Inkless Letters

#10. A letter to someone deceased.

Dear Afroze,

Hi. Well, I guess the heading say it all. I miss you sis. It’s been three years. Sometimes, it feels like a million years have passed. Sometimes, it’s like it happened during my last breath.

It’s hard sis. But it used to be harder.

When it happened, I can’t possibly tell you how bad it was. Our moms were crying, and I was numb. You know, I never cried the day you…died? I didn’t. I couldn’t. I guess I didn’t except it. How could I?

You were Afroze. You were my big sister. Someone who looks out for me, and takes care of me even if you’re just a year older. On your 8th birthday, when our parents asked you what you wanted, you said you wanted a sister.

You’re the reason I left the orphanage and found a home. I found a best friend, a partner in pranks, and a sister in you. It’s unfair that I got to know you only for six years. But those six years were amazing.

When it happened, all of a sudden, a stupid car crash, it’s like the world started spinning. It was whirling and rotating at such as fast speed that I lost my footing. All of us did.

Then, our mom, Aurelia couldn’t handle it anymore. She needed change. Everything reminded her of you, and she wanted to move away. From you. From everything.

She wanted to go to a place where no one would know our name. Where it would be a fresh start.

I didn’t want that. I wanted to cling on to the floors you walked on, sleep on the bed you slept in, sit on the swing you swung on. I wanted you, even if you didn’t exist.

But we moved anyway. We moved to a new city, and I left my friends behind. I left you behind.

School made everything worse. Ashton and his gang could- would- not stop picking on me. I didn’t have any friends. I was so alone. I mean, I tried. I tried to make friends. But it’s hard to pretend to be happy. It’s hard to say nothing is wrong when the world is crumbling. It’s hard to say you’re okay when you miss your sister and hate yourself ‘cause your bullies said you aren’t enough.

I couldn’t go about telling people either. I’m pretty sure talking about the dead would ward of any chances of friendship. It was a dark time, it was horrible Afroze. It was so hard to stop crying into the stillness of the night. It was hard to stop thinking the clouded thoughts. It was hard to tell myself I was good enough when Ashton told me otherwise. It was hard, it was so hard.

I was trying my best. I just couldn’t succeed.  

I hated every inch of me so much back then. I hated how I looked. I hated my accent. I hated that they had to make fun of me. I hated how I always hoped that you’ll open the door when I come back from school. I hated you too. For leaving me. I couldn’t do it alone. I needed you. But all those tears soaked into my pillow could never bring you back. My wishes couldn’t. My prayers couldn’t. Nothing could.

I had a steep mountain to climb. I didn’t want to. I didn’t. I absolutely didn’t want to. I was content being broken and being worthless like Ashton always says I am.

But slowly I did change. I started to paint. I started to get my emotions out. I painted like a mad women, like holding a brush was the only thing I knew how to do. I painted day in and out. I also hear Bruce at that time. I am alive because of Bruce, and art.

I didn’t know it, but just facing one day after another, was making me stronger. Just breathing each day was like I was winning a battle. I was getting better, without even realizing it.

I guess, somewhere along the line, I forgave you for dying. I forgave myself for hating you too. I wasn’t okay with you dying. I’ll take your place in a split second. But, I was at peace with it I guess. It happened. I had a downfall. I recovered. I think.

 In a funny way, when I think of it, you are still alive.

I’m not saying it in the stupid way everyone says. Yes, you are alive in our hearts and memories. But I mean you still exist.

I came up with this theory long back. Humans are basically matter and energy. Science has proved that both of them can neither be created nor destroyed. So you still exist. It might be as the music in my headphones or the paint on my brush. This probably sounds stupid, but it helps Afroze. Because you exist. Maybe not as yourself, but you do.

It’s been three years. Sometime I don’t feel like I’ve moved on. Other times I’m happy. I don’t mean the happiness I was pretending to have. I’ve found it. Other days, when I feel I relapse back into my same dark thoughts, but I know there’s a difference.

At that time, I thought it couldn’t get better. Now, when I catch myself on negative thoughts, I know it does. That even if I’m feeling low right now, it doesn’t mean that I won’t see the sunrise in the morning. It doesn’t mean that I’ll crumble again, even if it feels like I am.

I trust myself a lot more now. I don’t care how I look. I don’t care about what Ashton says as much as I used to before. I have friends, despite all the complications I caused. I have Asim and Iris. I have me.

I have everything I need to make me happy. I will make myself happy. I will take care of myself. I might feel alone, but I have myself now. My mind isn’t a weapon against myself, it’s a friend.

I know I haven’t scaled my mountain. I know I have a long way to get to the top. But I am higher than before, and the view is beautiful.

I love you.

Ilta.