She doesn’t like me. And to be honest, that hurts. It gnaws at the core of my heart, each time I think of it. I wake up in the middle of the night, thinking about it and the draught of water I take to wash it down each time, never helps.
Ah! I can see a flicker of interest in your eyes. People are always interested in other people’s misery. I should be happy that you care enough to stop by and check on me, but truly speaking, it doesn’t really make me feel any better. I can see your brows puckered in a frown. You are getting impatient and you want to know more. So here I go.
I got wind of it one summer morning when she walked past me without acknowledging my greeting. I was a little perturbed but I decided to ignore it. People have their moods. Or maybe she was preoccupied. I let it pass. But that awkward feeling of being snubbed had managed to inveigle itself into my thoughts. I began to look out for opportunities to ascertain whether she had really ignored me. A few occasions later, I was convinced that she despised me. She rarely smiled at me and when she did, it was more, a curling up of her lips in a sarcastic smirk.
Sorry for interrupting my narration but I just can’t help noticing how you have pursed your lips. I don’t feel very nice about it. It feels as if you are judging me. You seem to be asking me how I could be so sure that she dislikes me merely because she does not smile at me. Well, that’s easy enough. Sometimes, you see, the questions are complicated but the answers are pretty simple. It’s elementary, as Watson said. I feel it in my bones. I get those vibes from her, you see. The air around is electrifyingly hostile each time our paths cross. Besides, there are things that have happened. Let me elaborate.
Last week, we were at Shirley’s get together. I was late. They started dinner without me. It was a ploy. I was appalled. She had egged them to do it and they listened to her because she is popular and influential – the gateway to their aspirations. I am no one. I felt wretched that evening. I sat at one end, nibbling at my food and left early.
Nowadays, they barely talk to me. That is so weird because I am a nice person. I am honest, kind and sincere. Ofcourse, sometimes I comment on the silly things they do and I admit, I might sound rude at times, but that’s how I am – upfront . And yes, I did tell her once that I disapproved of the way she dressed. But what’s wrong with that? It’s a free world and I can express my opinion, can’t I ?
To cut a long story short, the dejection is growing deeper. It has sunk its incisors into the soft recesses of my heart and is tearing at its walls, leaving gashes that hurt more than any physical ache.
I have been talking about it to a couple of people who are nice to me and they have been kind enough to listen. However, they aren’t very helpful. They just listen and nod their heads and move away. That makes me feel worse. People don’t need sympathy. They need other people who will champion their cause, accompany them to the battlefield and help vanquish the enemy.
Alright, I get it . You think I am being dramatic. I knew it. Now you will be tearing me to bits in your review. You will probably write me off as an incorrigible, self absorbed jerk, washing my dirty linen in public. Go ahead. Readers rarely comprehend what goes on in the writer’s mind. They just assume and proclaim to the world what they have supposedly gleaned from what we have written. Go ahead. Think what you wish.
I am sinking into a depression of sorts. Her unpleasant remarks hit hard. I ponder over them obsessively. I need to do something. Perhaps I should confront her – talk to her – ask her why she dislikes me.
( You seem to approve. That’s a heartening sign ).
But then when I had confronted someone regarding a matter sometime back, it didn’t turn out too well and I ended up feeling like a worm. ( And you had torn me to bits with some scathing remarks ). So there’s going to be no confrontation, no dialogue, no sweet talk and I certainly am not looking out for a happy ending to this turmoil. It’s going to be pure, unadulterated revenge. ( Don’t think I haven’t noticed your eyes roll ).
I am going to expose her. I have the power of the pen and can put into words the minutest details of the trauma she is putting me through.
You don’t seem to agree though. You are frowning hard. I can see you have picked up a pencil and are jotting down something. I peer over your shoulder to see what you have written.
“Nothing is ever what it seems”, you have written.
Philosophy?
You shake your head and write something more. “Self introspection is important. Sometimes our own actions trigger off reactions in others that don’t go down well with us .”
Duh !!
So you are now going to give me a lesson about how I must act and speak. You seem to suggest that something’s wrong with me. You think I am to blame for the way they are behaving towards me? I knew it !
Great ! You are walking away. The walls are up. My story no longer interests you and it is probably going to be dumped in a corner, unread, unappreciated.
Anyway, I am exhausted. I can’t write anymore. I might be able to write better tomorrow. Or should I write something different? Perhaps from her perspective – something along the lines you suggest . Uhmm. Let me sleep over it. a
– Jaya Pillai
Image : Emre ( Unsplash )
Note :
I have tried “Breaking the Fourth Wall”. In this kind of writing, the narrator communicates with the reader, who qualifies as the Fourth Wall. – the wall that separates the protagonists from the readers.
Just letting you know, the italicized writing is the narrator’s interaction with the readers.
