Honestly, being 18 seems in no way different from being 17. Not in the midst of exams anyway. And speaking of birthdays, some people have really weird ideas of what to give you for your birthday. This concept of people changing as time goes by seems a convenient way of describing that you’ve changed too but are unwilling to accept it. I noticed stark differences in the tone of two poems, by the same author (who shall remain unnamed to protect identity) to the same person (who shall also remain anonymous), written exactly a year apart. How weird is this?
(Last Year)
He said:
Every time I see your face
My heart begins to pace
Every time I see you smile
It makes my day worthwhile
I want to call out stars and the sky so blue
And tell them I’m so glad to be with you
And on this glorious day, I have one thing to say to you
And that is Happy B’Day to you
She said:
Oh God! I love him so!
(This Year)
He said:
I want to tell you some things as a friend
I don’t think you’ve realized
That I don’t know you anymore
But I know enough to tell
That after all that has been said and done
You don’t like the person you’ve become
Why don’t you take a look at yourself
What I see is just bitterness
You hate the people you never though you’d hate
Maybe all you need is just a break
The times have changed and so have you
You’re doing things you shouldn’t do
With every step you take, you go further away
From the person you really are today
I leave you here alone to wonder
About why I’ve given you these words to ponder
You may choose to listen, or you may not
But these words are all I’ve got
She said:
Is it getting better?
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you,
Now that you’ve got someone else to blame?
Did I disappoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
Well, it’s too late tonight
To drag the past out into the light.
Did I ask for much?
More than a lot?
You gave me nothing
Now these words are all I’ve got?
What I learnt from you was how to shoot someone who outdrew me
You’ve got to do what you should
Even hate people, who I never thought I could
We hurt each other
I’m sorry if I did it again
I need you to understand, to hear
That reasons were there
For me to want to start anew
To change from being the person you knew
And the reason was, undoubtedly, you
I’ve been down
I’ve been cold
But now I’m still standing
Bitterness had helped me cope
Saying what I feel
Being free, being me
Being what I want to be
Times change
As people do too
When you could understand me
I could understand you
But now you don’t know me
Nor me you
A wall betwixt us
And the door’s closed
But so are your eyes
Open your mind
Tell me what I’ve done
Does it seem wrong to you
That now I see the sun?
Friend, as in be-there-for you-always?
Words from you, when everything’s finally in place?
It might have helped though
If you had been there when I was gone
There are many things I shouldn’t do
There are many things I wish I hadn’t done
But it doesn’t matter to me that all that was is gone
Now that we’re saying goodbye
(Gonna miss you so!!)
Translation (for those as simple-minded as me):
“Don’t you tell me what to do, now that you’ve already walked out of my life. This is something I might have listened to some other time, some other place if said some other way. But it’s a little late to dig up the past and complain I’ve changed because there’s no one else to blame for that but you. So what if I’m bitter? It didn’t matter to you that I was lonely, sad and heart-broken and now it’s of great concern I’ve gotten a little caustic? Anyways, thank your for the good times, the better times and thanks tonnes for all that fish. Toodles, buddy!"
I don’t remember much of my life before Maria found me. I was really young then. I find myself able to connect better with the smells and sounds better than any scenes of my past. I recall snatches of my mother though. She is the pretty, golden-haired angel that frequents my dreams. She used to smell of fresh fields, even in that horrible slum that we lived in. I remember the vile stench of that place too. And my two brothers, they smelled as bad as they looked. I don’t think I was biologically related to them, but I still had to call them my brothers. My mother hadn’t been very fond of them either. But I knew she loved me. And I had hoped and dreamed for a long time since the day she went missing that she’d come looking for me.
Dusty brown haired and a matching complexion, I had deep brown eyes. My name is Merlin, now. But my mother used to call me Bandito. I think that meant Bandit in Mexican. She used to say I had stolen her heart. My brothers, on the other hand, didn’t really like me, or anyone else, for that matter. All they cared about was themselves, their next meal, fighting, creating a racket, being a public nuisance and giving street folks like us a bad name. Life in that poor section of town was hard, really very hard. Food was scarce on a good day and non-existent on a bad one. Handouts and leftovers formed our staple. Some people were slightly friendlier than most others. Like Al from the Italian restaurant who always had a few kind words and some fresh meat to spare.
