What does it take to say "It's okay", when nothing is? You've done that. I've done that. We've all that, I'm sure. But, if someone ever said that it takes strength to say "I'm okay", when nothing is even remotely okay, he/she was wrong. It doesn't take strength. How can it? It weakens you even more than you would be, without having to say so. Physically weak. Physically sick.
The tears that you don't want to admit, can't come out. They travel down from your throat, down to your chest, to your stomach, and then, it doesn't seem for a moment that they were weightless drops of some watery solution. It seems, as if a very thick iron rod is being forced down your thin and weak wind-pipe. The torment is so goddamn physical.
If it doesn't take strength, what does it? Because even after I've recovered from the "I can't take it"-trauma, it feels good, that I didn't trouble you with my burdens. The very next moment, I realize, that I did. I did. And, even you had said a hundred "I'm okay"s, a hundred "I don't care"s, and a hundred "I can't help it"s, in an emotionless voice. What took you to say so? Is it the truth of the statements? Yeah, okay, I agree. You really don't care, you're really okay, and you really can't help it. But, I'll tell you what, I'm not alien to dumping people. I've dumped a lot of people. Well, not a lot, some 2-3. And I know what it takes to dump someone, and actually, not even remember the person. Absolute indifference. Something, that you're still trying to achieve. I don't even know whether I should wish you good luck. Because, I'm trying to do the same too. You're just a little more stupid than I am. That why you amuse me. If you see a red paper in front of you, you don't even recognise that it's a red paper. You will, either, think it's just piece of the boring newspaper; or if you are in a worse mood, you'll try and delve deeper into the red, derive a hundred interpretations of the simple red paper. You're stupid. And I love that.
I had given you the facts. Here are the feelings. Thanks for making me cry. It feels fresh.
Moreover, I deserve to cry, unlike you. I deserve to suffer, unlike you. I have discovered another disorder. I have betrayed the people whom I love the most, the most. Start with my brother. Then you. Then, friends. I do it, and then justify it. And then, days later, the truth invades my wall of justifications, and the charge sheets glare at me in the face.
Last nigth I'd watched Transamerica on Dadabhai's recommendation. When it started, I though it was a movie that I want all those parents (mine, Disha's, Payal's) to watch it. But, it didn't turn out to be a movie on transgender people. It was a simple parent-son story, with the gender disorder of the parent being the backdrop. One of your-type-movies. Today, I watched Requiem For A Dream. It was recommended by someone from my class. It seemed to be a movie on drug-addiction. But, like all other drug-movies, this was a super-depressing movie. I wouldn't have watched it if anyone had warned me that my "comical state of dependence" would turn into the same "obsessive need" after watching it.
Anyway, the last scene of the movie coincided with the first scene of Part Four of Our Story.
I'll tell you something. I don't feel like sharing most things, when they happen. Like, now. But then, I will tell everything to everyone, later, because I'll feel like doing so then. I remember one of my status updates, with respect to this year's Holi. When the only person who matters is absent, everyone else matters. Impartially. That's why I'd dared to choose Diptyajit over Disha that day. Because the determining factor didn't exist.
It doesn't take strength to say "It's okay", when nothing is. It takes responsibility. Something, none of us lack. But someone does.