Just a Boy Toy

Bluebird

There's a bluebird in his heart that wants to get out. That bluebird always wanted to get out but my butterfly always remained too tough for it. He would say and pressurize to stay that bluebird in there. My butterfly never let anybody see this bluebird even in childhood neither in adolescence and nor in adulthood. This bluebird struggling too hard to get out but he pours whiskey and drugs on it to suppress it and inhales cigarette smoke and girls more like whores dying to get him for money to cage it and forget about it forever. He remains tough on it and said it to stay down. He didn't want it to mess him up. He didn't want this bluebird to screw his work. This bluebird was clever but he was cleverer. He let this bluebird out at night sometimes but only when everyone's sleep. He talks to it but only when no ones is around. He says he knows it is around and comforts him not to feel sad and then put it back inside but this bluebird has started singing a little in there. My butterfly didn't let him die and they sleep together like that without any secret between them and it's nice enough to make a man weep. But he doesn't weep. At least not anymore. He is just too exhausted.

Do you know what this bluebird is? Do you think it is some tropical blue color chirpy bird that is caged? But No, this bluebird is not some beautiful bird. Bluebird is rather the deliverance of his sorrow and anguish. The sorrow he doesn't want to set free. Instead, he wants to keep and hold it, not comprehending it could be greater, it would just increase day by day but knowing he has found purpose with this bluebird. He discovered his path of beliefs for himself. He was blindly afraid of what would happen if he let this bluebird free. But also this bluebird can be anything your true self, your anxieties, your fear, your pain. It is a different interpretation each person separately draws out of it.

There is an apodictic and unrefined conglomeration of rules and ideologies that are incubated in society for everything and one of these is how to be a perfect man or woman. There are points you necessitate to match in these lists to meet those soaring expectations of becoming perfect but if you talk about me I was far away from the standard list to become a perfect man. I was always the kind of kid who had weird preferences and by these weird preferences, I meant things that were deemed mostly gendered specific. I had always being judged for my preferences but my dad and angel always accepted me for whom I am and that also doesn't mean they compromised with my preferences rather they accepted me wholeheartedly. I used to love to paint my dull nails with attractive bright and glittering colors, I loved to see other girls wearing those different types of stunning heels, I used to love to go for shopping girl dresses with my angel, I loved watching and even trying a little makeup, I loved buying barbie dolls. I don't know how or why I began liking and fancying these things which actually should be antithetical to my boy chromosome but all I knew was the system found it freakish and anomalous because these are all the things boys shouldn't do. According to them, I should be playing with toys like cars and trucks, should be buying macho boys clothes, makeup should be something I should like girls wearing it but who cares about other people's opinion if the most valuable people of my life were with me and If I think about my dad he was fulfilling his dreams of having a daughter through me. Believe me, it's funny and weird how he has my childhood picture more with girls frock and girl dresses with full makeup on than boyish photograph wearing boys clothes.

We were sitting in the garden enveloped in the beauty and overwhelming fragrance of flowers. Angel always used to take me and my butterfly for a walk there to show the glory of gardening. Her beautiful and delicate hands in the dirt, her head exposed in the sun, her heart with nature. Once I asked her why she used to do all those things when she has so many servants to do it, she smiled and replied. To nature, a garden is to feed not just the body but the soul, and honestly that time I didn't get it. But as time passed by even I generated a special bond with the garden and its plants and flowers that were blooming not to impress anyone neither do they wait for any perfect occasions they just surprise me. They used to surprise me when not intending to. Standing out with perfection and beauty and fixing me in a pleasant amuse. Sitting in the garden for hours and hours, we saw the blooming of flowers, every plant was named by Angel, we used to see Angel talking to plants like they were all her babies sometimes three of us and sometimes just angel and me. The lovely silence of growing things.