Beliefs

I'm never going to read fiction.

This is more than just a rule I've obliged myself to follow, more than just my moral, more than anything.

I'll live this way till I die.

Nothing can make me alter the way I think.

It's been twenty-five years of my existence, and I haven't even once regretted not reading outrageous fantasies.

Anyway, I'm on my way now, to the library.

I need a decent book since it's winter break and I don’t know how else to kill the time.

There's no need for me to tell you what kind of editions I read. Why is it so cold?

They almost make me gag. If only I could compel them to see how ridiculous they look when they're reading about dwarfs and the giants above the clouds.

I mean...what's the freaking point? Just look at that lunatic girl with her goggles and frizzy, witchlike hair all over the place. She’s chuckling and raising her eyebrows, reading about a maladroit boy with a silly scar on his forehead.

I bet it's sugary, hot chocolate inside her cartoonish mug.

It's so difficult to choose a book in this mighty section.

Logic, common sense, years of tremendous research, scientists, philosophers, historians, all the goodies.

The reason I chose this book isn't just for its dense, but the title is written boldly and it's relatively alluring,

"Write your 'fate' as you read"

How cool is that? I love how fate is quoted sarcastically.

Isn't it smart to have it figured out than to wait for ridiculous miracles?

Isn't it smart to not believe in fate and all those fairy tales in the first place?

I put the hefty book on the desk. The thumping sound made her twitch, I’m too lethargic to apologize, I don’t think she even minds.

A wacko I'm telling you.

I take a sip of my flavorful, black coffee.

Without any sugar (just wanted to make sure you know).

Ok, so here it goes. I'm loving it already.

Oh, no table of contents?

                            Chapter one

            Stop judging books by their dammed covers!

You say you hate that girl, but you can't get your eyes off her. The list of the books she's read so far is spiralling like a rosy ribbon inside your gloomy head, it's the only element in colour.

Do you even know what you want, or you let your damaged ego pick it for you?

Do you even know what you love, or you only know what you hate?

Be careful with what you hate, you’ll always end up doing it.

Ha-ha, it's a funny thesis.

Ahem, I think I'll rather read something else. I knew I'd do this, only wanted to have a look at it. I'm not buying it. But...I don't know, maybe skip to the next chapter?

                             Chapter two

       Sorry to burst your bubble, but it's not a coincidence

In terms of getting over her, you got over everybody. You’ve evaded losses only to lose yourself. Thought grief won't find you in the dark. But, you were led there only to mourn, another loss…and this time it was you.

Perhaps this urge to breakout will remain, this soul can't break through so young.

It was a heartbreak dear, not a doomed verdict. She was a lesson, not all that you knew and that you’ll know. It’s called existence, it will cost you. It’s named earth, not Paradise, it will make you suffer.

Your nights have become a tragic gamble. They are either your triumph out of chaos, or a whole new level of hell, where you’re losing your sanity bit by bit. You deny, you deny, you deny…

You’ve been attending your funeral for months now, this can’t be life.

It's so sad that we can't hide who we are, and it's as if the parts we engrave in our deepest layers somehow become our aura.

You’re not what you’re pretending to be. You’re not a bad person, you’re only sad.

And you can bring an end to this.

It all comes down to one thing, willingness.

I think it's enough for today. I’ll come back for another book tomorrow. I shut this bizarre entity giving me the creeps and I put it back in its place. Science seems legitimately interesting at the moment. That’s what I'll read tomorrow.

You know it’s cold when you can see your ephemeral breaths come to life then vanish.

But mine aren’t breaths, they’re sighs, long-lasting sighs. I keep the light on every night, but this evenfall I want them turned off.

The neighbour’s dog is not barking tonight, I never thought one day I'd yearn to hear its barks.

This ominous silence is getting unbearable. I have so much to say, but to whom? Maybe it's my fault, maybe I should’ve known the limits one is supposed to feel. I loved, but at what cost? Just to be numb. Just to be an apathetic loner, who’s perishing for a drop of love while withering in this deserted bed, my deathbed.

But…I had forgotten her. Or had I? I had forgotten her green eyes and the first time I saw my reflection in those gleaming emeralds. I had forgotten her name, but then why now I choke to its letters as my mouth tastes of poison? Is it too late for an antidote?

I had forgotten the pain when she said, it’s over. When will it be over for me? It's been eight months and it does not end.

All that can be done, for now, is that I stare at the window of my condo across me, and watch the cursed sky come to life again as I abbreviate into fragments by my endless resentments.

All that I can do is to die a little bit more.

I can't rest.

I'll swim in thorns, push and pull to get deeper. I'm going to drown in my blood.

And I won’t feel anything, I won’t feel a thing.

The sunlight hurts my sunken eyes.

So I'm not sitting at my usual window seat in the library where I could see the cars parked in uncomfortable positions.

I'm at the niche and the enormous bookshelves are blocking my way from everything and everyone. I can almost hear the sound of my disorganised heartbeat.

My stomach burns. I haven't eaten since yesterday. I can’t take another cup of coffee.

I'm miserable and I need a good freakin' book!

Certainly, this one is it.

Dark brown, hardback, bold and the perfect title, "Meaningless"

That's exactly how it is, everything.

The blurb reads, "Based on the evidence, not the bedtime stories inhibited by your naive forbearer.”

How brave is that?

I'm sick of the know-it-all people defending outdated tenets. Why can’t they be a bit open-minded? It's the twenty-first century for goodness sake! I'll start from a random page, just to see what's it like.

                          Chapter three

                             How ironic

But, when your Mother read your bedtime stories, you liked the idea of believing in things without questioning them. You liked having hope, you liked having faith that the dragon will be slain and the Princess will be saved.

Even if she was locked in towers, even when her saviour was unarmed, and the bridges were ablaze.

Even if it would be ridiculous to believe in a happy ending, you always did.

You trusted your Mother, that she wouldn't crush your belief as you gazed at her with your pupils expanding.

But, then why did you do this to yourself?

And when your Father shared his adventures, you couldn't wait to grow up and be exactly like him and your granddad, and your great-granddad who combated with a feral bear and lost his arm.

You couldn't wait to explore the unknown. You knew nothing, but you wanted to know. Now that you say, you know the truth,

why are you boxing yourself in this corner?

I have the enchanted or rather, uncanny book clasped in my trembling hand.

I pause and hear the leaves rustling as the shy willows softly pullback by the zephyr. And I see the river crashing with each breath I seize. It's a faded forenoon.

The next chapter is named,

“The most important chapter of your life”

And as I read the title one more time, I throw it into the deep water from the bridge I’m standing on.

I don’t want to know anymore.

The winter break ended a month ago.

I was on a vague vacation from that day on.

I visited my family. My little sister is all grown up, she talks about politics now.

Dad isn’t dyeing his hair anymore, and Mom still overcooks rice.

I admired my sister talking about blood and war with such enthusiasm. I know the names of the last ten Presidents of my country thanks to her.

I beheld the wisdom in each strand of his grey hair, camouflaged as sheer humbleness and the openness, seeking to know more.

And that rice savours better than the feasts I've had in all the fancy restaurants I've ever been to. It tastes of love, it tastes of home.

The precious girl is sitting across from me.

She timidly smiles and fixes her goggles every time I steal a glance as we're reading. It's a cosy day, and I've snuggled in my beige sweater. Her floral dress is beckoning spring lingering around the corner. I'm relishing the sweetness in my mouth as I take sips of hot chocolate from my pretty mug. Change is inevitable, I’m cherishing this phase.