This is a Rant. With a Capital 'R'.

Good day. Today I shall rant.
This is applicable to more than one of you so read well. Understand. Weep.
Or maybe not. But you'll be hit by a large moving automobile in the next three days. Yes that's right. I'm talking about you.
And I'm really, truly sorry that I couldn't resist doing this. But this sits and festers and putrefies, it's time it goes out of my system.

--

Hey you there, yes you, the one with the mask on. Does it bother you that your cover is blown? Of all the years of pretending and putting a show on, does it bother you that now someone besides you knows the truth about you?

It’s easy to spout ideas and ideals, easy to talk but not so easy to act, now is it? The challenge is to actually act on what you pretend to believe in. But what I don’t understand is why you do it. So let’s examine that, shall we?

If I were petty (well, any more than I am already) I would launch into a detailed description of just what you did but honestly, that’s not the part that shattered everything I thought about you into tiny fragments. Much like when my phone fell out of my hand and the screen cracked. It’s quite pretty actually, my broken screen that is, not you.

Keeping the actual event aside, let me just say, your mask never was perfect. There was something that you said one afternoon that made me realize that you were not as open-minded as you seemed. Now back on topic.

What I don’t understand is why you have to pretend to be someone you’re not. Maybe it’s not easy to be honest with yourself. Or is it just not easy to be honest with others. Does all of you know what the real you is like, or do you lie to yourself even when it’s just you in a dark room with no place to go and no place to be and no one to impress.

Now that I know the face behind the mask when I meet people who think you’re oh-so-funny or maybe even oh-so-smart I wonder how it’d feel for them when at some point they figure out who you really are. It’d break their hearts, you know. They really look up to you.

What you like and what you don’t is honestly up to you, no amount of arguing or ranting is going to change that and I don't even want to attempt to change your beliefs because I wouldn't want someone to do that to me. However try (for the sake of those who still believe your mask is your true face) to face the consequences when you make a decision instead of deleting accounts and running away because that’s a sure-fire way that they’ll know you for the wuss you really are.

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Thank you. I have ranted.

The Time I Went to the Beach

The last time I was at a beach, I was with you. We ran around in the sand, I ruined my Converse. We took all those pictures, that one you took of me with my hair flying all over the place. Back when I barely knew you. Back when you barely knew me.

I thought maybe that going to the beach today would make me think about you a lot. That with each wave crashing in I'd think of the way the sun burnt my skin as I sat next to you in the sand. I can't say I didn't. But not too much. I'm doing well.

I was a bit of a wuss today. I didn't want to get too close to the water, didn't want to ruin my jeans. I stayed at a respectful distance and watched. Wave after wave. Ohisashiburi ne. It's been a long time.

The salty wind messing up my hair (which I'd straightened carefully before leaving), making my skin feel like I'd been dipped in salt, carrying the sound of the water that made me want to run into the ocean and keep running until I was waist deep.

And here I stand, at the shore. Too scared to dip my toe in.

A huge wave comes in and I run up the sand. It chases me for a while then stops, laughs, and falls back into the sea. I turn around, laughing, a little breathless. My laughter is drowned in the sounds of the sea.

Won't Close My Eyes

It's not something she remembers very well. It's not something she thinks about often. She just knows that it happened. She just knows that no matter what she becomes, this will always be a part of her.

You ask her something about her life, anything. Start with her name, her age, her family. As you get close to her, ask who her first crush was, who her first boyfriend was, how long did they last. Ask her when her first kiss was and she'll name a date and a place, she'll name a boy she used to love. You'll smile and maybe you'll say 'That's so cute!' and she'll smile and the conversation is done there. Maybe you'll talk for a while and maybe you'll meet her again someday, but that there, was the first lie she ever will tell you.

Her first kiss was not a boy she loved. It was a man who claimed to be her tutor. It's not something she dwells upon, but if she tries to focus, she remembers meeting her eyes in the mirror and stubbornly refusing to close them, because somewhere in that twelve year old girl's mind, she had this idea that you close your eyes when you kiss someone you love. She didn't love this man. She wouldn't close her eyes.

Ask her how long it went on, she wouldn't know. It's almost as though her mind has locked this part of her memory in a box and hidden it away in a dusty corner. Ask her when it started, she won't know. She can't remember. All she knows is that he used to ask her to study something he'd just explained, and she would, head bowed over her book, and she'd study while he groped her under the table. Then he'd ask her questions and she wouldn't know the answers and he'd shout. She never cried when he yelled, she stared obstinately back into his eyes.

He'd stop when he heard footsteps outside the door. He was a religious man, someone who taught the ways of God, her parents never had even the slightest doubt. When they'd come in to check on her, he'd be on his best behaviour and she'd say nothing.

She doesn't know why but the thought of telling her parents scared her. Once she was older, she read something on child abuse, it said that the victims feel fear and guilt. She thinks that maybe she was too young to comprehend it, what she felt back then was guilt. She doesn't quite remember those emotions, not vividly, not at all. As though it's too painful to remember. As though her mind is protecting her from herself.
She tried to protest in her way. She'd arrange the table and chairs in such a way that he couldn't reach her under the table. She'd wear two, maybe three pairs of trousers. She'd wear a pair of jeans with a belt. She had wanted to lock herself away, she was angry, but mostly she was scared.

She wonders what went through his mind. Did he ever feel fear? Of being caught, at the very least. She didn't expect him to fear the God he taught her about, he probably knew that all of what he taught was lies. She remembers him whispering that she should tell him if she was uncomfortable, and not her parents. She remained quiet. He kept insisting, he made her walk over to his chair and stand by him and told her again. She nods and he kisses her. She locks eyes with the girl in the mirror.

He had to leave to some place for some reason she doesn't remember anymore and she wished he'd never come back. She wished he'd just disappear from her life, it'd make everything a lot easier. But one day her mother tells her he's back and that he'd called and she'd be starting classes from the next week. And she breaks down and cries. The words coming out aren't coherent. She doesn't know how long she cried, or even how long it took for her to make sense. She doesn't know anymore. But she knows it ended then.

She's not sure how it has affected her. Sure, she's a little uncomfortable with physical contact, but that's probably just personal space issues, she thinks. She doesn't break down into tears when she thinks about it, she doesn't think it haunts her. She just knows that it is a part of her. She was lucky that it stopped with just that. She thinks of all these children, boys and girls alike, who go through this and so much worse and she can feel their pain. All their innocence, all of their carefree childhood, taken away with just one act.

She wishes she could go back in time, and pull that man off her younger self, slap him across his face and rip those hands off his wrists. She wants to hold that twelve year old girl close and tell her that she did no wrong, that she will grow up to be stronger than she ever expected to be.

She wipes the tears off her face and puts her memories back in their box, and puts the box back in its dusty corner. It doesn't do anyone good to dwell upon the past, she thinks as she holds her own little girl close. Her baby brother sleeps in a cot nearby and she thinks she wants to protect them from the world. Put them away in little boxes and shield them from all the negativity until they are old enough to face it. She knows she wouldn't ever deem them old enough, she knows she wouldn't be able to.

She stands up and walks across the soft carpet. She turns around and takes one last look before she shuts the door and walks over to her own room. She climbs into her bed and pulls the covers over her head. As though she's hiding from herself. She doesn't want to be seen crying, not even by herself. She's stronger than that.

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Dial CHILDLINE: 1098 from any phone service in India  to report a child in distress. The CHILDLINE service is a free 24x7 tele-outreach helpline service for children in need of care and protection. For more information, visit www.childlineindia.org.in