The #1 New York Times Bestselling Author

Arthur Ashish van Doesburg

was born on 1988. He grew up in Nepal, studied in the British

School and gave his SLC and A-Levels from Budhanilkantha

School. His previous works include: A Lesson Not to Be

Forgotten; How I Wish Life Was Different; I Know the Key to

Invincibility; Philosophy of Perception; An Old Man’s Legacy;

That Phone Call of Destiny; A Conversation to Last for Some

Time; Life as an Ocean; My Uncle’s Confession; and The Letter

of Death. He is currently working on his novel: Nocturnal II:

The Battle of the Prophecy. He lives with his family in

Kathmandu, Nepal.

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AArrtthhuurr AAsshhiisshh vvaann DDooeessbbuurrgg

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of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously and are not to be construed are real.

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entirely coincidental.

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© Text Copyright Arthur Ashish van Doesburg 2006

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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

For my friends at BNKS (700/0’c Batch)

“If you look in the mirror long enough, you will see yourself blink.”

1

Chapter I (Written On the Evening of 16

th September 2006)

I lit a cigarette. The cigarette was the first of an endless chain. As I looked out

of my window, I took an interest in watching the smoke swirling and dancing in the

pale moon light. The sky was clear so the stars twinkled, brightening up the sky. The

moon too seemed to be rejoicing as it shone its pale lemon light through my window

and onto my bed. However, the moonlight was different from what it used to be.

I turned around and sat on my bed. I flicked the cigarette ash onto the ashtray

beside my table lamp. I turned on my I-Pod and listened to Nickelback’s ‘Far Away”

and turned on the shuffle mode.

Right in front of where I was sitting there was a mirror. I looked at my

reflection and tried to see who I was. My long hair was uncombed and my face was

showing signs of fatigue, there was hardly any signs of depression. How could I be

depressed when I had already known the consequences of my actions?

Looking at the pages of my life, I know that I have made mistakes. But till

date, I have never regretted them, for they have made me the man I am today. I do not

regret this fact.

However, there were times in which I wish that things were different, but we

all have to make some compromises. I guess somewhere, deep down inside me, that I

do not want things exactly the way I want it to be.

Underneath my pillow, there is a photograph of a girl who I loved. I took out

the photograph and looked at it. I did not know what to do with her anymore. Few

days before, when I had met her, she asked me to do something in which I was not

quite sure that I would be able to do.

She asked me to forget her. I would have to erase her out of my life and my

living memories completely. She told me that she could erase me without difficulty. I

asked her if that was what she wanted. She told me that it was not. She wanted us to

be what we were before; before I told her that I loved her. As that could not be

possible, and that her friends did not want her to pursue that particular desire and

advised her that shutting me out was the best option for her.

I again asked her if that was what she really wanted and she said yes. I said

goodbye and I walked away.

As I turned my back to her, I could hear my heart break distinctly. From that

moment onwards I knew that I had truly loved her. Before we became total strangers

to each other I was doubtful of my love for her. I was confused if I really loved her or

did I just like her a lot.

As I walked away I knew that things would have ended this way, but what

surprised me was that I was right. When I told her about my feelings I knew that we

would come to this end.

2

As I lit another cigarette and looked over my room, I knew that I had made a

mistake. No, two mistakes.

The first one was quite obvious; I should have never told her about my

feelings. Second, I should have fought for her. But I had done neither because I loved

her.

I stared into the photograph for a very long time as if she would talk right back

at me. Although I believed in miracles, I knew that she would not talk to me; neither

in the photograph nor in person.

I lit another cigarette and wondered again why I did not fight for her. After the

incident, I talked with a friend of mine and he told me that things had gone wrong (As

if I had not realized it). He told me that I should find out who the other guy was and

then as objectively as I could, compare the both us and see who the better man was.

But to keep in mind that I should be looking at the both of us through her perspective.

Then I should decide if I should fight for her, provided that I was worthy of her love.

If not, then salute her and get a move on my life.

