I Bribed My Heart, Have You?

"Finally, in a low whisper, he said, "I think I might be a terrible person." For a split second I believed him - I thought he was about to confess a crime, maybe a murder. Then I realised that we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before asking someone to love us. It is a kind of undressing."

by Miranda July, excerpt from The First Bad Man

In the previous write-up, I told you that I've decided to ask my heart for how long do I need to keep it all under the blankets? For how long my secrets are doomed to suffocate? It hasn't answered me. And ofcourse, it hasn't. You don't just stop being afraid when someone says, "oh, don't be afraid". You just can't, even if it's the most beautiful voice in its softest tone. My heart too just couldn't stop being afraid; it started shivering on the thought of revealing parts of itself. I couldn't see it shivering. It's mine. I love it, no matter how stubborn or evil it is. It's mine, even if it's swimming in blood, its own or other's. So I laid one more blanket upon it. I had to. *sighs* 

And it stopped shivering, after a while.

Look, I know I told you while being so brave that I'll lift up the blankets and lay it out in open in front of you. And, I wasn't pretending being brave --atleast not all of it, maybe a lil'-- but it's difficult to just pull all the blankets. How do I tell you what I see in the light of red bulb in a room? What reason would I give you when I yank my arm away from yours if you hold me by my wrist? How would I make you understand that why do I apologise so much even when you say not to? How do I express what I feel when you tell me to wait a lil' more? How do I confess the reason for my love towards you when you merely listen to me? The answers are more than words and the questions are more than you can think of. 

No one has ever asked me why I touch the base of my throat when I'm about to shatter. Because no one had noticed and once when someone did, they didn't knew the right questions to ask. All what they asked was, "How're you?" 

And, I spoke --as I always do on this question-- before I can even ask myself as if this question pushes the autopilot button to throw the words "I'm Okay".

You're here, right? Don't go. Just a while. Just for a lil' while. Stay.

I'm gonna tell you a story. A real one.

Whenever I tell you a story, do NOT assume that it's real and when I say, it's real, don't assume the she in it to be me.

__________

She never really had guests in her house. Not that she remembers if she had any before. The first one she remembered was her cousin who was an adult and she, merely a four year old. This cousin stayed with her, played, ate food and like all guests, he too had to leave. 

She was standing outside her home, holding a thin fancy lace of his bag with her little fingers, crying. He kept his bag on the pavement outside the house, lifted her up in his arms and told her, "I stayed at your house for these many days, now I've to go, right?"

She hardly breathed before saying, "But, I want you to stay. You stayed for these many days, why to go now? Stay."

He had this soft expression which she still can't name. Her mother took her from his arms, stood her up on her legs again and said to the cousin who was still looking at her, "It's okay, she will stop crying. She will continue for a while. If you'll wait for her to stop, you'll miss next and four other trains as well. Go, she won't stop."

When the cousin bent to lift his bag again on his shoulder, he said to the lil' girl, "Shh, do you want me to remember you crying? I want to see you smile so that I keep your smile in my mind all the time I'll be away."

The girl was too little to force a smile when her eyes were still overflowing. But wasn't young enough to not know what to do when the cousin held his hand out. She held his hand and his palm engulfed the tiny fist and she still remembers it as her first handshake.

She can't remember when did he settle the bag on his shoulder and when did he reach to the end of the road. It was all blurry in tears. When she rubbed her eyes with both of her hands, he turned at the end of the road and both of her hands kept wiping the tears again, for who knows how long. Not that her mother told her to stop crying or lifted her up or consoled or just did something; anything. She kept looking at the end of the road in her blurry vision.

If she was picked up then and loved or atleast was shown the gesture of love after she stopped crying, she doesn't remember. Afterall, she was a four year old.

__________

And now, because I'm stating it myself, you may confirm that this four year old was my younger version. The she was me.

Take whatever piece of information you see relevant. I conveyed a feeling which was kept safely under one of the blankets. I didn't lift up the blanket because my heart couldn't stop shivering. So, I took a good feeling in my hand, slid it under the blanket and while I kept the good feeling, I stole this very piece of memory out of it. Shh, my heart doesn't realise yet. I hope it doesn't, atleast for a while.

There's a message I tried to convey through this memory but I won't blame you if you couldn't interpret the message. Afterall, I had to think of my heart, I couldn't just reveal something without its consent. But, neither could I break the promise I made with you that I'll try lifting up the blanket and reveal something.

I revealed, for you. 

And not directly, for my heart.

I have to be the peacemaker and keep both of you satisfied. Just hoping to keep myself together while I unwind my heart.

I've buried it under the blankets for so long that I don't know if it's still in one piece or not.

Writing this has been hard. Difficult. I've literally gathered courage to write this one and stopped twice in the middle of writing. One when I wrote about me keeping my hand at the base of the throat because at that moment, I shattered a bit. Second I stopped was when the four year old girl asked him to stay and her mother took her and made her stand on her legs again while she said to the cousin it was all okay.

see I'm telling you so much about myself, even the things that could be left unsaid

This has been hard but I still wrote. Told you about myself, indirectly but there's so much in this little story. So damn much, really.

If I could do this, you can too. I told this to all of you, here, on this platform. You've to tell yourself about the things you keep running from. I won't say it's easier than telling publicly. But I'll definitely say that even if it's not easy, you can do it. You're yours, darling. Allow all of yourself to you. If lifting blanket is hard, take tiny moments from under it while giving bribes of pleasant memories to your heart.

The four year old me would have loved me today, I guess. I wish.

She isn't talked about a lot. 

All your versions would love you more, just allow them, okay?

This is the first stage of me revealing things about myself. So, before continuing further in next write-ups, let me state already that, 

I think, I might be a terrible person.

and now you know why I quoted Miranda July in the very starting of this write-up

~Miss V