Paradise Lost

On my way to work one morning I noticed the freshly bloomed flowers on the trees by the footpath. I felt sorrow, as if my mind was rejuvenated by the change in the weather but my heart was still hopeless. I stretched my arm with the help of my lean and tall figure. I gently stroked the red petal of the new blossom and wished for it to stroke me back. If I was younger, I would have plucked it and made it mine. ‘But maybe, a beauty like this is supposed to be admired from afar’ I thought giving credit to my wiser age.

Forcing a smile and filling my lungs, I sighed, ‘It’s not your first time Mila!’. And I continued marching towards the place where it all began.

“Good morning! How are you?” I greeted Deborah on my way to the lift.

Somehow greeting Deborah every morning had become the highlight of my days. Also, seeing Deborah’s confused smile was something I found quite funny.

The hallway extended for a couple hundred metres between the staircase on one side and Deborah’s desk on the other. There were a couple of employees around me at all times, waiting just like me to rush into the busy office as soon as the doors of the lift opened. There were fresh flowers in the stone vase next to the lift which I imagined Deborah watered that morning.

As I stepped into the lift, my mind went quiet.

“Two”

“Three”

“Four”, echoed the insides of my crowded lift.

Just like the day before, a tall charming man entered my space, immediately after the lift had echoed ”Five!”. He limped at almost six feet tall; that Caucasian man was my first love.

We met at university about a decade ago. We were paired up by Mr. Cupid for the very last project of our year. Our professor was actually called, David Cupid. Even though we got along really well and really fast, we did not date till the course was over. I still remembered the night of our graduation party; it was the part of the night when both of us stood together and discussed our future. I think that conversation drew us closer to each other since it made us wonder if people could drift apart after graduating.

Today that Caucasian man, I mean, Sean, worked as an assistant manager for the marketing team of our moderately famous publishing company. I was a writer and it was Sean’s responsibility to help me sell my stories.

“The web-series has agreed to extend the contract.” Sean glanced at me with a very excited gaze.

“I know!” the words slipped out of my mouth naturally, as if it was my heart in charge of my voice.

“I must have talked in my sleep” Sean chuckled after he took in a brief pause as if to process my new reaction.

The truth was that I didn’t love Sean anymore. When I had first realised that, I could not bring myself to tell him but now that my mouth was reckless, I knew that there was no point having that conversation as it would not change anything at all and I would be experiencing all of that again the next day and the day after, as if nothing mattered and nothing happened.

“I will see you at home” Sean kissed my cheek and left me at level nine. I left the lift at level ten.

I loved my office; the walls and the ceiling was a cool shade of brown and the floor was beige. I had surrounded my desk with plants. I didn’t know why, as I didn’t recall, but the plants made me feel like I was not alone.

I sat on my chair and glanced at a pile of copies of my recently published and tremendously popular novel. It turned out to be so successful that I was offered to make a web series based on it; since the screens were now taking over the pages.

Some time had passed in my office, but I was still sitting on my chair staring at a hole I bore into the pretty brown wall to my left. I was contemplating my life and how this was where it all began.

About a few years ago, when I had first realised that I had fallen out of love with Sean, I had also realised how boring my life had become as it took me back to when I was younger, and every day of the week used to feel so exciting that in just one year I had filled around twelve thick diaries with my entries, simply pouring out the world I had collected in my heart.

Now I was jealous of the person I had left behind. I was envious that she could live those good times over and over again inside that universe that I had inked for her to protect. She was living my happy days while I lived in an immortal reality that seemed to be going nowhere.

And that time was also the first time that I was sitting on my chair contemplating and boring that same hole into a pile of copies of my popular book. I couldn’t move on from the feeling of being stuck. And since that afternoon, I had been living the same day over and over again. I lived in the same events and the same conversations for about six years.

After ruminating of that one day for a little while, I pulled myself back to the present after I pulled you back too. It was time for my very first and very regular interview for a television show, where a stranger asked me questions and I answered in a way that would please the world on the other side watching me and reading me.

“Mila, in your book you described the attractions of our childhood which made the viewers curious about your thoughts on adulthood. The viewers would like to know what you think defines an adult?”

