Growing pangs

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “All Grown Up.”

I smoked my last cigarette a while back

I have not smoked since

The whole world moves on, and I feel the need

But, I have not smoked since

I do not feel morally superior

I do not feel like I am a great person

But, this was a decision taken

To feel better about myself

This decision was taken for me

By myself

And even though a cocktail of sadness awaits me every night

And even though, I know it ain’t going to be alright

Am fine

I am growing up

And I smoked my last cigarette a week back

A gift of care

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mystery Box.”

The camera closes in on a broken hearted man staring at the sole gift he has received. His face showcases surprise and a bit of joy. He wishes to approach the gift now, but, he stops before his hands reach the wrapping.

In his childhood, the first time he had received the gift it was a mistake. he had uncovered the filmsy covering to reveal worms underneath. Gifts thereafter had always been more and more lacklustre leaving behind nothing at all. He stopped to think if this would be the same.

Camera changes focus.

He walks up to the street lighting a half smoked cigarette. He speaks of things that he doesn’t understand in order to sound enlightened. And then he quits.

He is still reaching out, and the gift opens by itself

He cries as he realises what it is.

A friendship wrapped in cotton.

A kiss till he goes to sleep.

Silence surrounds the night as the man who talks at the night with a cigarette disappears.

I am me….

Kids, and a tinge of sadness

One of my friends is having a baby, and it is supposed to be a happy occasion.
However, yesterday, having a conversation with someone I should henceforth call N, we revisited the topic of kids and it became a bit sad again.

See, there are two things you feel very deeply once you realize you prefer men, there is the feeling of fear as you see prosecution, and there is this paranoia about what the future is to bring.
Cut back to 2012, I was talking with a teacher that changed my life then, and he told me that he wanted a child. However, he was gay, and adoption laws there had not created that window for him. He wished and wished that somehow he’d get through, somehow he’d have this little bundle of joy who would call him “Papa”, but, it was not to be.
I lost contact with him after that, and after having a tumultuous few years, here I am blogging.

You see, we are not equipped to have children. And there is a fair chance that these dreams of having a child of my own will never come to fruition. Sure, N might see this post and tell me to be hopeful, because she is exactly that kind of a girl, but, then I am a skeptic at heart.

You know what I felt when I heard that my friend was having  a baby?

I felt jealous.

And I felt sorry for myself.

I know that is not a social behavior but, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to have a child and a partner by the time I was 30, I wanted to have a small flat where I could just play and teach her things and raise her up better.

You see, there is this compulsion we carry, of being better parents, being more inclusive parents and teaching our children better than we have been taught. And that is something I have within me. Heck, I had quit smoking because I didn’t want to turn out like my pops who is forever covered by a blanket of smoke over his features.
But, this is it then, having a child was something that I really wished for.

God, can you imagine the little hand closing in on your finger, those half spoken sentences and those whispers you can’t make a sense of? I do that with my nephew now, and whenever I keep playing with him my cousins tell me something crass like “He is not your girlfriend man”

hand_holding_finger_bw

But, that’s not the point. He’s a kid. With him I do not have to meet this obligatory social regulations. He does not care if my elbows are on the table when I eat, he certainly does not care if I speak to myself at the end of the day. He is just, well, a little bundle of joy (except when he hits me hard with the pillow because that does hurt).

But, there is this deal.

I make my want of children into a joke, I joke about how I would be a terrible dad, because am a terrible person. I joke about about the fetus is going to gestate in a box, and I am scared about surrogacy.

But, I want to be a father, not because I claim to be mature, and certainly not because I somehow am capable. But, because for once, I want to be with someone who is innocent, someone who has dreams in their eyes, and I want to give them a world that accepts those dreams instead of turning them away, and I know it’s not going to happen soon but, I wish it would.

Current Listen – Bon Jovi