Abandonment is a complimentary side dish.

Amma says I am the stubborn one of her three children — I wear it as an honor I know I should not. I wear it like the badge I won at a school fair when I was 12. What do you do with a heart that suffered so much? What do you do with hands that tremble so much they cannot hold on? What do you do with something that’s been left out to rot for so long it has lost its color? You let it die. You let it die. Amma says there is nothing in this world I wished for that I did not get. I want to tell her that the universe, in exchange for everything I wanted, also gave me everything I never had the strength to bear. I suppose it’s fair. You can only ask for so much without a price. Sometimes, the price is bigger than your desire, and sometimes, it hurts a lot more than it should. What do you do with a heart that’s always hurting? Do you let it die too?

Sometimes I forget that I’m alive. A hard knock on my door and I remember I have other hearts to take care of, that what I feel has to be put in a jar and kept away because I cannot bruise another. Sometimes, I sit on the edge of a window sill and pretend I am balancing on the edge of the universe — ready to jump and let go, let something drown me from the inside. My heart gives out sometimes. Scratch that. It gives out all the time. Abandonment is a veil I wear every day trying to fight against it, take it off, throw it away. There’s a thread that ties my palm to my chest and I try to bleed out to stop hurting so much. Abandonment is a complimentary side dish — love serves you well so you keep eating.

A friend, on his way to drive me home for the last time, told me he was sorry. I think I forgot to ask him what he was sorry for. Sometimes, people apologize for things they don’t have control over, and sometimes, they do things that no apologies can fix. I think of his half-hearted apology once a year. I put it in the corner of my heart that never stops bleeding and I let it sit there to collect dust until the next year comes around. Sometimes people leave you with gaping holes for the rest of your life and you cannot do anything but let everything pour out periodically. It’s the only way to survive.

I cry a lot. It’s hard to explain that my heart is heavy all the time, that I need to pour it out before it drowns me from the inside. It’s funny that you can think yourself into a meltdown but you can never think yourself out of one. Brains are hardwired and ironic like that. And when you’re sick and everyone feels miles away, you don’t think of things as funny anymore.

Amma also says I am the most difficult of her three children — I sometimes think people don’t really know what ‘difficult’ means. Differential equations are difficult. Answering ‘yes or no’ to ‘are you okay?’ is difficult. Losing to death is difficult. Crosswords are difficult. Sometimes, even jigsaws are difficult. Languages are difficult. Sometimes, finding that one set of earrings you kept somewhere is difficult. Letting go of someone you wanted to keep forever is difficult. Grieving for something you’ll never have is difficult. Being stuck in your head is difficult. Learning to let love in is difficult. Learning that abandonment is a dish you can decline is difficult.

I’m not difficult, Ma. I’m scared.

I’m not difficult. I’m trying to survive.

— 22:40, 16.06.22