pritimindfeeling

[pritimindfeeling]

What would be the answer to this question? The leaves starting to turn color now. Something is special about today. It’s chilly, but also very warm. How is that possible? Made friends and believed in myself. Believing me, even if it feels wrong. Doubt has always been a part of the game. You are a woman; they always wanted you to doubt you. What was the question again? I think it is lost deep under the burden of chaos. She thinks in the letters of peace, yet the language remains unspoken. If it was ever spoken, they could have finally be the good person they always wanted to be. But she taped her mouth, because she hurt the world by successfully becoming the beacon in many lives. Does that mean she isn’t a good person or are you so desperate to silence her, to prove to everyone you are the good person? Was that the question? No. But the grass under the backyard chairs started to collect dew drops. The humidity is high, but the air is slowly sinking. What do you think the squirrels would do, if we took down all the trees it hid its nuts in for the winter? Maybe the subconscious would finally reveal to them that they were unfair to her. She was hurt by the same person that announced they care about her. Maybe squirrels would be upset. Feel this tense sensation of betrayal. Or maybe the squirrel would forgive the people that damaged it’s opportunity to survive the winter. Before all that, the squirrel may be already dead with the fallen trees. That answered the question. You only thought of yourself, yet she didn’t listen.

— PB

[pritimindfeeling]

My mind was convinced,

That I don’t yearn for you.

Then I stumble upon your photographs…

Your bright smile,

Your dreamy eyes,

Stole the courage I had to walk away. 

— PB

[pritimindfeeling]

Each time we walked away from each other,

Each time you wanted to come back,

You kept saying it was the bad timing.

But honey, have you ever wondered,

Who made that time run wild?

Have you ever considered,

Who ran away from time?

Even if the world stood still forever,

You’d run.

Even if it was the end of the world,

You wouldn’t be ready.

One choice to trust,

One decision to be loyal,

One single opportunity to let go of control,

To accept it and commit to it,

Would have brought so many fireflies together,

Humming around us,

Whispering in our ears,

That it’s worth it.

That it’s compassion and love,

Living in harmony.

That it was care for our existence in this world,

That breathed our super power.

We whisper, whisper…

But that was met with silence or scream.

I waited and waited,

I waited long enough for the fireflies to whisper,

It’s time to go, find a new world to explore.

This tornado of uncertainty has taken everything from us.

Now it’s time to let go.

—PB

[pritimindfeeling]

The Noise

The sound of gushing wind is only getting louder. I can’t tell anymore if it is my ears or reality. I forgot the last time I heard the nature. But the most memorable noise was the twigs breaking under my feet as I tip toed around the neighbor’s dog to pluck the ripe most mangoes from their garden. It was a pit bull and she was a very loving dog. But her owner was not kind to her, her anxiety from him made her sensitive to her surroundings and bark often. I often contemplated on running away with her as a child. But I was afraid of that man as well. He is awful to people and animals alike. But I couldn’t understand why my fears for him was so great. Why did he make me feel so powerless so easily? Strangely enough, I still continued to “borrow” his mangos. As if I am serving some sort of justice for that dog. Or maybe, for myself?

The burden of not being able to hear as well was getting to me as an adult. The noise was only tameable ever so often, but there are days when it would bring me to tears. My mother always told me, girls who show her tears shows vulnerability to predators. She often blamed the victim when a rape case with a female victim came to light. She would clutch onto the newspaper, her teeth gritting and eyes filled with rage. I never understood why she was so worked up about just an article on the newspaper. I often don’t take her words seriously, but crying was exceptionally difficult for me. I am not sure why, but when pain brought me to tears I felt more hurt from crying than the pain itself.

The other day, my doctor told me there’s an experimental method that may improve my hearing capability. The risk of that would be to not ever hear again or hear the gushing louder consistently. The noise has become my primary reason to cause unpleasant headaches. As a result, I have been sensitive towards my partner’s behavior. She signed to me the other day that she has been too patient with me and that I am a terrible person. She got upset with me the other day for not calling her when I passed out from my headaches. She often tells me I overwhelm her and that I am too needy. I agree, it is so kind of her to deal with my triggers from the noises. I don’t see her very often as she needs to work day and night. Sometimes she is working the whole night and she sleeps during the day resulting in postponing our plans. I want her to move in with me, so even if I get to see her face for a minute at home I will feel happy. She makes me happy. I am considering to try the experimental method, so I can spend quality time with my loved ones and not bother them with my headaches anymore.

A friend told me today, I should go to a therapist. They mentioned they are concerned for me. I don’t understand why I should consider it, I am very happy. It’s these noises. These constant gushing noises that’s been ruining my life! Why do I hear the wind anyway? I hated going to the beaches for the noise. I hated going to the fields for the noise. Why did I keep hearing them? I don’t remember how I lost my hearing. I don’t remember a lot of my childhood. I do remember the sound the twigs made as I stepped on them on my neighbors garden. I remember that noise the most.

--PB

[pritimindfeeling]

A Sign

I understood her from the very start. But it was not enough to save her. I’ve walked around her neighborhood every single afternoon, only to realize I couldn’t find the answer there. Not after she was gone.