I smiled my broken smile, said my goodbyes and left him. I walked back to

my apartment and smoked another cigarette.

I would never go in search of the other guy, for I knew that, each time I would

look at him, I would always think that he was the one for her and not me. I may even

vent out my anger or frustration out on him. Even if I did not, things would never be

the same between the two of us.

Even if by chance I found out who he was, I could never bring myself to

compare the both of us. I firmly believe that no two beings can ever be compared in

terms of who is better as we all have led different lives, in different environment, with

different attributes and intellectual caliber. Had we led the same life, in the same

environment, with the same attributes and intellectual caliber then maybe we would

be in the position of comparing each other, because we would be similar. Only similar

substances can be compared with a similar basis. Meaning that milk can be compared

from one cow to another in terms of which one is sweeter, but a cow’s milk cannot be

compared with that of a goat, in terms of which one is better.

Assuming, that I had a sudden change of perspective and I compared the both

of us, I knew that would never fight for her. She was never mine to begin with. And

no matter what, she could never love me anymore. Not after everything we have been

through.

Sometimes, I wonder how anyone can love a fool like me. All my life I have

been selfish. I had a sadistic sense of humor. Even knowing it, I never tried to change

for the better. I smoke cigarettes all day long, get high and wasted whenever I get the

opportunity. I used to insult people wherever I went. I used people to my needs and

satisfaction and I have no remorse over it.

3

I have always acted under the influence of my instincts. I do not think twice

before I do anything. I have always gone with my heart in hope of having a clear

conscience. I trust my instincts than my better judgment.

Since I have been old and wise enough, to think for myself, I had decided that

no matter what, my clear conscience was most important. I could not afford to look

back and wish how life was different.

I stubbed out the cigarette and searched for my bottle of vodka. I found it

under my bed. I took a sip and wetted my dry throat. I kept the bottle down and

walked in front of the mirror. I again looked at my reflection. All I saw in the mirror

was my own face. I shook my head, and looked again. What was I trying to see?

I wanted to see what was in there, underneath my skin. What was in the body

of mine? A little kid who wanted to know what he wanted.

All my life, I have been indecisive. I could never decide what I wanted to eat.

I always shifted the burden of choice to my sisters. Now that they are not with me

anymore, I needed to know what I wanted; what I needed. I guess that by looking at

the mirror I would find out.

♦ ♦ ♦

Chapter II (Written On the Night of 16

th September 2006)

On my mirror, I had placed a small piece of art that I had drawn. The picture

was quite simple. There was no artistic touch and there was no professionalism in it.

But the picture had always been clear to me. I had drawn copies of it in my exercise

books and on my bookmarks. I guess it was some sort of ‘Royal Seal’: The Seal of the

Poor Lonesome Forlorn.

The picture was that of a tree, where a young man was sitting on its shade

smoking a cigarette and on the other side was a man holding a guitar reaching for a

fruit. The sun was in the top right corner. I shaded everything black, making it seem

like a silhouette.

This was again a work of my instincts. I just had a pen in my hand and a piece

of paper in front of me. Within a few moments I had the seal.

What was I trying to show? Was it a picture of a man in deep shit and another

man who has as happy as hell? I guess not. I was trying to show a man who just

4

smokes because he wants to and another man reaching out to what he wants. Note that

these men are not counterparts, but they are just a minute projection of me. I am like

the guy smoking the cigarette who just let things happen because whatever happens,

has happened for the best, and I am also like the other man with the guitar, as I too

stand up for what I believe in and I also try to get what I want.

I never wanted the stars or the moon. What I wanted was her. However what I

wanted may not be what I needed. True, I loved her, but I also had let her go. I loved

her, so that is why I did not fight for her. That is why I punched the mirror and walked

to my desk. I sat on my chair and looked at the mess of books and paper. However,

one piece of paper caught my attention. It was another Seal that I had made.

