Letter of Resignation

I cannot help you.

This evening I went out to buy some yogurt. I wore my warmest socks and my coziest sweater and wrapped a nice thick scarf around my head because it was really cold outside. Had a chilly five-minute walk. I don’t have many of these left here since med school finishes soon. I went, met a few friends there. That part was nice since I hadn’t spoken to a soul all day as I was cooped up in my room begging myself to study for the finals. But, I digress.

As I came back, up those stairs and through those corridors, I found myself regretting that I had lost the ability to give a crap. If that is temporary or permanent, I have yet to find out. I cannot find it in me to care about your troubles anymore. I do not have it in me to listen to you sink into a pit of self-indulgence and blurt out a plethora of words I have heard you and so many speak before. I can see them form a cloud of smoke around you, as you get lost in them, talking talking talking… A copy of a copy of a copy. It’s beyond me to bear it any longer.

I didn’t use to be like this, though. I was one of those people who actually feed on other person’s neediness. People who thrive in a co-dependent relationship (if you call that thriving). I was the person who loved hearing the other person talk and loved to give solutions, if asked to, of course. I loved people more for their problems and imperfections than anything else.

But I have lost the ability to connect with you anymore. I do not have the stamina to sit and listen to you be…so common. I do not have the energy to apologize when I fail to meet some mighty and high standards of affection you have in your mind, those cultivated by ill written books and misunderstood classics. I have no place for the guilt you inflict, nor do I have the capability to address the gaping voids you wish someone would fill and the seeping cracks you wish someone would fix. It is impossible for me to go back there. I wish it would pain me more when I tell you: You are on your own. Yes, I might be around as I myself am on this journey like you. I will give you my water if you are thirsty, I will give you my food if you are hungry. But I will not chew it for you. I will slow down if you want to rest yourself. But I will not carry you.

I will not carry you.

Coming to you, straight from the ice-box (I)

Window

I know it is hot outside, trust me I do. I was the same person who was sweating all my salts and water out in the morning, I do remember. But if you remind that to my fingers now, they will give you the stare of a lifetime, because, I..my dear folks..am frozen.

I am doing my electives in Psychology, ey. The good old electives..I have been obsessing about them for more than three months and finally I am here. And what stories I have to tell…

But for now, I have the tale of the Iceland. It is pretty cold inside the hospital. And I have always had a bad circulation, I go numb at the slightest of breeze. I spend half of my summers without switching the fan on. And here I am, typing away in the library, my nose minutes from falling into my lap ; red and raw. My feet screaming and cursing my open shoes and my legs threatening to desert me any moment.

The rational thing is to get out, get hopping or just go out of the premises into the grounds, road, open fire…I dunno, but I am way too lazy to walk that far. So I got out and sat in-front of the nearest window, pressing my palms against the tinted glass. It feels warm, toasty and nice. Comforting and tranquil.  I think Imma stay here for a while.

~Cheers