The Plaster of the Wall of Thoughts: 105

Reflection: Seven Hundred Thirty-Nine

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One. A terrible truth is that many geniuses don't know they are geniuses. Often, the reason for this ignorance is woman. I've seen many instances where a woman's hand is behind settling a genius into a well-established, cow-like existence.

Yes, in some cases, women too fall victim to such adversity.

I have probably never seen with my own eyes a woman standing by her husband's passion. Not even when that passion is small. They have always opposed it. And if any woman allows her partner to be himself, people say the woman is careless or the woman has some love affair going on.

Two. Getting drenched in the sudden downpour, the seventeen-year-old girl suddenly thought, 'Strange, I never liked rain before, so why this sudden thrill today?'

The twenty-one-year-old mad boy from the next house stood by the window watching the girl's antics, and scolding himself unconsciously, said, 'Damn it! Why must I abandon my studies to secretly watch this girl's madness? But it feels so good to watch. Her childlike behavior, the smudged kohl in her eyes washed by rain, the tinkling bangles on her hands and the chime of those anklets...!'

Such things somehow strike the heart!

Actually, love perhaps happens this way—without letting anyone know anything, just suddenly. Getting drenched in rain, standing on the street eating puchka, sometimes writing notes together in the library, or sometimes noisily drinking tea at the tea stall. Those that happen with careful planning, fixing dates and times, seem somehow like written commitments on paper.

With love go only rain, kohl, bangles, anklets, secret meetings between two people, unconscious laughter...all these. The word commitment sounds terribly out of place with love!

Three. I don't know if I've improved in any other way since falling in love with you, but I can say with absolute certainty that I was never this mad before. Now I've become completely like a car with failed brakes, that's how I feel about myself. When I say what, there's no logic to my words at all, suddenly some thought comes pecking inside my head, and there's no peace until I speak it out. I don't even know if what I'm going through in this broken state can be called love. I see everyone else in love, but none of them behave as madly as I do...and when did I become so mad! I used to know very well that everything has its proper place, its boundaries, so where is this topsy-turvy behavior coming from now! Love in love's place, work in work's place, but now I can't remember which is which, now every place has become one place! I know that by acting this way I'm only harming myself, it won't matter to anyone else.

Four. Each day, bit by bit, as I surpass your writer-self and become so deeply addicted to this dependence on you as a person...was even this much necessary, tell me?

There's so much light around me...yet when you come, I somehow lose myself in the strange darkness of your absence and find myself anew...

Why? Tell me?

What enchantment fills you so completely that you come to me like this? What is it that you possess which keeps me perpetually intoxicated with the longing to spend just a little more time with you, rising above all else? Why have I forgotten everything in hope of living by clinging to you alone as my punishment, in exchange for deliberate mistakes?
Was there really any need to become so addicted to you, tell me? Even in a crowd of thousands, when you are at the far end of the path... then I am utterly, utterly alone!
Five. If ever it happens that another beloved person enters your life, if you love them deeply, even if that day comes tomorrow, I will still plead with my Creator that somehow, by whatever means, He takes me away, because I do not wish to see such a day—such a day is no less than death itself. Rather, if the Creator takes me before I have to witness that day, then whatever else may happen, my reverence and faith in my own love will remain intact even then. It is far better to die keeping faith than to live having lost it. No person can survive losing faith in love—perhaps no one understands this as I do. This is why I wish that day never comes while I am alive. I don't know why I am like this, how I have become this way or am becoming so, but I know that bearing anything more than this will never be possible for me.
Thought: Seven Hundred Thirty