“I think an adult is a heartbroken kid with a bigger bag.”

“Could you elaborate please”

“I mean, an adult is just a heartbroken kid. If you read my book you may have reflected on your own childhood and your childhood dreams. Once transcended into your childhood memories, I think, you are asking me to pull you out of it and into your bitter realities. I am sorry, but you will have to break your heart yourself.” I looked at the camera and into my own reflection as if I wished for someone to tell me the same.

I did not mean to be rude, yet I have forever been frustrated as I have tried to figure out if my monotonous time loop was a curse or a blessing. But I did not care how I must have come across as even though I would meet the same people tomorrow in my life, they may never see me again in their irregular and uncertain universe.

“Very well. Lastly, this question is not scripted, but I wonder, how are you?”

I stayed quiet. And I wished to stay quiet that one time. I felt sick of that question since I couldn’t be honest with my answer. I didn’t know what would have happened if I changed the context of that conversation after responding “Quite alright, thank you!” for about six years in the loop. And yet, I remained quiet, as for the first time I felt brave instead of sad.

“That’s good to hear. Thank you for joining us today, Mila. We wish you lot more success for your upcoming books too.” the interviewer concluded as if she was programmed beforehand.

I froze.

My life had become a record player. It did not matter how I acted, these events took place the same way as they were meant to.

I would walk out of the set and Sean would kiss me; we would walk to the office together talking about the interview; we would be stopped by his manager in the hallway and he would want to speak to Sean for a moment; Sean would tell me that he would see me at home after work; I would go on my own and wait for the lift; Deborah would come to humour me and tell me how wise I was with my answers in the interview but that I would have had to learn how to carry myself in public places; she would give me an entitled look before heading back to her desk; I would go into my office as if nothing had happened and finish editing my draft; then I would go home and pretend that I was in love until I fell asleep before waking up the next day and doing it all over again.

But, maybe life always had an upper hand since it always did something more than what I had thought. As I was waiting for the lift after leaving Sean with his manager that evening, Deborah came up to me with an entitled look on her face and nudged me to change my perspective.

“Mila! I watched your interview.”

“Thanks Deb.”

“Why did you pause?”

I froze again.

“I did not know how to respond in that moment” I said smiling through a confused expression. “At least I answered her wisely!” I chuckled and tried to manoeuvre the conversation back to how it was supposed to go.

“I don’t think an adult is a heartbroken kid.” She gave me the entitled look again before turning away. And I froze again.

The rest of the day went on just as usual, but I couldn’t get over the little abnormalities in my routine that I had experienced. Deborah and I never got along. We both dreamed of becoming writers; my second book brought me great success while all her work failed and she ended up becoming the receptionist and watering the lilies every morning. But sometimes I wondered if that success was the other way around, because of my knowledge on life and her ignorance towards it.

It was the same night and instead of falling asleep at eleven, I climbed up the attic instead. It was Deborah; she had me contemplating life as an adult rather than the usual reminiscent of a childhood that had shrouded me every afternoon. I thought our childhoods were the paradise but now I wondered if we could have it's glory more than once. Today I had experienced what it could be like to manoeuvre life in the direction of our preference.

My thoughts stopped as soon as I opened the rusty trunk that was left in the corner of the room in our attic. It contained those diary entries from my childhood. When I moved in with Sean, I made sure to bring the trunk with me. Today I can’t recall why I had made that decision.

“Ten pages on how much I loved writing!” I laughed. I laughed at her for being silly. “Well, I made you a writer after all. Your book is popular too. I am sure you are happy!” I said to her in redemption, awaiting a response that I never received.

After a while I sat on the floor next to the trunk wide open, and the thick diaries spread around it in a very messy manner as if someone went through them carelessly, all at once; as if the time could run out.

I cried as I realised an adult cant be a heartbroken kid. Maybe an adult is a kid who has the power to fulfil all her dreams but is faced by the obstacles like nostalgia and knowledge about the society. Maybe a paradise is only to be admired from afar. I cried all night, manoeuvring my loop even more too see if it could ever show me a possibility of finding a paradise again.