cosmicpeony

[cosmicpeony]

childhood

[to all the fellow "gifted" children out there who actually had undiagnosed anxiety and/or are neurodivergent— presented "well" in some ways and not others— i see you.]

—

as a toddler, my mother tells me i was a social butterfly. on the days she brought me to work at the airport, i’d befriend even the grumpiest of her customers. 

(later, pressing my nose against the window, i watch them take off and wish i could follow.)

in preschool, i cling to my mother’s shirt until it tears. i plead and i bargain, and i ask her not to leave me there.

(i will never get along with children my age.)

in kindergarten, i beg my parents to let me take the bus; i want to be like the other kids. 

(i end up sitting alone, wishing i never asked. the bus is overrated)

in first grade, we are taken aside, one-by-one, and instructed to read a passage, timer running. 

(among my classmates, i am the only one who breezes through the page, time to spare.)

this is the year i am also plagued by nightmares. even the book my teacher reads to the class terrifies me, so i am excused to the bookshelf in the corner; i stick my head in a fantasy.

(often, i feel eyes flicker to me in the corner. my nightmares continue.)

in second grade, i forget my homework in my desk more often than not. i am too busy day-dreaming to notice.

(like clockwork, i am pulled out of line to stand along the brick wall at break. i stand, and i watch them all run off,)

in math, i see squiggles on the blackboard, instead of numbers. i do not learn my multiplication tables this year.

(my teacher deems me a hopeless case. i get prescription glasses a year later.)

—

i move towns.

—

in third grade, i make my first real friends. i switch classes, higher and higher until i strain against the ceiling. 

(i am moved to a “gifted” school. i will not see my friends again.)

—

in fourth grade, my mother and i make a ritual of sitting under the shade of the large oak tree in the school parking lot, fifteen minutes before the bell rings.

(it takes my favorite song and a few tears to muster the courage to leave the car, every time.)

in fifth grade, i fail almost all my math tests. my parents are called in and i sit in the hall, head on my knees. when the door opens, i am told i am to come in early on friday mornings.

(i finally learn my multiplication tables.)

—

i move towns once again. you know how it goes.

[cosmicpeony]

almond tea cake

cw: depressive episode

prologue:

in urdu, there are maybe dozens of words to describe light. 

the word noor, for example, describes the light in someone’s face. 

joie de vivre— the life, and the radiance.

i used to think it was just a flowery word— just poetry— until that august, when all the noor disappeared from my face 

and i was lost.

—

interlude:

those months felt like a daze. 

in the violent sea of my thoughts, i clung to a makeshift raft. 

clouds shrouded my vision, and armor protected my heart. 

nothing could get through, good or bad; i prayed for the storm to end.

but like errant beams of light, kindness managed to peek through.

—

during this time, my grandfather was the one person who never gave up on me.

(that is not to say that my friends did not try their best

and, after all, my parents were the ones burdened with the task of dragging me out. 

day in and day out, the sisyphus to my boulder). 

when i visited, my grandfather would take a look at my face. 

he would go quiet. 

and then he would offer me sweets, or a story— two of my favorite things as a child. 

i cracked a weak smile, and politely refused.

(later, my mother tells me: 

your grandfather would cry on the phone, after you left. 

what has happened to my granddaughter? the light has gone out in her face. 

what will i do?)

—

interlude:

the storm spat me onto an island, and dissipated. 

i basked in the sun for the first time in months, and i let it warm my bones. 

and then, i decided to build myself a boat; i would not survive on the raft, not for any longer. 

i inhaled the salty air— exhaled the bones— and got to work.

—

months later in the spring, i went back to visit my grandfather. 

once again, he studied my face. 

he paused. 

and he offered me a cup of warm tea and a plate of petite almond sponge cakes.

i smiled, and i picked one up. 

i took one bite. 

and then another. 

i ate one, and then i ate another.��

and i smiled again.

(to this day, i can’t find the words to describe the relief i saw in him. 

but i can tell you he shoved the entire box, still almost entirely full, in my hands as i was leaving. 

and i can tell you another two boxes were waiting for me the next time i came. 

how precious my smile must have been to him, to evoke such a response?)

—

this is how the day passed: the sun peeked through the windows, warming my bones. 

my grandfather offered me another sweet cake, and another story. 

and guided by the sound of his voice, i finally sailed home.

fin.

[cosmicpeony]

[cosmicpeony]

[my first post]

hi. i started this blog because i have a lot of stories and feelings to share. i'm not really good at poetry, but i figured i'd try. if you're reading this right now it means i probably really trust you, or you just somehow stumbled across this account. i hope you stay either way.

a little bit about me: my name is cosmicpeony (not really), i'm 21 years old, i'm a senior in college studying business, and my family is from pakistan. i like flowers and stars, in another life i probably would've studied anthropology or neuroscience or psychology or sociology, and i'm starting this blog as a way to heal.

since i was a kid, i'd always had big questions and big feelings, but no way to explain or express them. this blog will basically serve as my diary, a place for me to welcome thoughts/emotions/memories and give them a place to live for when i want to visit them later. i'll also post lessons/breakthroughs/reminders from therapy.

while the primary purpose of this blog is to help myself, i hope you can also find some value in it. welcome, and i'm really happy you're here.