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One. You know, these days it often occurs to me that within you lives a child, a simple, innocent adolescent who deeply misses his childhood, who still wants to remain small as before, to see the world through uncomplicated eyes, to return again and again to those evergreen days of school-bunking from his childhood and youth. He wants to read countless books, stay up all night listening to beloved songs, playfully quarrel with younger siblings to his heart's content—exactly as before. He wants to transform his indomitable stubbornness into strength and become unique in the subjects he loves. He knows how to love people with his heart, without caring about any betrayal. He knows how to stake even his life for his beloved in love.
He simply loves to love everyone. No apparently tempting worldly object has ever been able to seduce him. In truth, he casually dismisses all those cheap, so-called wants and desires. Like the ambidextrous Arjuna, his aim is unerring. He thirsts terribly for beauty, much like myself. Falling in love with something good, something excellent, is certain or inevitable for him! Negative criticism, condemnation, cunning, hypocrisy, the mentality to judge, or any words that give rise to base thoughts—all these remain forever outside his personal dictionary. He eternally falls in love with magnificent art, living with a heart exactly like my own. Though a child dwells in his heart, with his sharp sense of self-respect he surpasses one Mount Everest after another!
Rina Brown and Krishnendu constantly spread their fragrance within his heart. How strange it would be not to fall in love with such a person! One whose mind is so beautiful, whose personality is so magnificent—he would naturally make me thoughtful, I would naturally love him. This is my destiny.
Two. When too much is said about love, love's color turns gray. Penetrating that gray carpet to reach love becomes exceedingly difficult. If a person truly feels reverence for love, that love transports him to another world entirely. That person can silently finish this sparrow's life with his beloved in the blink of an eye! But finding such a person in an entire lifetime is extremely arduous.
An entire lifetime might pass waiting to find such a person to love! And sometimes it happens that he does find that person, but fails to understand in time, and when he finally does understand, much later when he recognizes the person within that person, there's nothing much that can be done even if he wishes, or perhaps he inwardly prays for that opportunity again, but everything somehow changes in the blink of an eye!
When a person finds someone in his life who makes him forget every moment simply by having them, when thousands of moments pass with just smiling thoughts of them, then he never wants to lose that person. The fear of losing them, the restlessness sometimes drives him mad, and seeing him in such a state, his beloved might suddenly think: Is this the person I had fallen in love with? The one I loved wasn't like this! Could it be that everything he showed all this time was pretense? This never happens! It cannot happen!
The more a person can open himself to his beloved, the more he can reveal himself, the more liberated he becomes.
Love truly yearns for an open sky, but when that very sky begins to constrict, it thrashes about searching for pure air, like a bird caged despite having wings to fly. Though it possesses the power of flight, the vast expanse it once knew for spreading its wings—that is what no longer exists!
Perhaps you are beyond touch, maybe I have forgotten the scent of your body, but just as life lies scattered through my every tremor, you too exist exactly thus! You have remained, having touched my life—I wanted you to know this!
Three. You know, sometimes I think if someone were to tug at my beloved bird, I would go and shoot them dead. I don't know how I became such a madman—I understand nothing of this.
I know I judge everything first with emotion. But truly, being overly emotional about everything all the time won't do. I don't want you close merely for your touch, never have. Even when I had decided earlier to come to you, it was only because I would have you a little nearer that I accepted all your words and came to you. Yes, your touch gave me a sensation unlike any I had ever felt before. But I didn't come to you for any of that. I came to you loving only you, your very being. And this is why I remain always so eager to stay close to you, to speak with you a little, to hear your voice just briefly.
I don't know what your feelings are about me, what love truly means to you. But for me, your love means everything about you! This is why I act so childishly about all your affairs, just to see you. I don't know how one sustains a relationship of love from afar for an entire lifetime, but if the need arises, I will manage that too, because now I have no difficulty with anything. I can adapt myself to everything. I don't know when I will see you, or whether I ever will. I know nothing of these things. From now on, I won't wait so desperately to have you near. Whatever happens, happens—I have no difficulty with it. Even if we never meet again, it's no problem.
**Thought: Seven Hundred Thirty-One

