I Wasn’t Always Like This – Saina Gupta

I Wasn’t Always Like This
– Saina Gupta

tick. tick. tick. tick. It is 4:37 AM. The sun usually shines through my window at around 5. I have an exam today- I’ve barely prepared for it. I have my notes open on my laptop, and my notebooks are spread across the bed. My eyes are getting blurry, the words are starting to look like a string of characters. The air in my room seems to be getting warmer? thinner? Perhaps that’s just in my head. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock is getting louder. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears now. Somehow, the silence is louder too.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
I dig my nails into my palms and head to the blissfully cool floor tiles. I sit and put my head between my knees. Inhale 1 2 3 4…Exhale 1 2 3 4…Inhale 1 2… 

I have to go to a party today. I dread every second of it now. I put on the outfit I’d planned in my head. The clothes feel heavy on my skin. I start doing my makeup. The eyeliner isn’t symmetric, the kajal makes my eyes water. I wash my face and start over. The blush is too bright now. Start over. I look like a clown. Start over. I look like a corpse. Start over. The lipstick makes me look like Ronald McDonald. Start over. Start over. Start over. Start over. My face is red now. More concealer. All of it is too much and somehow still not enough to make me look pretty. It’s never enough anymore. I look into the mirror to get a final look. There’s a monster in there I don’t recognise.

I swear it wasn’t always like this. I remember what parties used to be like, once upon a time. I’d put on my favourite yellow frock, sneak my mom’s bright pink lipstick, buckle up my shiny black shoes. And just like that, I’d be the prettiest little girl in the entire world. I was never too big or too loud or too boring or trying too hard. I was just pretty. My mom would make me pose for photos every time, always reminding me how elegant I looked. I’d spend so long staring at myself in the mirror afterwards, revelling in every little compliment I was given. 

My mom joins me for the photos now. We pose  in front of the mirror, fix each other’s outfits, do our makeup and have girl time together. I don’t tell her that this is mostly for her sake now; I try my best to give her the same reminders she gives me, just to see a shy smile creep across her face. I hope she recognises the fact that I mean every word I say, because I can’t bring myself to let her know that I do not recognise the person I see when I gaze into the mirror alone. 

I’m at the party now. I join my friends on the dance floor. I love dancing, I always have. I never skip a chance to glance into the reflective metallic plate on the wall, though. It’s not even a conscious decision, just a habit. Not a hair out of place. Good. We click photos, everyone needs to get their own. I only look good in the photos on my phone. I want to make everyone else delete the ones on theirs. My social battery is running out, I want to go home. I hate being perceived.

It is nighttime now, the world should be quiet. Mine isn’t. I hate being alone with my thoughts- it’s absolutely terrifying. I hear everyone’s voices telling me all the things I should be anxious about. How dare you fall asleep when you have all of this to worry about? Do you just not take it seriously enough? Do you just not care? If you cared you would’ve gotten it done earlier. Or you would’ve stayed up to get it done. You’re getting so irresponsible lately. You’ve let yourself go. What happened to that little girl who had so much potential? She’d be so disappointed in you. The voices start blending together and I can feel the pressure in my bones as they start building up. There’s no way I can fall asleep now. I’ll turn on a screen and watch something random until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. That way the voices aren’t as loud.

It wasn’t always like this. I remember when what I had was potential, not wasted potential. When there were no voices telling me everything was wrong. There was promise in my future and a sparkle of hope in my smile. I remember when I dreaded my days because they were so boring, not because they were terrifying. Scary nights as a kid were so much easier. When the world got too loud, I’d just run 5 steps to my parents’ room and squeeze in between them. Somehow there was just enough space. My dad wouldn’t even be fully conscious but he would always put his arm around me, like it was instinct. I’d rest my head in the crook of his shoulder, and calm myself to his rhythmic breathing and strong, reliable heartbeat. Because as long as I was in that bed, snuggled between them, all was well in the world. Nothing bad could happen in papa’s arms. All my worries were ridiculous and insignificant. My world was safe.

I wish there was a way to know when you’re experiencing something for the last time. How am I supposed to accept the fact that eventually there will be a day when I walk through the halls of my school for the last time? The last time I live under the same roof as my family. There’s going to be a last time I feel exactly as I feel right now and there will be a last time someone I love says I love you. I wish I knew the last time I exchanged little notes in class, the last time I hugged my friends who have since moved away. The last time my mom tucked me into bed, and sang me to sleep. The last time I sat on my dad’s shoulders, the last time I picked my brother up in my arms, the last time my mom read to me. I wish I knew the last time I took that 5-step trip to my parents’ room, laid my head on my dad’s shoulder and fell asleep. I would’ve stayed for longer.

 

Working on Saudade has been a core memory in the making. Going through all the submissions, especially my favourites, over and over again, has made me tear up more times that I can count. I’ve seen everyone experience Saudade- the love that remains, through all forms of expression. From capturing the feeling through art and photography to finding its meaning in words, I feel beyond honoured to have been trusted with some of the most vulnerable pieces I’ve ever seen. As you flip through this issue’s pages, I hope that it makes you feel every emotion, the very essence of Saudade and what it truly means. Maybe you too will want to take that 5 step trip to your parents’ room tonight. I know I will.

 

With all my love,

Saina. 

 

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