I’ve been really good at quitting, for all my life. From music lessons to relationships – I’ve quit anything that’s caused me inconvenience. So I never really had a talent because I never really had the patience to pursue anything with all I had. I’m one of your Gen Y Kids, who wants to be famous but really doesn’t know how. I’m also not a keeper. I get attached and I detach just as quick, people only have to try to tell me what to do and what not to. I literally shut people out at the snap of my fingers. Definitely not a keeper.
So when this boy crashed right into my life, like a huge tidal wave, I was of course, swept off of my feet. This one did not fit in any of my plans, but there he was, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, while I tried to wrap my head around whatever the fuck was happening, and I never could. He became my muse really quick, and that made him really hard to quit. I started writing about him, his habits, how he exhausted me, how he never stopped talking about his family (adorable) and how we went to our favourite (inexpensive) Chinese restaurant so that he could have lemon tea and I could have coffee, pay Rs. 65 and leave. We’d sit in the same place every time, an extension near their kitchen, because that was private and all we did in that private area was insult each other. It was one of those days, in that restaurant when I observed, “You smell like cigarettes.”. He came up with a defensive “so?”. “So, I like it”, I said absolutely unironically. Maybe it surprised him, I never knew what went on his head, but I’d never forget that poke on my nose because it was the one of the last few good moments before the end.
It was impending doom, whatever we had because we were total opposites. I jumped right in headfirst, while his affection came in lapses and withdrawals, like the waves of the sea. Now that I think of it, this boy who loved the mountains was so much like the sea. And even if I loved the sea like nothing else, we wanted different things.
It took me two years of diving headfirst to reach rock bottom and he obviously wasn’t there to catch me. I hurt my heart really bad.
After all this time fooling around, the end came really quick, again like a tidal wave. I was really proud of how I handled it, no crying, no ‘unblocking’, no going back, no desperate attempts to see him. Poof, I handled my broken heart like a pro and I decided to never write about him again.
It started first, at when I realised it had, when I called this mutual friend by his name. He just stared at me for two seconds and let it go. It happened again and again. Once I got slightly drunk and kept complaining about him to my friend. The most recent one was when I asked my best friend not to panic because his father taught him that it made you unable to think straight. This happened randomly and I was certain I did not #majormiss him. So I decided to take care of it like people take care of withdrawals, only god knows how. But since I was feeling especially cranky, I decided to write about it. A final work, almost like the farewell we never got.
And by writing about it I only related him to my most favourite landscape, so it’s not helping either. Let’s not forget people reek of smoke everywhere, I do too. But since I very publicly declared on Facebook how “the boy who broke my heart at 19 can’t be the one who breaks my heart at 20 (#newyearnewme), I’ll have to deal with these withdrawals, one way or another. And it’s about goddamn time.
If he was like the sea, I wonder how would the next one be? Would he be like the mountains or a hurricane, a thunderstorm or an avalanche? And the next? Told you, I’m not a keeper. How would they smell like? Of musk or sandalwood or forests? They could smell like roses and lilies for all I care about. But if one of them smells like cigarettes again, I’ll only smile at the memory of a certain boy who would always be my favourite.