Her cure.

       I was overwhelmed. I exited the college gate, all gay, adoring my name on the certificate. I had won the 2nd prize for western vocals, inter college. It was my best so far. While walking my way towards the metro, I called my mom and she was all happy and proud. My dad, from behind her, shouted, "I smell a new Fender in the house!" The thought of a new guitar forced a shriek out of me. I dug deep into the imagination of how it would be like when I'd finally learn to play. I was walking and swinging my way... into my bubble, unaware of the atrocities of life, sinking deeper into my emotions, giving in to materialism and dependency, blinded by desires, to what lies beyond. 

  
       I was climbing down the steps to the subway when I first saw her. She was sitting on the fourth last step. It was her bagpack that caught my attention at first. It had multiple psychedelic patterns that looked hand-drawn. Since I was all happy and .. I let the excessive dopamine take control of my actions and allowed myself to act irrationally less rationally and more emotionally that I usually mask for extrovert-ism .. I decided to spread my happiness and compliment her bag and maybe get to some flirting. As I reached the end of the stairs and opened my mouth to speak, I saw thick tears falling off her cheeks. Her stare was fixed at a No Smoking sign. The scene was sad. "You good?" I tried to sound as friendly as possible. She looked at me with a pinch of surprise, I could tell by the way her bushy eyebrows rose and then dropped the very next moment. Her gaze shifted to her shoes and she narrowed her eyes. She did not want me there. As I was about to take off, I heard a faint voice that said, "wa- water.." I sat on the stair, opened my bag and handed her the bottle. Another tear fell as she handed it back to me. "Hey.. what is wrong?," I placed my hand on her shoulder wondering if .. all are as stupid to confess their mishaps to strangers as I would be .. I'm making her comfortable enough for her to talk it out. She nodded, let out a laugh and said,
"Is water, now, a trade for secrets?"  
"I might be able to help!"
"Thank you for the water miss"
I decided to give a last try. She looked my age and I genuinely wanted to help. Empathy made me stay  .. and empowerment of emotions. "May I insist?" I held my breath for her reply as a frown started to appear on her forehead. She took a deep breath and there,

      "How do you live once you've become aware that you've only rotten yourself so far. Yea.. yea..work hard, get better!? What is the cure of persistent emotional torture from your folks because you are unlike them? How do you get back that exposure you were caged from your entire childhood because of their possessive nature? I look back and I see I was immature, but who isn't? Rebellions made them furious. Soon, it became a game. My nagging relatives waited like anything to add another stamp of 'black sheep' on me. I was constantly reminded of being a failure just because I refused to choose their path. My passion for choreography is a disgrace to them because dancing for an audience is, apparently, inappropriate. And I have been at fault too. I gave in to self-pity at a very tender age. It took over my rationality. Soon it took form of suicidal tendencies. This emotional scar is deep-rooted. Today, I don't get better till I cry it out. In order to hide, I secluded myself. It is easy to ask me to be brave and conquer but know that the journey is without any support or love. I am at a stage where if I do not halt my emotions, they will overpower my potential. But how when just waking up alone each day is a struggle. This life is not a choice. I stay in the constant fear that if I end up unsuccessful, they win. Yet I crave their support. Their absence irks me. My luck irks me. Where have I gone wrong? Or am I going wrong now? Everything is so unstable. I cannot help but cry. Let me, ma'am, let me."


       She took a deep breathe and buried her face in her hands. I was rendered speechless. I clutched her shoulder tight and uttered, "I am so--sorry." She got up, smiled and as she walked away, my bubble became our barrier.