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One. Whatever anyone might say, it is in the ocean's depths that the moon hides its blemishes in the deep of night. Then everyone proclaims the moon's reflection in the ocean's grandeur as unprecedented beauty. Here, the ocean's depths play no small role in the moon's very existence—rather, they play the greater part! Though the moon brings tides to the sea, the ocean's contribution in keeping the moon as the moon is not to be dismissed in the least.
Had your interests and mine not aligned, perhaps we wouldn't have had so much to talk about. Though I'm blessed in this regard. The people around me have always been writing something or other. I've been seeing this since higher secondary. Some friend or another was always writing.
They wrote with the intention of writing. I found the same when I came to university. In fact, I found it even more. Perhaps I naturally gravitated toward those who loved to write. Many people I know, close to me, around me, write. It feels good. And I'm grateful to everyone for always letting me read their work. This has been happening since high school. It continues even now. Truly, some things are quite astonishing when you think about them. And I've enjoyed reading everyone whose work I've encountered. It seems everyone writes well. It's also possible that I've selectively read only those who write well. That too is another blessing.
That you have an interest in literature, or that you yourself write so beautifully—I wouldn't have known any of this had I not searched for you on Facebook. But speaking with you, I had sensed that when you can speak so coherently, there must surely be something more to it!
Of course, these things vary from person to person. Whatever someone has no interest in becomes, to them, merely a waste of time. Not everyone can be drawn to every subject—that's only natural. But as far as I've observed, an artistic personality never fails to recognize another artistic soul, can never dismiss art, whether it falls within their own sphere of interest or not. I had seen this quality in you.
That a fine arts scholar student is not worthless but rather god-gifted, extraordinarily talented—the fact that you believe this made it all the more appealing to me, even though most people in Bangladesh see no point in studying fine arts. I'm giving this as one example. There are others like it. Among the national duties of Bangladeshi young people is studying engineering or medicine. If someone doesn't pursue these, they somehow don't count as a real student! Now there's also the BCS trend. If you can't become a BCS cadre, what was the point of coming into this world at all!—this is what many are thinking!
No, I'm not flattering you. There's no need to think that. I mentioned all this in passing conversation. I look at you and think, if only someone knew that this person who writes with such wild passion is, in reality, such vibrant, unrestrained chemistry! I truly had no idea of this side. That a writer's personality and real-life personality could differ so much—it's unimaginable!
I used to think that by reading someone's writing, hearing them speak, observing their discussions, you could understand the person quite well—not just a little, but substantially—from their perspective and mindset. Today I realize what a fool I was!
Though I still haven't been able to fully believe it, accept it, or reconcile myself to it. But I'm trying desperately... if nothing else, to at least maintain the pretense of reconciling myself to it. I had recognized wrongly, or known wrongly, or understood wrongly.
The thing is, when moving from negative to positive issues, something very good happens, but when going from positive to negative issues, whether anything good comes of it remains unknown. But it hurts terribly, I'm really not well.
I've grown far too accustomed to love. Like a proper addict. My mind has become entangled in the intoxication of ruined emotions, bound hand and foot. Everything has become unbearable. There's no blindness, yet I've become enslaved to some kind of unreasoning emotion. Did it really need to come to this, tell me?
Sometimes I feel angry. Sometimes helpless too. When the heart moves against reality, there's no greater helplessness than that. At least that's what I've understood.
Two. When someone learns something unknown about themselves from another person, something fundamental and novel that they had never learned before from anyone else, then they—whether in writing or conversation, or somewhere or other—end up expressing that feeling, and many around them, holding it within themselves, want to transform themselves in exactly that way, try to love in the same manner. And the whole thing eventually becomes something quite natural. They gaze toward where this journey began with supreme tenderness and love—this is natural.
Three. Thoughts of death can be such that when death concerns oneself, more than half the world's people consider it supremely desirable!
It could be someone who is apparently much happier, visibly so; or again, it could be someone who is apparently much more miserable, visibly so.
But when this same death concerns another, these very same people consider this identical death supremely undesirable!
No, I'm not advocating for death. Not at all! But actually, I hadn't thought about death's aspect this way before, or hadn't needed to.
Sometimes death is ruination, sometimes again it's the herald of eternal liberation!
Are humans selfish toward death, or is death itself selfishly capricious toward humans... all of that remains unknown, circumstantially incomprehensible too!
Thought: Seven Hundred Thirty-Two

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One. No one's life stops for someone else—it might pause at most, but it never truly stops. Life continues at its own pace. When a person can overcome even the grief of losing their own parents and move forward with life, they can certainly handle any other sorrow.
Life or life's situations... nothing can really be changed. So finding fault with life or these situations, analyzing them threadbare to complain or make excuses—this is nothing but a waste of time or foolishness.
The sooner we accept life as it is, the better. And then we can apply our sharp intelligence in various ways. Instead of wasting time like fools—complaining, making excuses, or trying to find fault with life—if we spend that time thinking about how to adjust to life as it is, accepting what we have at hand, we can at least achieve prosperity in life, if nothing else. And ultimately this prosperity, this successful career—this is what remains by our side, if we can build it properly, whether anyone or anything else remains with us or not.
A good or successful career, or a well-maintained proper life strategy always brings many good things in its association. And the opposite brings the opposite in association.
The person or thing for whom I'm sacrificing career considerations to spend my present will, I'll find, one day point a finger at my career failures and leave me. When they leave, if I don't have prosperity or a good career either, then there's nothing left to do but wander like a street beggar, alone, ruminating in tear-soaked memories of the past. People don't understand this simple truth before they lose everything.
Two. If life... no, not "if life were like this," but rather, let me address what life is like now.
Life...?

