Once upon a time in a small community, there lived a nice young girl called Lucky. She laughed and skipped around and had a few friends. She treasured her friendships, took relationships to heart and was honest with everyone. One day she met another girl, Sheila. This new girl was popular and had many friends. Everyone loved her wit and charm and craved some time with her.
Sheila and Lucky hit it off and started spending time together.
For the most part Lucky would talk of her day and Sheila would listen. The littlest of things. Of the foods she liked, the games she played. About how she felt during stressful times, what made her happy, little memories that came rushing to her whenever Sheila was around. Of how she didn’t really like her mom, the times when she felt she let her dad down, the time when a creepy old uncle abused her, the time when a boy had a crush on her, her first love. It was something she had no control of. She’d speak and Sheila would listen. Adding in an occasional comment or two, edging her on, smiling, listening. Lucky basked in the perfect little bond that they shared. It was special and unique.
One day Sheila walked up to Lucky and said that she spoke too much. There was just too much noise. She enjoyed a few of her conversations, but not all. They had too many tiffs, disagreed on many things. She decided she didn’t need this discomfort and that they shouldn’t be friends anymore.
This rattled the usually stable Lucky. Shook her up and threw her off balance. She had no idea Sheila felt this way, especially when everything was going okay. Sheila was being sensitive, throwing things out of proportion, thought Lucky. Friends fought, friends cared, and then friends made up. Lucky never understood what the big deal was. She suspected something else was up. She cried and explained and begged and pleaded and even offered to go make other friends, but Sheila remained steadfast. She said she thought about it but no, she didn’t have time anymore for her, as Lucky was just sapping all her time away. She’d really wanted more friends, not just one friend.
It took all of Lucky’s courage and willpower to step away, but she did. What else could she do? From where she stood, to go any further anywhere, she now saw two options.
One was to feel anger, shame, let-down and create arrogance within her. Become egoistic and selfish, she was told. If Sheila didn’t need her, it could work the other way too. Lucky was way better. Give Sheila the boot. She deserved it for the harsh cruel way she dealt with Lucky. “Keep your head high, you are not at fault” – a voice convinced her.
A few others told her to let go. Move away, step away. Reflect on the good stuff, keep the fun times alive, but importantly stay away. Make other friends. Shelia was not irreplaceable.
Choice 1 was hard. She couldn’t do it. She tried and it only made her miserable. By nature she was a peace-loving and down to earth person, so acting haughty was a lot of hard work.
Choice 2 was a bit better. She didn’t make new friends, she preferred the few she had left. Yet, something kept gnawing at her insides. She couldn’t stay away. That made her miserable as well.
You see, Lucky’d gotten used to Sheila, she missed those times. She had to tell her everything, every little thing that happened with her. Since she couldn’t do it now, she felt miserable. Yet again. So she thought and thought hard. It hit her one fine day. She did what she thought she could do and yet not let Sheila wind of it, bother Sheila, or let herself down.
Small words, long ones, deep and sensitive, flippant and causal, full of mirth and angst, making her laugh and cry, and am sure moving the reader if anyone read it that is. Words poured from within. Like an open tap, they flowed. Filling pages, and pages, and bytes. She wrote and typed, and typed and wrote. She wrote every day. Like a journal, a steady stream of words. From the time she woke up, to the time she slept, what she wore, what she ate, the new skirt that she bought, the fact that she burnt her finger with the iron, how she wore her hair these days, the new shops she visited, songs that she liked, the translations that she made of the songs she knew Sheila liked, the movies that she saw, the fights she had with the rest, the times when people were rough on her, the times when she fought back. Details. Details that would’ve just taken a few seconds for her to say now consumed more time, more words, more white space. Time that Lucky really did not have but she squeezed it in somehow. Between chores, reading books, watching her favorite shows and what’s expected of her at home.
Diligently she kept at it. Days passed and months zipped away. Pages kept getting filled.
Pages neatly saved in her draft folder bulged at the seams. The inbox groaned under the weight of all these drafts. Somewhere in the corner of her heart, she held onto the hope that one day Sheila would want to sit with her while she read all those out. A smidgeon of hope that flickered just a little bit more with each passing day.
All those words bundled together, tightly packed within. Words that would never see the light of the day. Sentiments within never to be expressed. One day, they would all be whisked away, just like she would.
Silent, unread, under-appreciated, yet filled with hope.