Dishes

Hah, hope, they say. When everything falls down upon all they say, hope. What do I do with hope? Sit down and ponder that everything will be okay. That one day, this screaming pain in my chest shall vanish? No, No, I’ll be damned with hope since I shall not wait but act. I have been a strong man and continue to be. For my mother, father, and sisters. Well no, lets skip father.

                    I will be hope.

And so, he tried to become hope. He woke up early, ate well, worked out, and made new goals in life. Maybe a girlfriend would be lovely. A new skill, perhaps. This man, prime in his twenties, fought with his grit. Life was beginning to look much more hopeful. He made sure to follow his routine, and damn his routine kept him checked. There was no time for despair when you had so much to work. He knew his purpose and made sure to pave his path towards it not with wooden planks but with stone. Or so, he thought so.

                    I will be hope

You know what I say to myself these days, “I got no time for this feeling today, maybe tomorrow?”. And then I forget it the whole day. Until, of course, the next day, the cycle begins again. The best part is that I have made procrastination my weapon. The absurdity of it. It felt like a promising Mom that I would do the dishes later, only to find out they vanished late at night. Magic! or just moms. My Mom is the best person ever. She always said not to succumb to feelings of pity but to fight them. Not allowing them to fester the mind and, later, the body. For the record, I have a date next week. I am following the guides you taught me. Pave the path with stone, as you said. For the records, I am not that heavy. The wooden ones would do fine.

                    I try to be hope

Oh, he was trying his best. Yet somehow, in our lives, the best is not enough. His excellent metaphor about dishes proved his point, so he stayed busy to leave the dishes in the sink. So that one day, the dishes would vanish. He was an intelligent man indeed, but he forgot one thing. His mother is not here with us anymore. No one is taking his dishes from the sink. As the dishes pile up in a mountainous heap, he can no longer keep himself occupied. The whole room stank and he saw the dishes almost falling down and flies dancing around the kitchen. He is disgusted by it, not wanting to see anything like that. Yet he sees it with the edge of his sight. Lurking there. Reminding his loss. Reminding him that no one will take the dishes. Only him. 

                    It is too late for hope

I do look good in the mirror. The date went well, first time I did not have keep myself busy. But nah, I think won’t date her. She may disrupt my focus. Staying healthy is good for the mind. But still, the feeling is back again. A consuming pit. Well, I think I will worry about it tomorrow.

                   Hope where are you?

And so, he did. Again, again and again. Until there were no clean plates enough to add to the pile. He indeed hoped them to magically vanish. But his wishes rang no attention. He bought paper plates. Much easier to just throw it into the trash. Right? How hard could it be?

                   Hope does not exist

Fuck. How did I get myself into it? My room can be mistaken for a dump yard. I can’t get away from this. Oh, I try, but the amount of trash paralyzes me. They won’t vanish like they used to. They don’t vanish. What am I doing wrong? I took action with my hands. I fought the feeling, created a routine, and did great at work… but my house is a mess. This is all your fault! You hear me? You! Your guides don’t help me!

                   Hope

The despair and sorrow struck him finally. He cried until there were no tears left. Gasped for breath until his lungs could burst. Hit his head until it felt numb. He sat with his despair. He remembered losing his pillar. His mother. He did not know what to do without her. But deep down, he felt healed. He had now stayed with his despair and did not escape from it. This young man stood up and started collecting the trash all night. One by one. In no hurry. He accepted that he could not finish cleaning the whole room in one day. He chose to rest. And later, he did continue until no filth was occupying his floor. What remained was the mountainous dish pile. For a moment, he watched it and thought to himself, “Maybe I could start worrying about it tomorrow”. He felt an invisible force pushing him away. To not do anything. To go the gym or focus on his new job. To get a loving girlfriend.

Hope

Ha, that dish pile sure did not vanish. My procrastination trick, in the end, got me. It never was my weapon but an obstacle for mourning. My mom is not here anymore. I never shall hear her giggling, how she gets angry every time my brother and I argue, never see her grey hairs that in the sunlight turn to beautiful blond hair. I will never get comfort from her. That is okay. I will comfort myself. I will clean my dishes. I will act with hope.

                    He Hoped

In the end, my little boy learnt that the sky is always blue, even if the most notorious storm would strike. My boy knew that for the sun to rise, it must first set down. My son learned that to clean the dishes, you have to touch the nasty leftovers attached to the plates.