as targets so I learn. I cannot deduce like Sherlock Holmes or Doctor Watson but they do teach quite a bit. I just let my mind do the bare minimum with some context either given in by the environment or by my mind.

When in the gym, I keep on some music or a podcast so that I tend not to strain my eyes looking at the screen of the phone which I do everyday every hour. So just during these Forty minutes, I let my eyes prey the world outside.

I notice what the people do. I feel like a hunter stalking its prey but not deciding to act on it. Instead just looking outside and watching, keeping it all to myself. I take note of the time when the vans come around and I would like to deduce for what purpose they come. I deduce it by the logo on the van. Pretty easy work. I like to keep my mind occupied with minuscule details like these.

Today I went to the gym at 10:50 AM.  As usual, I watch the old and new people. What always catches my eyes are a pair. There are always those two men sitting on the ground sometimes standing indulging in conversations or sometimes resting.

I only see them there till I leave. I do not know what they do after. All this while I have been coming, I have never witnessed them leave during the time I spend in the gym.

I always wondered what brought them there at this specific time. I am assuming they were brought there by the obligations of their job. I would like to think of a higher purprose that brought them there, everyone who was brought there during the time I was there.

As always when I am on the treadmill, I watched them keenly trying to decipher why they were here. They wore Red shirts with Green luminous bands imprinted on the shirt around their arms and had black pants on.

I figured they were some sort of workers, but of what vocation, I could not figure that out. It would have been easy considering how one could learn about the purpose of different uniforms, but I rather not.

I tried to figure out the nature of the conversation they were having right now. The guy on the left had various hand movements going on. It seemed as if he was explaining some concept or a joke to the man, colleague or perhaps his friend on his right.

I could not understand what expression each of them had fixated on their faces because they wore big hats and looking down on them from a height, it was nearly impossible to figure. So I could only deduce. I say a joke because I could see the man smile a bit even if he had the big hat on.

After a brief of Ten minutes, they stood up and went near the big can that ressembles a canister but worn out and rusty. Then I saw a big white garbage truck come along and these two men placed the big can onto the rear holders and the garbage was dumped into back of the truck. As soon as the the truck completed the job, they hopped along the sides of the truck and went away.

That was it. 

My keenful watching was over. Why did the truck decide to come at this specific time today? On the other days, I never saw the truck but today, I saw it. Why did it decide to rob me of the pleasure of figuring out the story of them?

I could have assigned a nice story with some rich context and background but I was robbed of it. Now I have to hunt for other regular people who stick to their routines and not have a satisfying conclusion so I can create my own story for them.

There is some comfort in trying to figure out the story of strangers. There is a better comfort when assigning your own story to them with your mind.