It was a drawing of a man on a cliff looking out onto the ocean, with the

setting sun and the boat on the horizon. Again, I had silhouetted everything. The man

stood there waiting. He waited for the boat to come closer to the shore, but the boat

always went further away.

There are just some things that a man can have and other things that a man just

cannot have. We all have desires, and so does others. When I asked if my

disappearance was what she wanted, I wanted to make her happy, even if it was a far

cry.

She could never be happy with me. Not anymore. Not until I am out of the

picture. Here, death was not what I had in mind. My death might have been a solution

for me, but was it for her. Was that what she wanted? I did not think so. That was why

I did not break the glass to slit my wrist.

I broke the mirror because, for the first time in eighteen years, I did not like

what I saw. I had seen a man, a man who did not know what he wanted, but who

knew that his desire was way out of reach and he was helpless.

5

I pasted my second seal on the wall, and went up to the broken mirror and

took out the picture of the tree. I pasted it against the picture of the ocean. I had my

Seals together.

I smoked another cigarette and looked at my pictures, I imagined that the man

jumped off the cliff and swam for the boat. As he neared the boat, he had a sudden

change of mind and he decided to turn back but the shore was too far out. I shook my

head, trying to get rid of the motion picture I just had. True, I had leapt for her and

had decided to turn back, but I was in too deep to back down. Here I was, waiting

again. The boat had gone, I could not see the shore anymore, I had no idea in which

direction to swim for, the sun had set, the stars filled the sky and there was no moon

to shed light on my poor soul. There was no ray of hope. Not even a single coastguard

was out in the ocean to save me.

I was drowning in my own pool of misery. Moreover, I did not want to do

anything about it. I did not want to swim although it could save me, and I did not want

to drown because I was afraid.

I was afraid that my guitar was bleeding in my arms. My guitar was a part of

me that I had already forgotten. I had forgotten my priorities: My priority to live than

just to survive.

Floating in the open sea, I wanted to be back beside that tree. I wanted to be

able to play the guitar and to smoke a cigarette. In other words, I wanted to be me

again. I wanted to see the reflection of mine that I was familiar with. I wanted the

moon to come out again as it used to.

I went back to the window and took a peek at the moon outside. I got an

impulse, and I ran out of the room and went outside. I looked at the stars and searched

for the constellation of Orion. I found it. A sudden surge of pleasure went down my

body. For the first time, after a very long time, I felt happiness.

I was happy because, things change. Nothing can ever be the same. My

elimination from her was a part of life. It was a stretch of road that I should walk

upon. Soon, I would step on another stretch where I might be happier. The only thing

that will be constant is change. The change may not be for the better but I would still

be happy as things would change again.

I may have been foolish to think that this mind, this heart will be happy,

someday, in a false hope. But that hope was all that I had.

♦ ♦ ♦

Chapter III (Written Continuously)

I took out another cigarette and thought of the day when I told her my feelings.

It was a sunny day; a beautiful day. It was a day when I felt that nothing could go

wrong. There was a football match in the school. We were watching the match

together. A few days earlier I had told her that there was something that I had to tell

6

her but unfortunately circumstances did not allow me to tell it. While we were

watching the match she asked me what the thing was.

Before I told her, I knew the outcome. I knew that we would end up the way it

was happening. Nevertheless, it did not stop me. I took a few deep breaths and then I

told her my feelings. Actually I told her that I thought that I loved her. I told her that I

wasn’t sure but I wanted to tell her, I wanted to make her aware so that she could see

for herself what our relation would come to.

Well it seemed as if I had hurt her more than I could imagine. She asked me to

what she was supposed to say. I knew what she would say when the time came. But I

did not want to hear those words. Not then. I told her not to say anything and to watch

the match. A good game was going on. She smiled. At that moment, I believed that it

would be the last smile I saw from her.

Later in the evening, we met and she told me that she loved another person,

and I should have known about it. Well I did not and she had not told me either. I did

not care who he was. All that mattered was that she did not love me, but she insisted

that we could still be the so-called ‘friends’.

