Love letter 2: In Rememrance

Disclaimer: I did not write this. I've edited it, a bit.

You know, I both love and hate when I get things like these from you. I am filled with a level of joy that is hard to describe at the thought of you thinking of me and keeping me near your heart. In the same breath, I am filled with sorrow for this also because it is a reminder of the situation that we are in. 

The situation and all the frustration that goes along with it. 

Nevertheless, I refuse to be truly down trodden over these things. Instead I hold on to the joy element of it. Darling, the joy that you bring to me is amazing. 

I love you in your simplest moments, and in the moments when you leave me speechless. 

I think of you always. I think of you looking up at me. I think of your smile. This is what gets me through my day. Once you came into my life in a meaningful way, it was always your smile that pushed me on. 

I sit here in this town that is cold and gray and I often feel the same, but the thought of you is light to me. A light that shines through darkness and comforts me. I Love You Darling. My love for you is as great as the distance from east is to west. 

You know I realized that I enjoy seeing A. I also had a chance to see I but was unable to. I enjoy seeing these people and all of the friends that we shared not solely because they are friends but because they are a connection to you. When they are near, you feel just a little closer. I often wondered why I was able to go by your apartment building and not feel a painful tug and pull at my heart. I realize now that it is because that building only holds wonderful memories for me. I have not one sad time within those walls. That is 100% completely due to you. I have begun to take what at one time might have hurt me emotionally and instead used it to remind myself that you are without a doubt, the most amazing and beautiful creature that I have ever know. 

My passion runs deep but my love runs deeper still. So I ask you to not find sorrow in the memory of us. 

Instead I ask you to rejoice. 

Be glad that if nothing else you are loved so well. Appreciate my love and I will not break. This I am sure of. I Love You Darling. 

XOXO.

Love letter 1: I Miss

Disclaimer: I did not write this. I've just edited a bit.

I miss that little dot to the right of your right eye. I miss you rolling over to look at me and ask why we aren't banging. I miss you walking around in your gray and white sleeping shirt. I miss watching you pick out an outfit. I miss you being shy and bashful about your beautiful body. I miss looking in your fridge full of food and not finding anything I want because its all diet, lite, or sugar free. I miss how you were down for anything and would just pick up and go if the mood struck you. I miss just sitting there looking at you while we said nothing. I miss your tiny smile. I miss you demanding things of me that I am all to happy to do for you. I miss being with you. I miss the anticipation I felt between while I waited for you to throw me down the keys and when I was finally standing in your presence. I miss you telling me you're perfect. I miss the smell of you when you haven't showered yet. I miss you tolerantly smiling at the things I excitedly show you. I miss you teaching me foreign words. I miss your shoe collection. I miss you cooking delicious food for me. I miss taking you out to eat. I miss having you on my arm in public. I miss making other men envious of me when you are with me. I miss eating chalupas. I miss your loud ass computer. I miss not worrying about being late to something because I was just happy to have more time alone with you. I miss you insisting that all that crap food in your fridge is actually good. I miss your music. I miss that you put up with my music. I miss you singing me "nom nom". I miss the small of your back desperately. I miss you smooshing my face while you call me an ugly mush face. I miss how you make me feel like I can do anything even if I argue about it. I miss you telling me about your past. I miss the way you wrap your leg around mine while we were together. I miss the way you pull me closer to you just before you climax. I miss taking you in visually while I chug water after sex. I miss how you act towards the things you love. I miss all the smart things you say. I miss your jokes. I miss sitting by a fire with you. I miss you. I miss you so much PunK. I miss you so much.

Love, Ugly Mush Face

Not Tonight

 Tuesday, 22nd December 2015, 9:30pm

I'm weak tonight
Not a fight
Left in me.

If you have a bone to pick
May I suggest next week?

I promise
I'll scream my lungs out
I'll even
Throw in
a cry.
But, not tonight.

Don't tell me your demons.
I care,
I swear!
I do!

But will you don steel for me?
Will you sharpen your sword?
Will you be brave and kind?
Will you fight?
No?
Then forgive me.
I cannot.
Sit here and pretend
That I have more love for you
Than I have for me.

I need to go change
Put on my rusty armor,
Be my own knight
And save
Me.

4 a.m.

That kiss

Sense less,
Death of an innocence.

Your teeth
My neck.

Bite marks
South bound,
Down straight.

Here's to a
First date.

4 a.m.

Bottom of a
bottle of
Cheap red.

#everydaytrauma

I have a condition called temporomandibular disorder (TMD) which basically means my jaw joints hate their JD. Symptoms include headaches, popping, clicking, locking or limited movement of the jaw and difficulty in opening mouth; making it painful to do simple tasks such as chewing or yawning. 

