The Eid Gift

Sparrow,

Nothing feels right to me. Every year when Eid draws near like this, this thing—"I can't bear anything, nothing feels good"—takes hold of me. I'm afraid of celebrations, afraid of gifts. I fear crowds of people, their praise, even their love. New clothes, salami money, cosmetics, pulao, vermicelli—it all feels like too much.

Why do people invite sorrow with such elaborate preparations, can you tell me? Where do people buy these colorful moods when they have time for such luxury? I can't even sleep properly at night, and here they are with all this grandeur!

My exhaustion stretches through the whole year, but when any festival comes, that exhaustion takes on a frightening shape. I want to escape, to disappear. I don't want anyone to find me or ask what's wrong.

I don't know what's wrong. I don't enjoy talking to anyone, don't enjoy answering any questions. I need to oil my hair until it's soaked. Take a bath in lukewarm water, eat a plate of hot rice, and sleep deeply. Tell everyone, please! This is all I need. I don't need anyone's gifts, affection, invitations, love, or rickshaw rides.

I just want to sleep a little. Can't everyone together give me this one gift this Eid?