avatar-things

[avatar-things]

Flashback

2015, maybe December. 

It was the first time I’d felt something change. I felt lighter, I let my fist loose, unclenched my teeth, walked with a straight back with bags hooked on both my shoulders and felt the sun right in my eyes. I didn’t move away, I let it hit me. I looked back down and things blurred. The world was out of focus for exactly 3 seconds before I could see things clearly. She stood right there. Red sweater, hairs braided on two sides, a blue bag hooked on just one shoulder. She was the cool girl. I got conscious, looked at my shoulder and dropped the strap. My bag was too heavy, so I lost control.  I knew she wouldn’t look at me, she was on the other side of the ground. But the feeling of being cool when we shared the exact same sky, and breathed the same air was enough inspiration for this masculine act. I panted my way up the stairs. The bag was really heavy for just one shoulder. She entered the classroom, and took her seat. I watched her as I brought my fingers to my forehead and with swag, wiped my sweat. I’d learnt it from a movie, but there was no audience that actually saw my swag. I waited for someone to look at me so I could do it again. She looked back, I hurriedly tried doing the same movement again and poked my eye. The world blurred for 8 seconds this time.

Someone shouted, “Avatar, it's your turn, collect all math homework and arrange it roll number wise.” I walked from desk to desk getting everyone’s copies. I enjoyed this copy collector duty, this would let me have a brief moment with her. I’d still say nothing, just stand and keep the pile of copies in-front of her, and she’d drop her copy on the pile. But I’d be close to her. I had by this time given up all hopes of talking to her. I mean she’d come with a bag at just one shoulder, her bag had key rings and her box had an inbuilt sharpener. I stood no chance. She’d sing One Direction songs without missing a word. It had been 8 months since I had already rejected myself. 

And I started arranging copies roll number wise. Even her roll number was so far away from me. Well, but I liked her, I put my copy right under hers. The academic cuddling was the best romance I could conjure. It was also a chance for another brief interaction, for the teacher to call her name and then the right next name would be mine. We’d be together in the teacher’s breath. 

“Who was the copy collector today?” The teacher broke my trance. “Avatar” some idiot kid pointed at me straight away. Before I could gather my senses I had been slapped twice. “Didn’t I ask you to arrange it roll number wise? What is your problem?” Before I could answer, another slap had crushed my skin. I felt jolted, I looked at her. She was looking right at me. I held my gaze. She held hers. The teacher had moved on to writing some stupid formula on the board, but we held each other’s gaze. For 14 seconds. 

As school finished that day, I walked back down, skipping steps. I had proclaimed my love and was successful at it and only I knew about it. It was mine. Just mine.

[avatar-things]

सपनामा देखेको अरुलाई भने त्यो पुरा हुँदैन रे त्यसैले त म कसैलाई भन्दिन तिमी सुटुक्क सपनामा आएको र म तिम्रो काखमा टाउको राखी निदाएको । 

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Is there no way, in my soul’s sickness, Does not lead to damnation in pride? I well know that these temptations Mean present vanity and future torment. Can sinful pride be driven out Only by more sinful? Can I neither act nor suffer Without perdition?  

- T.S. Eliot 

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"we can probably go eat sushi, i guess" she said as she slowly played with her hair. looked sideways and continued sipping lemonade from her metal straw. the moment played out in absolute slow motion; her eyes, her half done mascara, hair slicked back, brought down sideways. "she could do a shampoo commercial" i thought, as I fiddled around with my cigarette, thinking once, twice, thrice whether or not i should light it.

"sure, i LOVE sushi" i said under my breath, intimidated by her presence all this time i was just mumbling, laughing awkwardly at my own jokes and stealing glances of her. finally i did it, took the matchbox, rubbed it ever so gently on its side and brought the fire close to my nose, lighting the cigarette. i looked at her, wanting to know how she felt, she raised her hand ever so slowly and with a swift movement cleaned the smoke in front of her. "fuck", i thought, i have ruined this.

i could taste the sour smell of cigarette in the pit of my stomach, i started thinking in slow motion again

things i love :  sidewalks, color orange, fruit orange, hands that slowly peel the orange, sun-rays, curtains, table fans, wrist watches, water bottles, coffee, cigarettes, shampoo, your locket, your ring, the button of your shirt, fingers, eyes, hair, music, Murakami, Pamuk, your name, YOU.

things i don't : SUSHI. 

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i first heard your name from someone else, then read it on your insta handle. how wonderful would it have been if you were the one that told me your name. i would know how you pronounced it, which letters you stressed on, how your lips would make a certain shape and how much your tongue would roll. i would practice saying your name, the exact same way as you did for hours, replicating the same intensity, same shape of the lip and the precise rolling of the tongue. i never got to hear your name and i guess i never knew how to say it, like you would. to say your name with passion, taking your name is like kissing your name every time i speak of you. i wonder if i'm doing it correctly. i ring each syllable precisely, without hurry, with devotion, maybe your name is the closest i'll come to praying. 

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बदाम , सुन्तला , पानी : garden of dreams तिमी, म , न्यानो घाम : छाता निद्रा , नयाँ तन्ना , झरी : सपना नेपाली कागज , चिट्ठी , मसी : भावना हाते घडी , तिम्रो शल , मन्द हावा : प्रेम कफी , चुरोट , कपमा लगेको तिम्रो lipstick को दाग : खुशी बाटो, हामी , हाम्रो हुन नसकेको सम्बन्ध  : कल्पान्त । 

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Yours (now I'm even losing my name - it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now: Yours)

Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

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I am an emotional plagiarist, stealing other people's pain, subsuming it into my own until I can't remember whose it is any more.

Sarah Kane

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Podcast with the amazing Bhushita Vasistha.