Bijli and her kittens have been missing for the past 3 days. Today I learnt that they were kidnapped by my neighbours and dropped off far away in another locality.
I woke up late. I woke up to this news. I felt my insides crumbling as I came to terms with the fact that I might never get to see them again. I was asleep on Saturday when it happened. Could I have done something?
I collapsed on my bed and bawled. It felt like a breakup, even worse actually, since both parties loved each other but someone else intervened and fucked it up.
They were my buoy of stability all through this lockdown. I can't unsee the face of the little one meowing aggressively at me, demanding that I pet him. I loved it more than he would ever have. I felt wanted. They were my friends. They were the only physical contact I had with another living being in the past 5 months.
All of this happened because the neighbours have been annoyed by the cats. I've never felt this strongly about finding a way to stop being a human being. This species, I'm ashamed to be a part of them. Humans are scum.
I hope the next revolution is the extinction of the homo sapien.
This is a strange new domain. I've had sensual, and sometimes erotic, thoughts about you. Dream like scenarios.
In one of them, I run my fingers through your wavy hair all the way along the back of your head and down your nape where I rest them as I let my eyes feast on your extremely pleasing face. I trace the contours of your cheek with my gaze while grazing my finger tips along the side of your neck. I pull you in and taste your neck, run my tongue along the sides and up until I reach your ear where I spend an interval nibbling on it. My free hand bravely ventures downward caressing your shoulders and bosom, stretching my arm around your person and embracing you. I move my head until our faces are practically touching nose to nose. I lean in and run a light trail across your tender lips with my tongue as your lips breach open, inviting me to explore the insides of your warm wet mouth. I enter with passion, lapping up delightful little strokes across your tongue as I feel a fire burning inside me, like it never has before. Both my hands are now cupping your face, feeling the warmth of your skin permeate through my bones. I wonder briefly if I really deserve any of this, but the sensory nirvana overthrows any motivation to explore that train of thought any further. My mind races wildly, offering all sorts of ludicrous explanations for how this was meant to be, and how experiencing all of you was the one true purpose of my life. It's strange how this biochemistry works, but I don't care for any of it, the why or the how, I can only think about how I want you, all of you.
I experienced what qualify as my most intimate moments of this pandemic. My dentist had his fingers inside my mouth for some 40 minutes today. It was mostly uncomfortable, but that was the closest I've been to a human in the past hundred days. It was expensive, but mostly nice.
A thousand person choir in my ears
A violent rainbow in my eyes
Lethargic majesty in my feet
Laws of thought and existence in my mind
A beacon of hope, a totem of despair in my hands
What do you want? Do you want acceptance? Or an audience? Or love? Or admiration? Or company? Because somewhere, you believe happiness and contentment are dependent on this while cognitively you know that's a lie.
Maybe you are doomed to a life time of dissatisfaction. Maybe this is just who you are as a person. Repulsed by yourself, yet occasionally filled with self pity. So many distractions to channel your rage and melancholy into, yet they all seem to be fleeting while this depression seems to be eternal.
You cannot be obsessed over any one thing or idea or person. That is simply not an option, ever. You need help. You have people who care about you. You think you value them but do you internally feel that value? Does that make any sense? Where is your introspection failing you?
It is clear how drugs are quit effective at muddying up this clarity of thought and the associated emotions. Why to feel when you don't know what to make of those unpleasant feelings? Why is good enough never actually good enough?
How do I find out if it's the 3 year old me, or if it's the 11 year old me, or if it's the 16 year old me that's hurting at the moment? How do I know whose tears these are and if I can't figure that out, how can I make it go away?
Everyone talks about being there and accepting people when times are tough but where are they?
Where is everyone?
I can't seem to have as much I want, so I take whatever I am offered.
Tomorrow will tell if I'm a fool. I am broken and spent, and I wish so very badly to extinguish that tiny flame of hope.
It burns me from within.
This cycle of melancholy and restlessness peppered with intervals of slight joy. It's getting a bit predictable now. It's absurd to the point where I loathe myself sometimes. I don't want to cry and then revel in the catharsis.
Someone hug me and don't let go.
Something else that bothers me perhaps is the fact that some successful people do not really fit the sort of sketch of a morally sound person that I have in my head. They aren't good people according to my metric and yet they find widespread acknowledgement and praise. It shouldn't bother me, yet it does.
How do I recalibrate my expectations?
The best thing about living alone is that I can cry out loud now. The worst thing? I cry a lot more.
Of all the mating calls I've tried in my life, this one has been the most creatively engaging.