—A floating stage that drifts along, supported by strange philosophical observations. Nothing else about life comes to mind at this moment.
Of course, whether life flows along observations, or whether the flow of life itself adds various dimensions to observations—this seems to me a somewhat debatable matter.
However, if I were asked to give my opinion considering my own life as context, then what I understand in my limited knowledge is somewhat like this:
Life moves far less through experience or observation than it does by giving birth to experiences.
Philosophy is drawn from life, yet life moves within philosophy... each day, each moment, new surprises wait for us—sometimes of joy, sometimes of sorrow.
Life is colorless. The responsibility of spreading colors to make it colorful belongs not to the life-giver, but to the life-receiver.
What if we call life a deep river? If you can swim well in the river, with patience, making the right plan your companion, and manage to cross it, then you can enjoy the beauty of the riverbed and naturally reach the other shore as well.
But if it goes wrong, then instead of the riverbed becoming beauty to you, it will turn into a realm of death, and the other shore will remain just that—the other shore. You won't get the chance to understand how distant or what the shore you left behind looks like from the other side.
This is why everything is relative!
The same river!
For some, it creates pure, untainted beauty; for others, it is death's very dwelling!

It's all just a game of having the power to master the river!

How strange this is, isn't it?

It's truly bewildering to think about!

(What have I written? I myself don't understand! As a reader, I can quite tell that none of it turned out right, even if I can't tell as the writer! I haven't written for so long, that's why I couldn't manage it then, can't manage it now. And I didn't write thinking of you either, which made it even harder to write.

Still, you will find your way into my writing somehow or other! The main reason for this is that you remain the cause of my writing, the context, the inspiration. How you come into it, whenever I sit down to write something, who knows! I haven't been able to solve this mystery to this day.

I know you're busy. Your mood must be bad or has turned bad. So this writing is my small failed attempt. I can't let you stay angry, so I've done this work mainly for my own selfish reasons. Because I know what level of tyrant you are, even if no one else knows! When you get in a bad mood, all the scolding and fury will come down on me. Because I'll pester you day and night, and if you're in a bad mood then, you'll get angry with me, and my little tyrant's tyranny will increase too! So this writing is a bribe for you! My dear little tyrant bird!)
**Thought: Seven Hundred Thirty-Three