There are a variety of causes for TMD, such as aging, tension or past injury however simple activities that most of us don’t think about such as clenching and grinding of teeth and opening mouth too wide (ahem) can aid in its continuance. I’ve had it for a while and usually it’ll fix itself. Until this time, when it is refusing to go away. 

So I consulted my go-to-physician (*cough* WebMD) and found that there are different strategies that can be used to treat this including medication, physiotherapy, massage and also behavioral change to stay away from harmful everyday practices (such as yawning, of course).

On a path to self-healing, I started to consciously monitor when and what I was doing wrong so that I could fix it. Only then did I realize that I clench my jaws, all the frikking time.

Every day, every single time that I walk out into the streets of Dhaka, every second that I am not in the safety of four walls or a fast moving vehicle, I grit my teeth. My only defense mechanism against the obnoxious stares, the ugly words and the lewd hand gestures is clenching my jaw, knitting my eyebrows and wiping any sign of happiness off of my face. I put on my resting bitch face, look downwards and pretend that I have earmuffs on. In Baridhara, which apparently is the safest place in Dhaka right now, I cannot walk four blocks down the street without hearing a guard commenting on my ass, a driver telling me to put on a borqua, a RAB officer saying Nauzubillah to my face, a teenage boy calling out “uff ki piece!” or a group of four men vocally judging first my front and then my back assets as I walk past them (yes, all incidents are true and have occurred this month).

I’m telling you, I’m exhausted. I guess my disease has nothing on the infestation that my City suffers from.
‪#‎getwellsoon‬ ‪#‎Dhaka‬ ‪#‎everydaytrauma‬ ‪#‎PTSD‬ ‪#‎TMD‬ ‪#‎lifeandtimesofawomaninDhaka‬ ‪#‎safecitiesbecause‬ ‪#‎VAW‬

Poetry Workshop

22nd August 2015

Why do you feel lonely? He'd asked.

Because the language I discovered 

Had nothing to do with the tongues that each had taught others

Mount Babel didn't host my sounds.

It's not my fault.

It was in the stars, when I'd emerged 

And all the blues had collided into one word.

I'm alone when I try too hard to fit in.

When big sounds are washing all the little nuances of me

Right out of me.

Forcing 

My colors to drain, 

And seep into porous

Clay pots and crawl into hidden tales.

Bokul Phul

18th August, 2015

 

Dreary night of a long day.

I had finished work and then stepped in to find myself at a rehearsal that seemed to be never-ending. We JUST wanted it to be over.

Returning home, the trudge across town on a limited budget felt heavier than usual. I hitched a ride from a friend and then caught a rickshaw only to cover one-fifth of the distance. Standing at a junction on a tumultuous Dhaka street, I started the wait and the fight for public transportation. The day seemed to have begun a long, long while ago.

Finally, I managed to stop a leguna and hop on to it. I was the only girl in it, as was usual at that hour of the night. I promptly put in my ear-phones and assumed a non-confrontational resting position. I got all my wits together, held on for dear life and settled in for the long, treacherous journey back home. Few minutes in. I was already exhausted,  the black smoke and loud horns of Dhaka City had worn me down to shreds. 

The initial frenzy in my head eventually subsided and I was free to gaze. Notice lights, colors, people. I stared out at the night outside and a million thoughts circled my head. The evening became a blur of the City and a playlist of randomized songs, picked automatically. My emotions held hostage by an electronic circuit.

Suddenly, I caught a whiff of bokul phul. I never liked the smell of bokul, it was too strong and always gave me headaches. I looked around me, not a vendor was in sight and the leguna was moving forward at a breakneck speed. It was definitely not originating from any of the dark figures and angry exhausted faces huddled inside the belly of the vehicle! In the midst of everything in the City smelling like smog the strong perfume had caught me by surprise, especially because I could not figure out where it was coming from. The world was spinning out of control, what was that smell? Had I finally lost my mind?

I was feeling quite perplexed when I finally noticed him. The helper of the leguna. He was wearing a thin garland of bokul around his neck, put over his shirt but carefully tucked under the flaps of his shirt collar. He was saving it. 

This was the season when fresh beli flowers took over and inundated the streets of Dhaka. So, where had he found it? Was it for someone? Was it from someone? Did he have a lover who sat under the street lamps at traffic stops? One who woke up early in the mornings and gathered the last of the bokul phuls of the season? Had she picked the rarest, freshest of flowers for him? Every time the wheels sped up, the smell hit me. Like a deep sigh, a passing memory.

Sometimes I wish I didn't get lost so easily and hunger over never-ending stories.

Keep

Come let us read the same poems over and over again.
Relive our lives.

I miss him.
Indirectly most times
But like a hammer to my head
During others
When all the senses in my brain start buzzing
Electric.

