Gratitude

I never expected things to go this way. My parents, immigrants that struggled to make ends meet, were strict about the future. They (my father) stressed that my family was the only group of people that would ever really love me. Everyone else was either lying to get something from me, or would leave when things got hard, so it was important to have a good job that gave you money and respect. I had one path to the future; love was the furthest thing from my mind.

All freshman year of highschool, I stayed focused because I (my father) was determined to build a good and prosperous future which looked like graduating highschool, going to a good college, going to medical school, becoming a doctor, and having a family. I joined all the STEM clubs offered at school and spent my time studying and kissing teacher ass. 

Despite this, we fought a lot; when you have a narcissistic parent, you tend to not be able to avoid confrontations. 

I was invited to the band room one morning to hang out before class. Ashley, a former friend from middle school band, flounced over, boasting about her new boyfriend - a sEniOr. I put on my interested face, “Oh my gosh, a senior? I have to meet him!” I remember seeing him; his golden hair, the way his freckled face stretched into a smile so effortlessly, his dimple almost always peeking through his skin. He walked up behind Ashley, wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her cheek. When our eyes met, I swear I felt a breeze caress my face; just like how it happens in the movies. 

When I spoke, Danny listened, his eyes locked on mine and his mouth hung open just slightly, as though he was so focused on absorbing what I said, he forgot all motor functions. Most people see through me; not in a quirky ‘i’M nOt LikE oThEr gIrls, nOboDy unDerStaNds me, pEopLe aCt LikE i’M iNviSibLe’ type of way, but in a way where their interest stops immediately after my skin and my name. Living in the pit of the Bible Belt can be like that. White boys don’t like brown or black girls unless it's a white girl who stains her skin brown. Danny was different. He was genuinely interested; I couldn’t even come up with an answer for half the questions he asked. The bell rang and he smiled and told me he still wanted those answers and hoped I’d get back to him soon. 

I went to class with one of those goofy grins across my face that make you feel stupid when you realize you’re still frozen with it.

Later, Ashley told me Danny asked her for my number so that he could ask me more questions. “Oh haha that’s so funny; I mean sure, I guess you can,” I said casually. I wonder if she ever remembered that and kicked herself for not realizing what a piece of shit I was. And he was.  

Danny was so interesting, he could keep conversation with a rock. My world came alive. Nights when I questioned if I was even worth being alive were replaced by putting off homework to talk to Danny about anything and everything.

My birthday fell on a Sunday in late September and ended with being screamed at until I cried so hard my eyes were the size of golfballs. A crescent moon around the corner of my eye was raw from my father reaching to slap me, but missing and instead catching my temple. 

When Danny asked how you were doing, he genuinely wanted to know. So after a push, I spilled. After several agonizing moments, he sent me a message, three scrolls in its entirety, telling me I was his most treasured friend and he was so lucky to have me in his life. He told me he believed in me and never once doubted that I would accomplish my dreams. He told me that should anyone lay a hand on me again, he would make sure to get me away and keep me safe. 

I know it wasn’t as easy as a seventeen year old white boy coming to my conservative, Indian parents, demanding they be nicer to me. But damn if that wasn’t what I’d wanted to hear all my life. 

We talked everyday after that; he validated all the feelings that made me feel dramatic. The corners of my four-walled universe expanded and as my universe expanded, so did my love for our conversations - so did my love for him. 

October arrived and the band had to attend a competition for a few days, so I knew I’d need distraction to keep me sane. I threw myself into a poetry project I was assigned. I researched Emily Dickinson, William Carlos Williams and other notable poets, finding the common thread between them was truth. Each of their works spoke truth without hesitation or thought to what it would mean for themselves. It was simply, truth. And so I wrote

Escapism

sometimes i wish i could just get away.

even if not for long, maybe just for a day

to a place where i can be whatever i want;

where i could push a ship to neverland off a dock.

a place that can take me to visit another world,

where i can save the universe with a time lord.

i love the worlds created in a simple book

where i could meet a darking princess or a righteous crook.

sometimes i wish i could just get away

so i pick up my book to show me the way

and off i go, the wind pushing back my hair,

as i sail to a place - only i know where.

And I kept writing, the chaos around me blurring to the background. 

By late November, I could no longer deny my feelings when they were so vividly written in front of me. I was emotionally drained so my grades slipped and my parents noticed. My father yelled and I absorbed, grateful to finally have a reason to cry in the house. At some point, you feel enough pain to where adding more doesn’t make a difference. So why not? I felt shitty enough already, so come everyone, pile your frustrations onto me, I can take it all. 

Christmas passed and I grew more depressed as I spent more time at home. By this time, my life revolved around him, so when Danny got distant, I spiraled. He loved and cherished Ashley, how funny she was and the future he saw with her. I wasn’t interesting enough. She knew all the music from the eighties he loved so much, she was able to see him whenever, she was so funny, she was so pretty, she was so skinny, she was so...not me. 

Never the One

I couldn’t understand why,

Still, I tried and tried;

I cried and cried.

What I didn’t realize:

I was just never her.

I changed everything;

put up a facade, 

gave up on God.

I lied and I lied,

I decayed and died.

What I should’ve realized:

I was never her.

I figured it out.

I saw what it was about.

The way you were hers,

I was never yours;

Never the one you wanted.