I was just a little guy, but I was still expected to learn to survive the routine that might have become a part of my life if it hadn’t been for that one day. My mother hadn’t returned from her usual wanderings for food. It was really very late. But my brothers just didn’t bother. I urged them to go find her, but they laughed and said I could go if I was really that interested. And so I did. But not knowing left from right or one neighbourhood from another it wasn’t long before I was roaming unfamiliar streets, very lost. I had lost track of time and direction, and finally tired out and helpless I curled up on the corner of the street and decided to stay there till morning. But it turned out to be not such a good idea. When I awoke, not only was I still lost but also on a street with the biggest, nastiest and cruelest bullies. They threw stones at me, beat me with sticks and kicked me around like a soft toy. And I couldn’t fight back, being very small as well as very scared. I tried to run away from them, but that provoked them catch me and beat me harder. I suppose they tired of their game soon, and left me there bleeding and badly bruised. It was as I lay there that I first came to believe in God and said my first ever prayer. There hadn’t been any room for God earlier, but now I wanted to be rescued. I wanted to live. And I prayed.
The woman who had found me, as I lay bleeding, was called Maria. An angel sent for my prayer, no doubt. She carried me gently, wrapped in some fresh towels to a place that smelt like disinfectant – the doctor’s office. The doctor examined me and declared I was one lucky guy. I was duly medicated, bandaged, pet and consoled. No one there seemed to understand what I was saying, but Maria sensed I had no place to go. And so, she took me home with her. As I learnt, Maria was a good, devout woman and a stickler for cleanliness. She scrubbed all parts not covered by bandages until I howled in pain. And to think she did that once every week. I was really sore after every bath. And she took me to the church with her once a while. Not for the Sunday mass when loads of people came, she thought the crowds might scare me. So I accompanied her on some weekdays to the church and I loved going. The building filled with so many rooms, lined with shiny tiles, and it’s a pleasure to be allowed to roam around outside in the yards surrounding the church. I don’t know if God was inside, in the church but he was certainly present in the graceful old trees and lawns around it.
I stayed with Maria for about three weeks during which I had to make frequent visits to the doctor and finally got my bandages off. During this time, some people came to look at me. I think they were considering taking me to their families. But I wasn’t a pretty sight with my bandages, and none of them came back for me. Except for this one girl. She was youngish, about twenty probably. She came one day and just took me home with her. I realize now she didn’t intend on keeping me. She was to be my temporary care-taker, foster parent until I found a family of my own to go to. I got to travel in a car that day, for the first time. It was fun. And I had been so thrilled that it didn’t occur to me I might never see Maria again and I never did.
Her name was Alafiya. She was an exchange student, studying to be a veterinarian. Where Maria had been plump and matronly, Alafiya was a petite brunette with a heavy accent. Not that the accent mattered, we didn’t speak the same language anyway. She had the most amazing grayish-blue eyes. She looked into my brown eyes and seemed to look right into my soul. She didn’t live in an apartment like Maria but had a small old-fashioned, good-looking, two-storey place of her own. Before I arrived there had been four others there. I was to share a room with them. It was quite a cultural mix. All of them had either been found lost and abandoned like I was, or dumped by their families that hadn’t wanted them. Frenella was one such. She was a friendly red-head, a real darling. She was only slightly older than me, but she fussed around like I was her little brother. She and Loki, a dark guy were my best friends during my stay there. The other was Benny, an aggressive guy. He had had a real hard life before coming here, and that had made him violent, suspicious and untrusting. I never got to meet the fourth lady who was supposed to have shared the room with me. It turned out a family had come for her earlier that day. Lucky girl, I remember thinking.
