On the blackboard, it said something like: make it a December to remember. But I tell my mother that she needs to rest but I know I cannot. Even though I’m surrounded by pupils, no one quite sees me. I have forgotten people. No, more than that - perhaps, I have forgotten myself. My best friend is getting married and I am supposed to be happy. On some nights, I do not feel alive. They say a chicken can run around with its head cut off - and I imagine it must be a similar feeling.
My neighbour's son giggles at my new hairstyle but I do not mind - after all, these are the only ways I know to feel different. Last Saturday I struggled a panic attack in a convenient store, they asked if I am okay but I shake my head and avoid meeting their eyes. I never did return to that store.
In the mornings, I open my eyes and I wish I could close them. My head feels fuzzy with sleep, everything blurred, and yet - I think of you and I think of you and I think of you.
But you do not think of me.
You wake up at 6 am, Monday morning, and read the paper. For breakfast, you have eggs, some with vegetable filling. Despite the cereal scatter all over the room, you can't help but smile at your little sister whose face is bright with soft innocence.
These days, I do not know the people you encounter. In the afternoon, you meet your father for the first time in months.
Your father does not call you nowadays, and you do not ask him why; the weekly phone calls have become monthly, then only on special occasions, and now they've stopped altogether. When you return home in the evening, your key jams in the lock again. You curse, then kick the door in your usual manner. And I do not know what your life has to do with my life, except everything.
- Arshad Shaikh || A Cigarette Container
