The train is at the station and the people wait for me. I go and meet them, but some I skip. Sometimes, it just gets too much and other times, I just don’t care. “I have a life”, I tell myself, “And I am not going to live just for others.”
There is one person, who holds my attention the most. It might appear I don’t like that person, but I do. Every glance, angry word or a story from the past, I am storing it all in a safe. There are good days and then are many MANY bad days. But I can’t let go because if I do, life would be incomplete.
I am reading a book and the person walks in. *Chatter, laugh, chatter, laugh* Then comes the punch in the stomach. “You are getting wrinkles around your lips, probably because you are so skinny.” I stopped reading, the book no longer held my interest. I wanted to go and check in the mirror, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to give the person the satisfaction that I was miffed. Perhaps, it’s pride or perhaps it’s a defense mechanism – ‘never let people know you are hurt. Nothing infuriates them more than that’.
The person leaves, but the words don’t; they have already taken roots. I look in the mirror and then closely observe the people on TV wondering all the time, “I don’t know the age when you start to get wrinkles, but I do think 24 is too young for that. Well, I hope it’s true.”
I always thought “skinny girls” had it easy. Some years back, when I was trying to lose an unhealthy amount of weight I had put on, I thought being skinny was it. If I want to be happy, if I want people to look up to me, I definitely should not be what they called me at that time — “fat”.
But clearly, so is not the case.
More than being angry or offended, I am hurt because ‘you-have-got-wrinkles’ person is someone I love. I haven’t always loved that person. Majority of my years have been spent hating and fantasisng about the person’s death. But people change, they grow up. So have we. We talk, listen, care about it each and are trying to use each other’s brokenness to complete us.
‘You-have-got-wrinkles’ person has the tendency to say things without meaning to hurt anyone. And days when the words hurt, I shut the person out of my life. But then the wise little voice is always there, telling me, “It won’t be long before the train leaves. When it does, you’ll never be meeting that person again. And the more you shut the person out, the more you will be left with regrets.”
And with a sigh, I give in; knowing well-enough that it’s not a sigh of regret, but one that will make sure there are no future regrets.