Pocket full of stars

19 [RAHI]

The world appeared in fragments like broken pieces and glass shreds floating in the air.

I stopped in my tracks.

I haven't been feeling myself for a few days, though I don't know what myself is like.

I was exhausted of my hatred towards my mother and I wanted to let it go.

But every time I looked into the mirror, I saw her face staring back at me cynically, judging me for everything, my every breath.

I know the reflection is of me but the face is of my mother.

She was victorious in dominating my identity with that of hers.

People look at her when they look at me; they talk about her when they see me; they

reminisce about the time they have spent with her—my identity remains at the back, behind the door listening to their words, waiting for them to notice me.

I was tired.

So the world was in fragments.

My colleague once said I should be happy that I looked exactly like my mother and even had her voice. "That is so precious." She gushed, "It is like your mother is living with you. She might have left the world but she is with you."

She was excited as she glorified the prospect of continued existence through somebody.

I watched her with pity.

She did not understand the irony of the situation—the dark side of what she said.

A mother living through her daughter even after death, can also be translated into the language of a horror movie, but my colleague is romantic in her disposition; she won't understand.

As I searched for the real world in the fragments, I found some untold memories in the suitcase of my mother's belongings.

I have seen Aunty take it out often to air out the contents but I have never been interested in checking what they were.

My mother's presence was overbearing enough; the contents would drown me.

However, with the growing dominance of my mother's identity, I thought of checking it for once.

They were arranged very prettily.

Some beautiful clothes would perfectly fit me. There were some heavily embroidered sarees too which looked captivatingly gorgeous.

My first thought was to burn them someday but on second thought, I decided to keep them for the time when my mother would completely take over my existence.

She would need her clothes.

Apart from that, there were a handful of books, some odd items and a planner.

I have never seen my mother use the pretty planner before but I always wanted to have it since it had tiny pink flowers over a white background.

The planner was empty except for a picture, some random phone numbers and a single sentence written in scrawny handwriting.

The picture was unsettling.

Out of the two newborn babies in the picture, one of the babies was scratched out with a blue pen and the other was...it wasn't me.

The sentence was peculiar too because it read, if only I had lied.

But on looking closer, I saw a faint half circle attached to the 'l' of the word 'lied' which made it look like a 'd'.

With that, the sentence changed to—If only I had died.

I felt like a detective rummaging in the crime scene for clues.

Feeling confused and outwitted with the discoveries, I put the things back in their places and went to bed.

Needless to say, I couldn't get the picture out of my head.