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One. I want you to know that when I hear your tender voice after a whole day's end, all the weariness from the day's labors vanishes in an instant. This is all I ask of you, this is what I wait for. Perhaps you sometimes try to speak lovingly with me, even reluctantly at times, just to keep me happy. But think about it—can love really exist when it's calculated in advance, measured out by hand, timed precisely? I don't want such artificial behavior from you!
Love me in your own way—that's all I ask. I won't die if you don't give me love according to my whims, but it will be very difficult for me to live if you don't give me even a little love. Whether or not you give me love the way I want it, at least let yourself love me the way you want to.
From morning onwards, the aunt next door has been shouting about something or other! Such screaming isn't the work of any healthy person. If I ever shout in front of you in this lifetime, if I ever speak loudly, immediately slap me hard with all your strength. Slap first, ask why later. This is my request to you. Any kind of misconduct should be punished immediately. There are some people who, if they don't receive punishment, think they're doing nothing wrong or haven't done anything wrong. For them, punishment is exactly right.
Two. I know I cannot hold you back with anything if you don't want to stay. Yes, you can sleep with many others if you wish. I have no complaint about that, because I cannot fulfill your physical needs. Perhaps you won't give me such authority that I would interfere in your most personal matters. I don't want that either. And from what I've learned and understood about this matter, including from my own experience, women can spend their entire lives without sleeping with anyone if they choose, though it required me to become very, very strong.
I don't know about other women, but many times I felt so terrible that I couldn't focus on any work—yet I accepted it because it was my conscious decision. Men cannot remain without physical relationships for long periods—I take this naturally; perhaps it's the fault of male hormones. Though I don't want to give your share to anyone—I don't want to, and certainly don't want to—still, if I impose my decision on you for that reason, I'm certain I would be wrong.
I will never impose the decision on you that you shouldn't go to anyone else. Because that would be impossible for you! Perhaps you'll hide it because you love me. Or you might accidentally become physically involved with someone; many things happen under circumstantial pressure. I have only one request of you: even if you become physically involved with someone else, please, please never let me realize it in any way, because I won't be able to accept it consciously. If I learned of such things, I would be destroyed by sorrow. Keep at least this much respect for me, for my love, throughout your life, won't you? I love you!
I felt it was my duty to clarify things from my side, which is why I've said all this, bird.
I didn't say all this from any suspicion or anxiety or any other petty thought about you. And I know very well that you don't have time for such things, you don't want to sleep with just anyone. I haven't cheapened you at all. I know what you are. Don't misunderstand me.
Three. Please, you do your work. Do whatever you like. Don't call me. Even if you do call, I won't be able to talk anymore. This is what gentle people receive. I don't want to bother you at this moment. Stay busy with your heart in it.
Listen, shall I tell you something? You won't get angry, will you? Look, I know very well that my appearance isn't good—not something that makes one want to love at first sight, want to pull close with affection. I am something that serves a purpose in times of need. I am like the poor man's watered-down rice with chilies—what one is forced to eat when there's nothing else left in the house. That's what I am. But when you treat me so well these days, when you speak with so much love, I think—yes, one can love someone without seeing them. Because there the connection of minds is stronger. Yet I also accept that external beauty has its necessity.
Actually, I'm so busy with all my work that I've never done anything to keep myself beautiful, to enhance my physical beauty. I truly don't have the time, because if I stay preoccupied with appearance, who will do my work—you tell me? If I lived alone, if I could organize my tasks in my own way, perhaps I wouldn't have to do so much work. But I live with my whole family. Here, even if one wants to, nothing can be arranged according to one's own wishes. Besides, not everyone has an organized mentality, so I have to do many unnecessary tasks despite my irritation.
After all this, I don't manage to do much for myself. I'm getting used to receiving your attention. I don't know whether, if you saw me face to face, this importance you give me, this love with which you envelop me every moment, would remain in your heart... But even then, I don't want your attraction to me by force. When you're near me, the more I love you; when you're far from me, this fear of loss tortures me subconsciously. Then I think—rather than being as I am now, if I were a little more beautiful, I could have had you a bit more. I'm truly very afraid about you!
Reflection: Seven Hundred Thirty-Four

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One. Do you know what success means to me?

To me, success means only you. I never used to think this way. I used to think I'd accept whatever fate handed down from above and make my peace with it. By now you must surely know about my talent for making peace with things, mustn't you? Otherwise, how could I bear so much pain from you and still stay by your side?
I ask very, very little of life now. Just to live well with you. I have no grand ambitions. Besides, you already know what's possible for me. Any small job will do for me. Just stay beside me...
My life exists in a much, much smaller compass. Many things are missing here, but still I'm happy. Though you hardly give me any proper time at all, that's fine too! You're mine, that's enough to make me happy!
I've left everything to time. I'll believe words, but I won't rely on them—you shouldn't either. Only when you do what you need to do for me should you place your trust in me. Belief is for words, trust is for keeping.
Two. Hey you little devil, what are you up to? Why don't you ask about me, why don't you message me, huh? Wait, I'm going to bite you, just wait!
I'll misunderstand you, torment you, hurt you. I'll mess with your head, drive you crazy, make you restless, make you angry...and to be continued...
You'll bear my torments, when I mess with your head you'll lift me up and slam me down to make pulp of me, when I misunderstand you'll set me straight through analysis, when you're hurt you'll hurt me back, when I make you restless you'll make me restless too, when I anger you you'll anger me right back...and if you feel like leaving, fed up with my torments, then you'll leave, but you won't go too far...so I can quickly find you and drag you back to beat you up as much as I want!
What you gave in love shall remain hidden,

Know that the heart's worth can never be returned.
Three. A coin's two faces, though they lie side by side,

Yet the greatest distance lies between them!
With great difficulty today I bear this difficulty!
Not every home has happiness falling,