I miss his touch.
His love. His love. His love.
His kind eyes full of glory
I'm sorry
I've run out of witty things to say
Toys to play
With.

It's becoming dark again.
Our eyes clouding over.
Harassing me with wanton
Wishes lighting up my brain with all these fireworks we've lit up
Love, I miss your love.

There will never be another....
Or maybe there will be another
Just there will never be another you
For me.
You'll see.
I already see.
Too late.
Too little.
Too, fucking, late.

P.P.D.

Wouldn't I be 

just the perfect heartbreak story?

If you wanted to hear that sort of a tale.

Just a polaroid you shake

Over and over again.

Hoping the thought lines change

Hoping the colors brighten, just a bit

Hoping it's not all hollow.

That it hasn't been too late

That the nitrate under the tongue

Was quick enough,

To dissolve.

To revive

Some electricity in that head.

Wouldn't I make the perfect picture 

to draw

Blood from?

Beads of sweat mixed with angst

An insignificant muse

Too wordly to poison.

But with just enough magic

To want to destroy.

Oh, Troy!

Was it all for me?

In heat

In despair.

Will I always scream?

"My kingdom for a nail, my kingdom!"

For a rusty, old nail.

It's Alright

I'm busy. You're busy.

I've pencilled in your name 

In my after hours serenade.

You've put me on your night clock.

The minutes expanding on every tock

Tick tock tiicckk tocckk tiiccckkkk tocccckkkk.

When's a good time to tell you?

You've pictured a drive through.

But I've planned, 

a sleep-in.

Was it ever going to work love?

This peaceful demonstration?

The way we indulge?

Divulge in textpectations.

(Hell, do you even know me?)

I swear it has gotten old

Round and round the same tree.

Honey. It's alright. 

Beds. Can be.

Empty.

Hello, Goodbye.

Closed eyes have meaning.

When you drop your lids
It adds truth to your baby blues.
And breaks a glass bottle
Somewhere in my inner things.

Sometimes,
You'll be right there next to me
And I won't feel you.
At all.

Your hands will be tied,
Your lips will be pursed in denial.

You'll start a word with your entirety
But gulp it down
Before it reaches your tongue.
And I'll have known
There's a story left to be longed.

You'll look away,
Smile, pour a drink, deny.
And I'll find the hand that you almost
Reached out.

I'll sit on your body
Catching a whisper of a sigh
An acceptance, maybe.
You're terrified!

And I'll kiss you.

Not goodbye but hello.
Lay on your chest like there's no point
to tomorrow.

Love, there's no point to tomorrow.

I Am Not Nirbhaya

May 23rd 2015, 2 am

I woke up in the humid heat. The electricity was gone but the night was breezy outside, a stormy wind was blowing through the windows. Why was I awake? 

There was a voice screaming through my sleepy haze. A woman. She was screaming at the top of her lungs and crying. Half asleep and lost in my mind, I tried hard to break through the daze and figure out what she was saying. "Ami jabona, ami jabona! I will not go, I will not go". My heart froze.

I started thinking, what could I do? Should I get up? Wake up my mother? The scream sounded like it was coming from one of the neighbouring buildings but I couldn't tell which one. Should I call someone? Police? What could they possibly do? What do I do? What do I do?

Then the screaming stopped. No sound. Everything in my being twisted. Had she stopped because the problem had been stopped? I tried to think of all possible neutral, positive scenarios, she's had a fight with her mother about going to school. She had a fight with her husband about moving homes. She's a spoilt brat not getting what she wants. I hoped she was alright. I hoped to God she was alive. 

But I couldn't for the life of me shake the horrible feeling that none of that was true. And I hoped to God, and all gods she may believe and pray to that she was alright. That she hadn't been maimed, violated, beaten to silence or killed. 

The guilt kept me awake. The guilt is still keeping me down. What could I have done? I wake up with cold sweats on mornings since Pohela Boishakh. I check my shadow when I walk on streets. I carry a knife. I am scared to ride public transport. I can't read yet another news about rape. I cannot make myself protest yet another act of violence. I'm not helpless then why do I feel so? Amra eto oshohaye keno? Amra eto oshohaye keno?

Holiday in Goa

I forget things so easily

Need reminders for self-love

Dependent on theory 

That they love me as much

As I should myself.

I forget.

Don't remember

The wine glass, Saki with his pour

Cool sheets, bloody mouths 

Your feet, our toes.

Chasing the dragon with bitterness in my throat.

I forget.

Remind me, dear one

Did I make any promises?

Did you? Did we?

Did we create funny messes?

Were there handcuffs? Burn marks?

Heartstrings? Whiplashes?

All I seem to remember are flashes.

Of strange things going on.

How high was that ceiling? Did we ever touchdown?

The morning has left me with memories of bruising.

And imprints of your fingers,

On more 

than my musings.