Life with Alafiya was different from with Maria. Now, my baths were still a weekly torture. But there was also a schedule that we worked by. Every morning, we were up by eight and breakfast followed our morning duties. This was usually followed by a walk, but when Alafiya felt like it, it sometimes became a run. After the exercise we were given rest of the morning free. We usually played outdoors during that time. Alafiya insisted on good-behaviour. She insisted on it. In the afternoons, we worked on our manners, not always successfully. She warned us often, during those lessons, that if we wanted to be taken in by a family we had to be well-behaved, and friendly. I suppose the warning was meant particularly for Benny, though he always pretended he didn’t hear or understand. Sometimes in the evenings people came to see us. These were the people who might take us home, if they liked us, and if they were willing to go through all the necessary paper-work. We all had our hair brushed and freshened to be presentable. Benny was such a good-looking guy, but he was always rude to the people who took note of him on their visits. One such day, Benny went berserk. Screaming, he jumped on the nice lady who was trying to speak to him, bit her little boy, threw things, broke lamps, pulled table-clothes and ran out of the house. Alafiya apologized to them and when they had left made some phone calls. She told the person on the other end she might never find a home for Benny, he was just too violent. She looked real disturbed and upset, I wanted to help her. The next day, she took Benny on a ride in her car. I wanted to go too. But Frenella hushed me up, and told me not to distress Alafiya. She also said some of them who got taken away like Benny never came back. A gloom had settled upon us there in the house. And when Alafiya got back, she didn’t have Benny with her. That made up my mind for me. I knew, by instinct, I will never see him again. And I promised to never ever misbehave.
Weeks rolled on. Frenella got adopted – that’s right, adopted – by a nice couple. She promised to keep in touch. I haven’t heard from her yet, but I know she’s happy and that’s the way I want it to be. And some new-comers arrived to occupy her place in the house. Loki and I missed her a lot, and we didn’t get along very well with the new-arrivals. I liked staying with Alafiya, but I knew it wouldn’t be permanent. I wished for a nice family to come and adopt me too. Loki and I prayed every night for someone to come and take us home with them. And one day they did.
It was just a regular Wednesday. Though my bath wasn’t due for another four whole days Alafiya gave me and Loki a bath that day. I was still rolling in the grass trying to rid myself of the suffocating smell of soap when a big car arrived in the driveway. Apparently had come looking to adopt one of us. I noticed the family comprised of a man, a pleasant looking woman and a little boy. Not the sort of boys that become bullies and throw stones at you, but a good shy boy. He looked at me, our eyes locked briefly before he ran into the house after his parents. Alafiya called for us eventually. And the family got to look at us, me and Loki. They talked to us a while, played with us and seemed to like us. I liked them too. I didn’t want them to leave. They told Alafiya that they couldn’t make up their minds and that they’ll be back. When they didn’t come back for a whole week I worried that they might never.
But the following Monday, Alafiya received a call that made her all excited like she had been when Frenella had found a family. She bundled me and Loki into the car, much to my delight, and took us down to see the doctor, the one I had met earlier. I was given a number of medicines until I felt quite sick, shots on my arms and my temperature and other statistics were checked. Loki had been through the same procedure as well, he told me. And once again it was back in the car, and back home. The next day the family returned. They couldn’t decide between Loki and me. And since they had a reasonably big house they decided they could give us both a good home. We were going to be adopted, both of us, into the same family. We were so thrilled.
But I was also partly sad; I realized we had to leave Alafiya. She was really special to me. I tried to tell her I’d miss her, but she didn’t pay much heed. She had bought me and Loki a nice thick collar each. It was brown and I still keep it in memory of her. And soon it was time for us to leave. Loki bounded into the car, not stopping to think for a moment. But I stopped to look back at Alafiya and let out a little doleful bark. My first friend, my first real house and I wasn't going to see her again. But she just waved and turned back to the house. She meant a lot me but I guess I was just another dog in her life, one of many that she finds good homes for.
Loki and I still live with the family. They take real good care of us, and love us with everything they’ve got. The little boy’s now off to high school now and he’s studying really hard. He wants to be a vet someday. Loki and I were his inspiration, I believe. We are no longer the little playful puppies we used to be, but respectable dogs. I guess my story ends here. My human mother’s looking for me. I guess she will want her slipper back now.
came out as a rambling, unsatisfactory letter which incidentally failed in its objective. When I was 13 and submitting my first story to the Commonwealth, a 10-year old submitted a poem that surpassed my story. When I was 15 and smitten for the first time, I couldn't write love poems (not like I wanted to, but still I couldn't). When I am 17 and confused, I still believe I can't write poetry much as I want to.
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye.
Somehow I know, we'll meet again
Not sure quite where and I don't know just when
You're in my heart so until then
Wanna smile
Wanna cry
Saying goodbye
or Girls:
9. Date all your friends' mutual best friend for well over a year. Dump her. Tell her you can still be friends. Claim to your other friends you aren't ready for committment. For extra measure, be sure to bitch about her to people who know her better than to beleive you.