In some homes acid rain falls instead!
Taking the roof off my own house,

I give it to another today,

My door stands empty,

And they steal my very shroud!
These words spill from profound anguish.
Four. I torment you, have tormented you, and have resolved to torment you for life. As long as there is breath in this body, and this mind hasn't grown feeble, I will keep tormenting you, God willing. When you're at peace, nothing feels right to me—ever since falling in love with you, peace's mother and father have both died. Besides, my fundamental purpose is to keep you restless. If there's any shortage in the love I deserve, then I'll torment you more. More and more.
Go eat. Don't spend the whole day working and going hungry.
Five. Listen, when you get angry and raise your voice at me, I have no problem with it—in fact, I love it, thinking that you consider me your own and so don't feel the need to carefully weigh your words before speaking, or that you know your anger won't diminish my love for you even a bit, which is why you act that way. I want you to stay just like this. But do you show anger this way with anyone else besides me, so fearlessly? So uninhibitedly? If you do, then with whom? And if you don't, then how do you manage not to?
Is it very wrong to show anger toward Mother? I do get angry with Mother, but very rarely. Actually, Mother says something that makes words slip out of my mouth in that moment somehow. But believe me, I never want to show anger toward my parents. Besides, I never show anger with anyone else. But how can I control this? I stay consciously restrained for many days, then suddenly I act like this again somehow, but afterward I suffer terribly.
My heart becomes very heavy when this happens—it was from that anguish that I wrote those words to you. Though the words are true, please don't take them to heart. Actually, when I do everything for them but still don't get my own space, my head doesn't stay right. That I'm doing everything they need, yet why won't they let me live a little in my own way? This is my only sorrow! Beyond this, I have no complaints against anyone.
Six. What is your problem?
What do you actually want? For me to suffocate and die?
Don't you know I'm suffering?
Don't you know I can't stay without messaging you, without talking to you all the time?
What is your problem?
Don't you know nothing feels good to me?
I didn't message, so why didn't you reach out?
You're hurting me, yet why must I accept everything?
If you don't love me, then why have you kept me? Do I have no value to you?
That I've been going through a storm constantly—since morning, since yesterday, since the night before last—doesn't that catch your eye?
You want to kill me, don't you?
If you want to kill me, just say so—I'll drink poison if necessary, and if I can't find poison, I'll drink Harpic, then whatever happens, happens. What's your problem? Don't you understand anything? Have I ever gone without talking to you since we got involved? What more do I need to tell you? How much longer will you keep hurting me like this? What else must I endure—tell me?
That's exactly what I'll do, tell me! If need be, I'll go lie down in the street—just tell me, what other sacrifices must I make for you? You're doing just fine, aren't you, going about your daily work properly, everything's running smoothly for you. So tell me, what should I do? I'll do exactly that for your sake!
Thought: Seven Hundred and Thirty-Five

