MIN SUGA

BURN IT

The ignited flick that the lighter makes. The sound of the fire lighting up. The flame is small but the damage is catastrophic. Ashes and sunlight. Both burning. Burning you. Ripping your soul. The light cymbal grazed behind the slow sustained disconnected notes.

"Someone in the mirror that you don't know."

Burning yourself to ashes. And those ashes are now in the air. Falling out of your window. Your soul is being evaporated. Burnt out to the point of no return. The delusional phoenix in your mind is now just ashes. Ashes of dreams. Ashes of music. Wrong. A very small word for everything going on in your life. In my life. The ashes were not wrong. The soul was not wrong. You were not wrong. Just the judgment is flawed.

Every day I wake up to see a pathetically dreadful soul looking back. Taking care of your skin, hair treatments, and eating good food. What has all this led me to? Nothing. Just emptiness and ugliness staring back at me. I feel uncomfortable in my skin.

"Let's go back to the past days. "

The days of the summer in June. The days you kept yourself holed up in that small studio. The days when you were uncertain of anything but downfall. The days when you trusted someone more than yourself. The days you felt alone. The days you were 7.

The days when you felt like burning it all. The days you felt like the ash being carried in the wind. The past few days. Not bliss but bearable. Enduring everything. The time you were shown big dreams. Bigger than your footprints.

The days of jealousy, anger, resentment, self-doubt, inferiority, and tears. The days when you were rapping your heart out but it was ripping your heart out. The days you were on the stage barefoot with the mic in your hand and just the ocean of darkness in view. The days when you respected everyone despite you turning to ashes every moment. The days when you thought it was over before it could start.

The days of the upgrade. The days of success and victory. The days of the purple ocean greeting you. And the days of eternal bliss.

I want to go back in time. Desperately. To the times when I was overworking myself, burning myself for others but I felt happy. I was happy to lose myself for others. I was happy trying to find my happiness in others. Until it all vanishes into thin air. Until it all became everything, I wanted it not to be.

A couple of years won't hurt, right? You waited a decade to rise. But each moment was a burden. To me and others. I was not real. I was trying to be perfect. Not for me but for someone else. And it burnt me. burnt my emotions. Burnt me to the core that I was dislodged from my feelings. Emptiness. Looking back at me. I was certainly fearing that flight towards the sun. but I knew I couldn't be burnt anymore. Limit exceeded.

What has changed? You said nothing. I agree. Just the young ambitious boy with dreams larger than the world. Why do you want to burn yourself? To turn to ashes or to defeat the sunlight? Is the phoenix alive? Is the fire still there? The fire that you started. The fire that burnt you. The fire that made you what you are. The fire of past, present, and future. The burn on your skin.

"Am I being pressured into passion?"

Passion. The sole purpose of your living. The reason for your ashes. The reason for arson.

I have long forgotten what that feels like. Passion to paint. Passion to drown in colors. Passion to play. Passion to move the fingers on the piano. Passion to step barefoot in the grass to breathe. I am afraid these days. Passion defines people. It defined you.

But me? It terrifies me. It's not that I don't see the path to my passion. I see It. I don't have the heart to walk on it again. To be broken again. To explain to someone what it means to me. to start shedding tears before I even start to think about it. Random tears have been adorning my skin now. Don't know if they are from passion or the burning.

"Giving up decisively also counts as courage."

I could list down my disappointments but that would make me cry while I write. Ironic right? Ironic that I am referring to my passions and dreams as my disappointments. Maybe there are not for me but for the people around me. Stability is what I lack. Impulsiveness is what I possess. Giving up and me? we are meant to be.

Giving up is always easy. I just have to stop thinking about it. Just have to leave everything in the middle of the road and walk away. Walk away and never look back. If I look back, I may run back to extinguish the fire that I set. Burning myself again. I didn't know giving up was also tough. I was still a coward.

I know you thought about giving up too. Every day. I don't know what or who kept you sane. But I can't keep myself to myself anymore. It's like an eclipse. The rim shone with rays and darkness in the center. 

When tears start falling of their own accord, it's time. Time to know that all have been burnt. But maybe there was more left. A part of me that I kept in the crypts. Hidden away from the world and myself. A part that would show itself when all has been reduced to ashes. Only to rise from it. But it won't be a flame. Just the dark mist.

"And everything was all wrong."

"So burn it till it's all gone."

And yet I was still there. Gloomy and aflame. Flaring and fading. Transitioning. But just burning myself. And the ashes fall out of the window.