She always looked like a picture of happiness. No matter how bad the day was going, she always had a radiant smile pasted on her face. With her incessant candid chatter, she always amused her colleagues and friends. You could have a dialogue with her on any topic under the sun. It did not matter that she was not interested in politics or current affairs. She could still weave a conversation with the inputs you gave her. She rambled about the weather; she discussed movies and books; she could lecture you on any topic pertaining to philosophy or the behavioural sciences. However, when it came to talking about her personal life, she always remained silent. So engrossed were people in catching up with her lively chatter that this significant aspect remained hidden from their view.
She was a strong woman. She treated the thoughts in her head in the same manner as she treated the bruises on her body – she concealed them successfully from the eyes of the world and grinned at her wonderful accomplishment. With time, the bruises increased. So did the intensity of the thoughts she swallowed. Suppressed thoughts, however, have a tendency to gestate; and over a period of time, they grow into something else. She got tired of paying the price. She started harbouring bitterness towards herself and for her victim position. She tried in vain to mutate these thoughts into something beautiful. As she hid more and more, she found herself forgetting who she was and she was gradually getting lost.
A fire was raging inside her and she needed to do something to extinguish the hell that was burning her insides. She dug the blade on to her skin and watched it peeling off all vulnerabilities – of pain, of pleasure, of life, of death – with a broken smile on her face. She did not flinch and she did not scream. With each drop of blood that fell, she felt her tainted soul getting more and more purified.
They found her body the next day. Even her lifeless body exuded a portrait of serenity. Why wouldn’t it? She had successfully managed to escape the agony that had been eating her inside. Her soul, now repaired of its ugly marks of pain, had successfully renounced the physical body and was already on its way to a new and, hopefully, better destination.
She was a strong woman. She treated the thoughts in her head in the same manner as she treated the bruises on her body – she concealed them successfully from the eyes of the world and grinned at her wonderful accomplishment. With time, the bruises increased. So did the intensity of the thoughts she swallowed. Suppressed thoughts, however, have a tendency to gestate; and over a period of time, they grow into something else. She got tired of paying the price. She started harbouring bitterness towards herself and for her victim position. She tried in vain to mutate these thoughts into something beautiful. As she hid more and more, she found herself forgetting who she was and she was gradually getting lost.
A fire was raging inside her and she needed to do something to extinguish the hell that was burning her insides. She dug the blade on to her skin and watched it peeling off all vulnerabilities – of pain, of pleasure, of life, of death – with a broken smile on her face. She did not flinch and she did not scream. With each drop of blood that fell, she felt her tainted soul getting more and more purified.
They found her body the next day. Even her lifeless body exuded a portrait of serenity. Why wouldn’t it? She had successfully managed to escape the agony that had been eating her inside. Her soul, now repaired of its ugly marks of pain, had successfully renounced the physical body and was already on its way to a new and, hopefully, better destination.