I knew that it was not possible. It never would be the same. So, I told her

about it. She said that she would make it happen. Yet she did not heed me the second

time. She told me that I was pathetic. She was neither angry nor sad. There was no

contempt or despair in her voice. She said it not once or twice but she just kept

repeating it. She stopped until I told her that I knew it already.

The thought of her calling me pathetic made me drop the cigarette in my hand.

The cigarette landed in such a way that it pointed me back to my room. I took it as a

sign and I walked back.

In my room, I smoked another cigarette and lied down on my bed. I looked at

my ceiling. Then, I took out her photograph and looked at it. I told the photograph,

that if I had to leave her, forget her, and stay away from her then it was something that

I was ready to do. If I had to ignore the fact that in my heart I still had a place for her

then I would. If that was what it took to make her happy again, then it was something

I would do. It was not because I loved her. It was not because I did not love her

anymore. It was because I had to. I had to clear my conscience. I did not want to be in

the state of guilt. I did not want to hurt her anymore.

I stubbed out the cigarette, as if I was trying to stub her out of my mind. I

knew that what I was about to do was hard, was difficult, was something next to

impossible, but I had to at least try.

I increased the volume of my I-Pod and I tried to get her off my mind, but it

was in vain. All I could hear was her telling me that I was pathetic.

I know that I was pathetic. I know that I was a fool to have lost the

relationship I had with her. I was pathetic because I knew that by telling my feelings

to her would have only ended in misery. Even though I knew it I told her because I

could not bring myself to walk away. I knew that she would never love me. I knew

7

that I should have shut my mouth and be grateful that we were still true friends. But I

could not bear the anguish that was within me when I met her.

My heart would always race when I saw her walking the corridor. My heart

would skip a beat when she would wave at me. I would feel high when I made her

smile with my stupid jokes. But I had to give all that up because I could not look

straight into her eyes anymore. I was lying to her even though I did not utter a lie. I

was being a fake. I could not live with my life knowing this fact.

If I had told her all that then maybe she would have understood, but I had

brought my ego into it. I wanted to become the better man by doing the right thing. I

had tried to cause the least amount of pain to her. I had spent several nights thinking

and rethinking of what would be the best outcome for her. What I did was the only

thing I had come up with. This way she could be eventually happy.

If I was still by her side, had I been lying to myself, covering my feelings from

her, I know that we would only end up being more hurt. If that had ever happened I

could never bring myself to forgive the pathetic boy.

Pathetic is what I am, but it is not entirely me. I am who I think I am. And

right then, I was not pathetic, I was the man in the ocean, who wanted the sun to rise

to that he could see the shore and try to swim for it. I got up and walked to my desk. I

got a pen and drew another picture.

I drew myself swimming for the cliff in the first signs of dawn. The stars were

fading yet the constellation of Orion was prominent. On the cliff I could see my tree. I

could see my guitar waiting for me to strum it. I had to make things right. I had to set

the records straight.

In short I had to be me again. I had to change to what I had been. It was

something I never thought I would have to do. I had always wanted to be able to

accept who I was, but that day had come. I was not pleased with whom I was and the

only thing I could do was to go back a few months, maybe even a year. It was as if I

had to go back in time, a time before her, I knew I had to do it, even though it was too

late.

♦ ♦ ♦

8

CChhaapptteerr IIVV (Written On the Morning of 17

th September 2006)

I took out my umpteenth cigarette and walked back to the broken mirror. I

smiled and a surge of hope went through my body. I had finally figured out what I

wanted. I wanted things to change as it was before.

The broken mirror sent multiple reflections back at me. I unhooked the mirror

and placed it below my table, face down. I did not need to look at myself anymore. I

knew perfectly what I was going to see.

I opened the window, so that the smoke, which filled the room, could escape. I

sat on the window sill and breathed in the cold air. I felt rejuvenated. I got down and

decided that it was time for me to sleep. I had a very long day to face.