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One. My life will never be normal again. I had always dreamed of a normal, ordinary, simple life, but this was my greatest mistake in asking life for something—my greatest error in wanting anything at all. Not everyone's life becomes normal. Having abandoned everything to chase only peace, I am the one who lost everything first. As if this matters anymore!
There was a time I used to think, ah, there would be a little home, my own household. All my life I had seen only fighting and quarrels between Abbu and Ammu. It was as if Abbu and Ammu had no children at all. They kept creating unrest in the house, constantly at each other, and even now they haven't stopped. From then on I had this thought—there would be a household, and in that household I would never let my child endure all this. Many, many days passed when Abbu and Ammu would fight over trivial matters for no reason, and then after fighting, Abbu would go eat at a hotel outside, and Ammu would leave for Nanu's house. (Nanu's house is nearby, a five-minute walk.) We three siblings—what we ate, how we were—Abbu and Ammu never even thought to consider. Even at such a young age, seeing Abbu and Ammu fight would make me tremble with fear. I suffered from such insecurity in those days.
All my uncles and aunts lived in Dhaka. The uncles and grandfathers from the neighborhood would come and get involved in settling household matters. Domestic affairs would spill outside, and everyone would enjoy it quite well. They'd think, they're not doing well...how fun, how fun! The three children will wander the streets, will never become proper human beings in their lives, no one will even look back at them...how fun, hurray!
From then on I had decided I would never get involved in any troubled relationship. If necessary, I would live a completely simple life, but I would live it in peace. Alas, I didn't know then that there was such a thing as fate. No matter how much I try, I won't get even a penny more than what's destined. All my life I lived in this fantasy that one day I would have my own household, I definitely would. That day I would arrange everything my own way! (What foolish thoughts!) I would have a room of my own liking—small, perhaps, but there would be no unrest.
This is what happens when you want too much! Nothing becomes normal, nothing will. If I live, my days will pass in futile imagination. I won't have my own person like other girls do, with whom there's no need to play hide and seek. When everyone else is setting up their own households, I will live by hiding my face and running away from everything. No doll-like daughter will ever come to my womb. I too won't get to see my child grow up in my own love and care, like my friends do with full hearts. Nothing normal will happen to me anymore. If I'm alive after five or ten years, at most I'll do some small job and somehow get by, or else I'll come and live in whatever portion of the house Abbu gives me, depending on my brother's support or everyone's charity, limping along until death.
Maybe one day I'll die alone in the house and lie there, and after two or three days someone will notice from the terrible smell, then there won't be a proper bath, somehow a funeral prayer will be read and dirt will cover me—good riddance—which could still happen even now. So what else is there to worry about! Huh!
Listen, I'm a little mentally unwell right now. So please leave me to myself for a bit. When I'm well again, I'll see that I behave like before.
Just endure this moment. What else can you do—after all, I'm the one who's mad!
Two. Look, please, take me to yourself for the rest of your life. I promise you, until the day I die, I'll make your life a living hell.
See how strangely I've planned it all—someone will come into my life and then I'll spend the rest of my days with them! Yet I don't even know what the next five days hold... Can't such things happen? The person I marry for lifelong security—what if two months, or even two days after the wedding, they die for some reason, or I myself die? Doesn't this happen?
I don't worry about any of this anymore. Because I know, at least I've learned this much, that I truly can't be with anyone else. I know that if I go anywhere else, I'll have to come back again. I've found what I was searching for. The only thing I think about is what will happen if they throw me out of the house. Beyond that, no other worries. I know none of them will stay by my side for life. Father and Mother won't be here forever. My sister and brother are already busy with their own lives. When Father and Mother are gone, I don't think my sister and brother will tolerate me. Someone who has no parents has no one at all, and no one to tolerate them either.
Three. Do you know, when you talk with me so much to make me happy, when you play around with me, make me laugh, tell me funny stories, have fun with me—in those moments, those moments feel so incredibly wonderful to me. Then I think, oh how I should deliberately start fights every day so you'll call me and drive me crazy with your calls!
I'll never leave you, little bird! But if someday my family gets tired of tolerating me and suddenly throws me out, where will I go that day? Who will stay by my side for life? No one will take responsibility for me. I don't want to burden any of my siblings, nor could I. Besides, if I live completely alone, there's no one to look after me. How long could I stay alone?
I think everyone needs one trustworthy person. At least someone is needed in life, even if it comes after a long time. And I'm never marriage-crazy, but I've always truly searched for someone who would actually care for me, whose words I could listen to with my eyes closed, obey. Because I don't listen to anyone, I don't care for anyone. I can listen to you, I enjoy listening to you, I want to.
Four. Just as I have no right to know why your heart is melancholy, I also have no right to know that your heart is melancholy at all. Don't tell me anything. Do whatever you please, little bird. You can tell me everything or nothing at all. You don't need to justify anything to me.
From today I surrender myself to you. I will never again get angry with you, no no no. I won't complain about anything—if you don't call, don't talk, don't love me... whatever you want to do, whatever you feel like doing, you'll do it, and I'll never say anything to you about anything ever again. You are completely free with me.
You have no obligation to me. Not even from a place of love. If you can remain in a relationship of love without obligation, why can't I?
Tell me, bird, when you say that many of my thoughts and concerns align with yours, why do you say this? Yes, I know they do align, and neither you nor I had to force this to happen. 'Complementary' means one person's incompleteness being fulfilled through another, but you know, even without me in your life, you are complete! You and I never have conflicts about anything, so how does that make us complementary?
You and I will never have any conflict, because while I might feel hurt by something you do, I would never oppose you, so how can this relationship be complementary? If everything aligns, if nothing is in opposition, then can we be complementary? If we can, then how does that work?
Where there is light, there is darkness opposite to it, which is why light and shadow complement each other. But everything about me is so deeply connected to everything about you, so how can we be complementary to each other?
One thing. You know, every human being is inhuman! Don't ask me why I said this, please!