I MISS YOU, I MISS YOU NOT
~Chitrakshi Singh Rawat

I came home feeling rage, again. 

Unlike most times, this was different. If it were any random Tuesday, I would have shrugged it aside, thinking it was the stress, it was the loneliness, or I would have made a better excuse. But I often wondered, why, faced with inconvenience, I feel this overwhelming sense of burden in my head. 

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I took the train home as usual, thinking maybe it's the commute that makes me go crazy. As I sat and watched the slums go by, I tried to remind myself that I should be grateful; not everyone can afford to be crazy.

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Craziness is a privilege. 

Grief is a privilege. 

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But I think not. Grief is exclusive, it could only be felt and processed when you have a mansion, with parents who would be fine with you sulking in your room – forever. 

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I am not privileged. When you are not privileged, one can hope not seeing other people that reminds you of them. Or smell that certain scent, or walk by a particular park, or hear certain music. 

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But grief is sneakier. Grief is smarter. 

So it hit differently last night. When he said I was worthless. 

It reminded me of you. 

You would never say that. You wouldn’t let me get that into my head. 

You wouldn’t let him say that.

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I couldn’t understand back then, the tears that stung my skin as they made their way down were because of your absence, not because he said that. A fool could say the sky is green, but it wouldn’t make it green. A fool could say the sky isn’t blue, but it wouldn’t make it not blue. But I cried because you were not there to tell me he is such a fool. 

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I don’t like anyone anymore – not my family, not my partner, not my friends. Not that they did or didn’t do things that would make my life a little easier. So when I lay down at night, again. I felt it surfacing, everything I felt about you – but it has been nine years. 

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And yet I cried, cause I miss you. 

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Nine years, and the wound feels invisible. Every time I miss you I don't feel like I will perish. It makes me feel that you shouldn’t have. Grief sits in the same box as before. Time has just made the box bigger. So the grief feels small. Just like one often stubs their pinky toe on the furniture, and in that moment, pain and frustration are all that is felt, one also sometimes steps on the grief in the big box, and pain is all that is felt. 

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But then like a compass points north unfailingly, I heard a voice from inside surfacing, “But she hated you.” 

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So maybe I miss you not. 

Maybe I missed your fingers caressing my hair because I couldn’t sleep, or was it you who couldn’t sleep? You kept on going, even hours after I had fallen asleep. I miss how you cared for me in your conservative ways, stood up for me, and supported me in your liberal ways. It was a lot for someone who didn’t even know how to write her own name. 

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Somedays – most days, I think about you, and I feel peace. It doesn’t bother me that I can vividly remember how your hand felt, how your voice sounded. But there was a time when I could feel your memory, your voice, fading away. I was scared that it would be gone, so I tried holding it tight, however just like water from a fist, it kept slipping away. 

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I do know how you sounded, how you felt, how you smelt, it comes to me like clear spring water on days like these. But there are times I forget how you even looked. I knew I could come back to you, like the wind coming back to its home. Except the home is the entire world, and the wind knows it can flow as wild and as slow, or maybe not at all. And maybe when the wind was not performing, it was home. 

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When I was not performing, I was home. 

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And my home was you, because I couldn’t perform in front of you. Not because you caught me like a windmill, spinning me off – but because you didn’t expect this wind to sail your boat. 

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You never told me every relationship comes with an unsaid terms and conditions waiver with a double asterisk on top. 

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But I know I miss you not. You abhorred my existence, you hated how I looked, and you loved others more than me. You told me that. But you dare not say it to your friends, to them you said, " I am your favourite.”

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You wanted me to be prettier, more like you and I was. And you knew it. But you just couldn’t look past your own hypothesis. Unfortunately, I would never know what you felt about me cause you are long gone. And I ache to know whether I miss you in vain, love you in vain, or maybe you miss me as much, if you can miss me at all. 

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To them, you said I was just like you. And that’s what I always wanted to be – you. You were strong, resilient, and you felt all those stupid emotions – you expressed them. But unlike others, you made sure it was not my burden to bear. So when I sit on my own, with wind in my hair, I think about being just like You. You return like a reminder of all the things I could be. 

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So maybe when times get tough, I think about how life could’ve been different if you were here. Would you have supported me or condemned my actions? I don’t know. 

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For every strange reason, I think you would have held my hand and helped me through every storm. However, I often doubt my own conviction. You would have judged me for what I do. You would have driven me crazy like you always did.

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And only if you hadn’t faded slowly and unwillingly, I would know – If I miss you or I miss you not.