When I woke up, I knew that I would meet her. I knew that I would feel her

presence. I also knew that she would sense my presence. I knew that there was going

to be an awkward moment. A moment I would choose to forget but I could not.

I changed my dress and got ready to go to class. I got off the bus a few blocks

away, so that I could smoke a cigarette. I walked the remaining distance.

Several meters away I saw her at the gate. She was waiting for her friends. I

knew that I had to prove my indifference to her. Trying to ignore her was not an easy

task. I looked straight ahead. I could not risk looking at her to see whether she was

looking at me or not. I passed right in front of her and I did not look back at her. I just

kept walking; I did not even stop to say a warm welcome to a friend of mine.

I walked straight to my locker and banged my head against it. As I was early,

the corridor was empty. There was nobody to witness my pain. From my locker I took

out my books and went straight to the roof.

From the roof I looked down towards the gate and she was still there. I went to

the other side of the roof. That was one of my favorite places to smoke. I looked down

towards the valley. The sky was blue with specks of clouds here and there. As I lit the

cigarette, the door behind me opened. It was another friend of mine. I offered him a

cigarette, which he took.

We stood there looking at the hills and at the town. We were still smoking

when the bell rang. It was time for class.

I let the cigarette fall down on the floor. I went down back to my locker in the

corridor with my friend behind me. I opened the locker and sprayed some deodorant

on myself. I took out a chewing gum and had one. I had placed a mirror on locker. I

looked at it and rang my fingers through my hair. On the mirror, I saw that she was

behind me.

She was on the other end of the corridor. I felt her gaze. So I hastily closed the

locker, grabbed my books and walked away, in the direction opposite her. A book of

mine fell down but I did not stop to pick it up.

9

Once again I had avoided her. I knew that and so did she. I walked into my

classroom and sat on my bench. I took out my books. I tried to focus on the letters on

the page. I understood nothing that I read.

♦ ♦ ♦

CChhaapptteerr VV (Written On the Afternoon of 17

th September 2006)

The human mind is a queer thing. There I was studying my favorite subject.

The subject in which I have never faltered, and yet there I did not understand the text.

For the first time, I had lost my concentration.

As time went on I began to realize that I was changing. My goal of reverting

to what I was did not seem something that I could achieve. I was slipping. The current

was far too strong for me to return to the shore; to that cliff; to that tree; to that guitar.

I closed my books and got up. I walked to the teacher. I told him that there

was something I had to do. It was something that I could not tell him then; not yet

anyways. The teacher looked at me for sometime. And then he nodded towards the

door.

Outside I stood in front of my locker. I stared into the reflection of the metal. I

was becoming a void. I could not tell who I was; what I was doing; where I came

from. I opened the locker and looked into the mirror.

Maybe the reflection on the locker was hazy or the mirror too sharp. I could

see the distinct features of my face. I saw the particular strands of hair that I came in

front of my face. I saw that I was the same being that I used to be. But something had

gone terribly wrong in my life. I had forgotten how to see.

I had forgotten to look for the blessing in every misfortune. I was now wailing

that every rose has a thorn. The glee that I had the night before, had gone. I was back

to square one. I was right back at the beginning of my sorrow. The man in the mirror

was not smiling back at me. I took out the mirror from its hook and placed it on the

shelf, again face down. I wanted to avoid myself.

Was I unhappy of the fact that I was not the man I wanted to be? Was I

regretting the fact that I had made a mistake, despite my strong resolution of not

regretting the things the way it was?

All I knew was that I could not bring myself to look at my own reflection.

Was I scared of the man I had become? How could I be afraid of myself? Maybe I

was. Maybe, I was scared that I would never make it to that tree. When was I going to

play that guitar under that tree? It would take as long as it took.

I closed my locker. I tried to trap all my fears, doubt and rage in it. I turned

around and went on my knees. I closed my eyes and I tried to murmur a prayer. I

wanted to pray that things would change in the direction that I wanted it to go.