Her apartment already had a new tenant, a walking shadow crossing the veiled window while the sun began to set. But that’s not her, I reminded myself, she would open the curtains and luminously stare at the sunset. Her coffee stained shirt would tell you the tale of her daily motions and as she passively stares out the window, her dog would hop on the window sill greeting the neighbors excitedly.

That was Jasmine. A warm hearted beauty that we will never get to figure out. I am raking my brain trying to comprehend, what made her do it? What am I missing here? Was I not attentive enough to her sessions? Did I say something to remind her of her past? Even during our sessions her smiles were bottomless. It filled my heart in ways I cannot express. How could I have saved her? My time was occupied with the conference preparations, how could I have known I will be coming back to woe. No...I should have... I should have been there. I cannot deny that I have learned of her pain, I was the only one who knew her. Enticed with her acceptance, I have forgotten the price she paid for that smile. The sacrifices she made for each sweet giggle that came from her heart. 

Maybe it was a mistake to accept her offer. I believed she was happy. I was happy. Her tender soul made an egghead weak and his brain scrambled. She had the power to penetrate my thought process and articulate it to perfection. And I loved it, every part of it. I couldn’t say no to her. I just couldn’t. She made it impossible to make a sensible decision. Maybe she convinced herself to be insensible too.

Tomorrow is her funeral. Her mother desires that I speak at the ceremony. I am unsure as to what words should depart my lips, but I do know that I will feel her loss for every one of them. I have failed to save her life, to do my part. Yet here I am, rewarded with an undeserved opportunity that frankly I’d never prefer to perform. I would rather have her by my side, to hold my hand. I hope you know that Jasmine, I would have done anything to see you smile. If only you gave me a sign.

—PB

[pritimindfeeling]

Dear Diary

I haven’t found your diary on time. But I miss it the most. I still remember that tiny little limited edition popeye sticker you punched on the hard cover, that exposed it’s flamboyant glitters as you trotted under the sun. Every tree you passed got a little touch of that spinach green and never have they forgotten your glee as you wrote down your ideas.

You were so passionate about your inventions. Though they were only childish doodles, they were miracles to me. Every page of your diary was an overwhelming memory. Memory of when we found that one maple leaf that trancended to the ground incomplete and remained partially emerald. The diary remained stained brown where you placed it and somehow I still remember the earthy frangrace it reveals everytime we opened it.

I can’t accept it that you’re gone. I couldn’t accept your diary left too. What memories I had of you are slowly fading away. It was 64 years ago when you went missing. But I held onto your memory last. And as my memories fade away, I can still remember the warmth I felt in my heart. When I saw the last thing you wrote in your diary, was my name.

—PB

[pritimindfeeling]

The Giant The Dragon The War

Author’s Note: Title’s not final. I had a dream and I started writing a story based on it, but never really wrote more than this. Maybe I will feel pressured after posting this haha.

Chapter 1

I have told him before. We shouldn’t have gone to Gefnad. It was a city sending infinite invitations to madame disaster. Donsi is a beautiful country. Its my homeland and as a young woman from small town I have only so much to dream of. I only wanted the nature and my camera. To live in a cabin and hike forever. Simple life was all I ever hoped for. But that ended when Rubineet came to my life.

Rubi and I met at college second year, he is a transfer student from the capital city Gefnad. Rubi is a physicist. Not the bookworm kind but the ones who have found their place in news for their inventions. He didn’t like the word engineer. People always assumed he was one but he said it was only narrowing his chance to expand his knowledge. He came to Surae, my hometown, because of a research my college progressed in using the unique natural resources Surae offers.

Surae is not only beautiful and offers minerals and herbs but also native to strange mystical aura that has ancestral connection to the land and people here. You may find anything that is everything but no one seeks it. Because you will only experience this mysticism when you have specific criteria and only chaos comes otherwise. The native shamans who have been practicing and preserving the mysticism has told us to show respect to our ancestors by not seeking. And we have listened to them for centuries. Until now.

—PB

[pritimindfeeling]

The Coffee Shop

The coffee shop had my favorite blend of coffee. I don’t know the name but it’s only this particular cafe that carried it. It was a very small family owned shop. The barista there has been a barista for 20 years. This shop is all she have known, it was everything for her. What most people didn’t know, is that Gloria was autistic. Her charming personality kept the customers distracted from what she struggled with daily with everyday life. She is a very good barista though. Her mocha tasted like hot chocolate dipped in thick syrup made of the bitterest coffee. Gloria knew what her customers wanted and she provided with the uttermost delicious results.

Gloria ends her shift about 5 PM. At that time, a teenager replaces her. The teen is the owner’s niece. After leaving the shop, she tucks her tips in her warm trench coat and passes by the farmer’s market close to her home. She makes a stop to the market thrice a week. One day for fruits and vegetables, one day for meat and bread, and another day to pick something special. Specials are picked usually on Tuesdays. She mentioned her son sometimes visits her on Tuesdays. She loved her son very much and she wanted to express it through something delightful. I often wondered if she offered her coffees to her son as that has the special kick she may hoped her son would’ve wanted. One day, I was passing by her home and looked through her windows. Only to realize her special days were not as delightful as it sounds. On those special days, she was grieving her son. She provided the special meals as an offering. And there it was, in a tiny cup beside the offering, Gloria’s famous hand brewed coffee.

--PB

[pritimindfeeling]

Hello.