One morning I made my way to the band room to find Ashley’s best friend, Ashley (yeah that’s not a typo; they were quite Heathers-esque) outside in the hall. She demanded to know if Danny planned to leave OG Ashley to be with me. “I swear,” I pleaded, “we’re friends, but Danny loves Ashley so much; he would never leave her.” I believed what I said and my throat closed around a thick sob. She brushed past me as the bell rang. People poured out of the band room and I craned my neck to find Danny. He came out, hand in hand with OG Ashley, lips pursed and eyes stoic. I called out to him and he ignored me.

That was a rough week. I didn’t hear from Danny and I couldn’t go to the band room; each time I did, eyes bored into my back. When I didn’t hear from him, it felt like dying. I tried to read, but my eyes couldn’t find the energy to focus on the words on the page anymore. I was a shell; going through only the necessary motions. My father found this a pleasant surprise; he was glad to finally have the robotic daughter he always wanted who just followed orders. In the first week of February, my phone dinged. “MESSAGE from Ashley”, it read.

Our conversation wasn’t as dramatic as I’d feared; she’d heard the rumor and wanted to ask me about it herself. I repeated what I told Friend Ashley and assured her that “even if I had feelings for Danny - which of course I don’t at all - he would never do that to you. He loves you so much; he talks about you all the time. I wouldn’t lie to you.” Lie, truth, truth, half-lie, lie. 

Still no word from Danny. I texted him a few times, but after the fifth, I figured he no longer wanted anything to do with me.

The weekend after Valentine’s day, he texted me. 

“Hey”

“Hey, it's been a while.”

“Yeah I know. Just a lot of drama; life’s been busy.”

“Oh, I understand.”

Neither of us brought it up again. 

I continued to love him, but he no longer spoke to me like the new puzzle he wanted to know everything about, but rather a discarded toy that once held his interest, but no longer offered anything new. 

Mid-May, Mrs. Tate asked me to stay after class to discuss my project. She had noticed the way that I had changed over the course of the year, but was impressed by my writing. “You should showcase your work at Parent-Teacher Night. I think your parents would be proud to see the work you’ve done. I can tell you’re hurting, hon. Use that hurt and make something beautiful. One day this shit won’t matter anymore - I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but I promise you it’s true. Give it a try.”

I agreed. Despite my supposed inability to care, on Parent-Teacher Night, the butterflies in my stomach became bats as my turn came closer. My father stayed home; “the kids’ school activities were a mother’s responsibility.” Mom sat next to me and her excitement to see me present only further agitated the bats. When Mrs. Tate called out my name, my face flushed and hearing dulled, like I had put on headphones. She smiled at me as I shuffled my way to the front with my paper shaking in my hand and whispered a quick “good luck.” I did my best not to projectile vomit on her when I breathed out “thank you.” I turned to the audience, heart thudding against my ribcage. I managed to croak out, “Hi, I’m Kala and I’m going to read my poem called ‘Neverland.’

Neverland

we exist as a pod

of two crisp peas;

the same salty water

of two separate seas.

she is the surrogate for the absentee - 

my shadow for me.

when you bring darkness

and causing sadness gives you glee,

i’ll open the window and embrace the gift 

the sun gave to me.

rest assured we’ll never flee - 

my shadow nor me.

so leave if you must,

despite my pleas.  

leave if you want;

you will with ease.

and finally we’ll be free - 

my shadow and me.

When I finished, I glanced up from the paper I held in front of me like a shield at a silent audience. Mom, tears in her eyes, began to clap and the rest followed. I shuffled back to my seat, met with smiles and a thumbs up from a man sitting towards the back. Mom pulled me down in my seat and kissed my cheek. After the event ended, we stood up to leave when the man that had given me a thumbs up approached me, “Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you, but I heard your poem and Mrs. Tate allowed me to take a look at your Poetry Portfolio. I actually work at a school in Greenville, the South Carolina School for Arts and Humanities. It’s a boarding school for kids gifted in the arts. Should you want to apply to spend the rest of your highschool career there, I would definitely love to put in a good word for you with the Selection Committee. Here’s my card - think about it.”

My mouth hung open stupidly for a long time before I turned to Mom and she clamped it shut. “I have something to show you. Let’s go home,” she said.

That night, Mom showed me notebooks from her childhood full of hundreds of poems. “This is your legacy, hon. If this is what you love, this is what you should do.” And my crippled, deadened heart swole. 

Subconscious Solace

it’s scary when you

realize

that things

change. 

you look back; seeing signals that warned of what

comes.

friendship, romance, and stability from way back 

when;

at a time i didn’t think it was 

needed.

now it’s gone and only sadness looms

within.

It took time, but eventually I got over Danny and we stayed friends even after we’d left for separate states. I realized if I could love him despite his flaws, shouldn’t I extend myself the same courtesy? After time and effort, I learned how to love myself and continue to work on learning how to love others too.

I graduated from the South Carolina School for Arts and Humanities and a few months ago, I received word that my application to the competitive writing program at Emory was accepted. By covering tuition through scholarships, not even my father was able to deny me the right to go. So here I am, writing in my journal on the eve of moving to my new school, reminiscing on my first love and what it took to get here. I have so much more to experience and love and I’m not afraid of it anymore. I hope one day, my writing will help kids like me see all the world has to offer them. Until then, I can’t wait to see what else life has in store for me.

life is full of happy moments 

that pass us by

like leaves in the sky.

we strain and we crane 

to grasp at any leaves we can attain.

when we miss, we cry 

but when those tears dry,

remind yourself and say,

“even in this dark day, 

these moments are so

beautiful to see,

these moments make it so

beautiful to be,

these words make me 

feel so free,

and this world is so lucky 

it has me.”

Gratitude - Palak Trivedi