10

Before I could utter a word of despair, I saw her again. She was looking

directly at me. I stood up and I tried to smile. She knew that I was beyond all help.

Not even God save me, and why should he?

I never read the Bible, the Koran, nor paid any heed to the Hymns of Buddha.

I followed no religion of any sort. I was a monotheist. I believed in a superior force.

Was I worthy of his love? No, I was not.

I never deserved anything except the pain that I was feeling right now. I had

wounded people, more than I could imagine. I had made their souls bled. I must have

made them smile just to make them cry. At the end of the day, they were hurt.

She tried to smile, but before her lips twitched into the familiar curve, she

turned away and went. I banged my head against the marble floor. I had failed. I had

smiled.

That smile, was an act of acknowledgement. I acknowledged her presence

which I swore I would not do. My desire to be with her overcame my desire to make

her happy. Would she be happy knowing that the anguish I felt was killing me by the

minute? Would she be happy knowing the pain I was in?

I did not think so. She was a friend before all this. Would she not feel my

pain? Would she not care? All that I needed to do was to make sure that I did not give

her any reason to think that I was losing my mind.

I stopped banging my head and slowly got up. I grabbed my bags and walked

out of the school, knowing that it would be some time before I returned.

♦ ♦ ♦

CChhaapptteerr VVII (Written On the Evening of 17

th September 2006)

On my way home, I found a stray cat. I picked it up and took it with me. I

needed a companion. I placed the cat on my table and got it some biscuits. I broke the

biscuits onto small pieces and fed the cat. I got some milk and offered it to the cat. As

the cat was hungry, it ate everything slowly; savoring the taste, the feeling.

I smoked another cigarette as I watched the cat devour the fragments of

biscuits. Somehow, the cat reminded me of her. I pictured the way she had turned

around before she was going to smile. I could still see her walking away in the

corridor. I did not know if my eyes were playing some kind of mind game with me

but the corridor began to elongate and at the end of the corridor there was a big white

light which kept on growing bigger and brighter. It slowly swallowed the whole

corridor including me.

I shook my head to get rid of the illusion. Why was I still obsessing over her?

She and I were never meant to be. Was it that difficult for me to accept it? I loved her,

did I not? Love makes you blind to the things happening around you. But, when I was

11

with her, everything seemed to make sense. I sort of knew why the sky was blue and

the grass green. However, none of it made any sense. My Seals had lost their

meaning. They had lost their meaning because they no longer portrayed me.

The cat finished the biscuits and I let it out. I felt better. I had fed a hungry cat.

Who would not be happier? I had helped a fellow being in trouble. I took the cat and

fed it. How many people could say that?

I went to bed and tried to sleep. Although it was early afternoon, I thought that

a small nap would do me better. Sleep did not come. I plugged in my I-Pod and tried

again. I listened to Tracy Chapman and finally, success.

When I woke up, it was early evening. I could not sleep anymore. So, I

decided to take a stroll on the streets. I got up and went to the bathroom to freshen up.

I brushed my teeth with the lights out. I did not want to see my face. I was ashamed.

I was mortified because I knew what I was doing. I would go down to the

common restaurant where all my fellow classmates would generally eat; including

her. My whole purpose would be to see her just that I could look away. I wanted her

to know that I was there and yet I was not. I was ashamed that I would pull such a low

stunt. I wanted her to feel sympathy for me. I wanted her to feel remorse for asking

me to do what I was doing.

I placed a jacket over my back and lit another cigarette as I walked towards

the restaurant. As I was early, the restaurant was pretty empty. As I waited for my

order to arrive, I smoked a cigarette. To pass my time I indulged myself to look at the

picture painted on the wall. None of them was quite worth watching so I went back

and sat on my table. I played around with the salt and pepper on the table. As I played

with the canisters, I could not stop thinking about her. I could not stop loving her.

If I could, then I would never have been there, in that restaurant waiting for

her to come. If I could, then I would have respected her desire and left the country.

Maybe that was what I had to do. But I could not.

