Wisteria Eyed

9

A hazy fog was all I got whenever I thought about my past life, around a year or two back. But as the time went on, the thick fog became a light mist, allowing me to see through it.

At first there were just lines or random words- spoken by the most familiar yet forgotten voices. But gradually, I started remembering, recognizing them. And as much as I did, I started feeling it; the sense of loss.

The sense of resentment and regret.

My past life wasn't that good, to be honest; scattered and rather unsatisfactory for my past self but for my current self? It was everything.

It wasn't like I forgot the details of my last life intentional or fully; it was more as if I couldn't access them. They were just sitting there, in the back of mind, behind the thick fog— just waiting to be discovered.

And now that I did discover some major moments, I can't resent the timing any more than I already did.

"Miyasha," the somewhat familiar gruff voice broke me out of my musing, calling my attention towards him. The owner of the voice was old-yet-young-looking man Shigeno Koji, who found my unconscious body floating by the river and saved me.

For the past few days (or was it a week now?), he had been tending to me without any complaints.

I hardly had much talk with him except the exchange of our names we had the day I gained consciousness. I was in and out of sleep most of the time and thus, unable to sprout anything coherent enough to make a conversation.

I even started talking in my native (past) language— Hindi —or even English, which wasn't completely unintentional, yet couldn't be controlled. After the majority of my memories from my past life recovered— including how I died —my mind and soul were in a constant turmoil.

It was as if I was trapped in a raging typhoon; stuck in the middle where the winds are the lowest and watching it destroy everything around me— my past life and the current one all altogether... and what could I do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Just stuck in the eye of the typhoon, waiting for it to tear me apart as it had done with my life.

"Miyasha?" His voice pulled me back to the reality, once again. I blinked and turned towards him, staring at him blankly as my mind still reeled with thoughts that shouldn't be in the mind of a four year old.

"How are you feeling?" He asked carefully, as he sat beside my futon.

"Uhn," My voice came out as a croak. Breathing was like a war; every breath was a fight against my aching yet healing body that my mind wasn't yet used to enduring.

"You want to get up, now?" It didn't escape my notice how ironic this was. In my initial days here, I couldn't wait to get up and out of here but now...

'...I don't even want to move.' I thought wryly.

Time was starting to blur together, slipping away from me with every breath. If there was some room left in me, after all the resentment and pain bubbling just under the surface, then maybe I would had felt tired. But as there was not, I was just in grief and pain.

Grief of losing my family in both the lives.

Resentment towards the God who played with me still; keeping me alive just to live with the pain daily.

And finally, the pain of losing everything, again.

And even after all these emotions, I still felt numb; as if these feelings were not my own.