As I lit another cigarette, she walked in. for a moment I felt as if time had stop.

She just stood there in the doorway, looking at my table. She then grabbed her

bearings and walked towards her favorite place in the corner. The waiter asked if he

could bring anything for her. I could clearly see that he was flirting with her. I did not

like the particular waiter, and I knew that she did not either. Had I still been on talking

terms with her, I may have beaten the hell out of him, but I did nothing then.

She dismissed the flirting and said that she would order when her friends got

there. From her bag she took out a novel and began to read it. That was her way of

shutting me out. I placed some bills on the table and got up. I walked out of the

restaurant not eating a morsel. I had lost my appetite and I could not bear to be in her

presence. The silence was deafening.

♦ ♦ ♦

12

CChhaapptteerr VVIIII (Written On the Morning of 18

th September 2006)

I took a stroll in the streets. As I was walking, I saw her friends coming in my

direction. I stopped, took a right about turn and continued walking. As I had to cut her

out of my life, I too had to cut her two best friends as well.

I heard them murmuring. Whatever it was I did not care. They were not my

friends anymore. Sometimes when a man makes a decision, he should stand by it, as

long as the reason is clear or is still valid.

My reason was not hazy. I was confident in what I was doing. I was doing

what she said that would make her happy. And I was not backing away from that.

I did not want to give her friends a reason to say anything about me. That was

why I chose to cut them off as well. Although it was not their fault, they too were a

part of it. After all, they were the ones who told her to leave me and to shut me out.

Was I not a good friend to them? Did they not want me to be with her? I guess not.

I sometimes wonder as to what I am to other people. Not once in all my life,

have I heard that I was anyone’s friend. It was them who were my friend. The thought

of being all alone in the world made me light another cigarette. As I took out the last

cigarette of packet I realized that I was smoking too much these past few days. Was I

trying to drown my misery in the pool of smoke? I was not. I just needed to smoke, as

it aided me into thinking of my life.

I did not want to look for the point from which my life had gone astray. I did

not search for any mistakes. I just roamed for memories. Some that made me happy

and some that made me cry. I thought of a moment of us together. It made me cry,

that those moments would never come again. As Bon Jovi says it, my life is a

treasure, full of sunny weather, but it has left me feeling cold.

I went to the cigarette shop and took out my favorite brand of cigarettes and

smoke it on my way out. At the end of the street I saw a pool house where I stopped

visiting some few months earlier. I decided to pay a visit to the pool house; even

though it had been a long gap, a too long a gap.

As I climbed the stairs, I had the feeling of dread. I became nervous. I smoked

another cigarette and tried to compose myself. It was because, many months back, I

had gone out of town for a week. I had told no one of my departure. And when I

returned, I just stopped visiting the pool house. I had left all my pooling buddies in an

instant. It was not as if I had a fight, or I did not like the company. It was just that I

had other things to do.

The exact reason why I had stopped playing pool was quite hazy to me then.

However I decided that if I had to revert to what I was, then I would have to adopt my

earlier habits. And obviously, pooling was one of them.

I took in a deep breath and opened the door. Everybody turned towards the

intruder. Silence mixed with cigarette fumes filled the room as I walked in. The

13

smoke kept swirling. That was the only moving part of the room. I was thinking that I

had made a wrong choice. I knew all of them. They all knew me. We had shared

cigarettes over a bottle of beer some time ago. But I had left them like I did not know

them. I had insulted the oath, the bond between two guys. I turned back to the door; it

was too far out to turn back.

I could not walk away again. I was quite sure that I had made a wrong choice,

until a guy called my name out. I walked to him and shook his hand. He was the guy I

would always play pool with. As far as I knew he owned the tables. He was the son of

the owner. He made the rules, and his words were law. He was also the first and

foremost pool buddy of mine. However, our relation was only confined within the

table.

He said that it had been a long time, too long in fact, so that was why

everybody thought that I had died or something. I managed a smile. It was the best

thing I had heard all day.

Somewhere down the line, maybe I did want to die. Maybe, I did not want to

live anymore. I could bear looking myself in the mirror each morning. My head was

heavy and my feet too tired. My heart was broken and I had no reason to live for.

My friend asked me if I wanted to play a game of pool. I told him that it was

the reason I walked through the door. He asked me where I had been all these months.

I told him that I had been busy. Things had caught up, which I could not afford to pile

up. I knew that he knew that what I said was just crap. But he understood that it was

something I could not tell him. He nodded his head in a peculiar way that made me

understand that he respected my discretion.

He arranged the table and the balls. I placed some talcum powder on my hands

and I picked up the cue stick. It was my break. As I aligned the stick to the cue ball, I

was thinking of whether having the half ball or the full ball. It was not that important

which ball I played, but I wanted to decide.

In the past, I would always want to break, because I always thought of myself

as the destructive type. And I would never choose the balls. I would always leave the

game pending until my opponent scored a ball. But as I positioned the cue ball that

day, I wanted to be sure. I would not be indecisive. I wanted to be able to plan my

day, plan my actions and to be able to implement them. I did not want to be impulsive

anymore. I did not want to be that flexible. I wanted to be able not to go with the flow.

I decided to have the half ball, I as it portrayed me the best. I was incomplete.

I held my breath, and with all my strength I hit the cue ball aiming a little off the

center.

The ball never reached its target. The ball just soared through the room. It was

unlike me. I was good in pool. I placed the stick down and sat on the bench. I wanted

to have a cigarette but the lighter slipped and fell onto the floor.

14

My world was crashing down. I had no control over my body. I threw the unlit

cigarette to the ground and buried my face in my hands. Tears began to accumulate in

my eyes. I did not fight them. I let them flow down my cheeks and onto the floor.

Everybody in the room was looking at me. I did not care. I was not going to

feel embarrassed just because I over-shot the ball, dropped the lighter and that I cried

in front of them all. I had problems; serious problems. I wanted to know that things

would be all right. I wanted to hear that life for me would turn for the better.

Instead I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw my friend. He

smiled, but through his eyes I could see compassion and understanding. I stood up and

leaned onto his shoulders. I continued to cry. He gently led me away from the crowd

and towards the VIP Lounge. The lounge was empty. He placed me on the coach and

left me alone.

♦ ♦ ♦

CChhaapptteerr VVIIIIII (Written On the Afternoon of 18

th September 2006)

Where he went I did not know, but when he came back, he had two drinks in

his hands. He offered me one and placed the other on the table. I accepted the drink. I

wiped my face with the back of my sleeves. I took a swing and felt better. He gave me

the other glass and lit a cigarette. After I had finished both drinks, he offered me a

cigarette and lit it for me.

He asked me what had happened during the months I had been away.

Although I was close with him, I did not want to go through the whole ordeal again. I

did not want to explain everything to him. I told him that I did not want to talk about

it right then.

He said that he did not need to know. He had just asked thinking that it might

make me feel alright and comfortable. Whenever I thought the time was right, I

should tell him. That was if I wanted to.

For a moment or two, neither one of us said a word. We just sat on the coach

smoking. He lit another cigarette and offered it to me. The music was softly playing in

the background. The lights were not too bright. The settings of the lounge made me

relax. I lifted my legs and let them rest on the table.

My friend asked me if I was feeling better. I said nothing but nodded my head.

He asked me if I wanted anything else to drink. Again I nodded my head. He must

have made some gestures that I did not see because a moment later, a waiter brought

two drinks.

I took one and he took the other. I raised my glass and made a toast. I

murmured something about our reunion. He raised his glass acknowledging my toast.

I apologized for my breakdown. He laughed and told me that the minute he saw me

entering the room, he knew that I had gone to hell and back. He was happy that I had

come back in one piece for he too had thought that I had died. At least my

15

disappearance was justified. I did not have to explain myself. That was again, if I did

not want to.

For once I had felt that I was not alone. I had a friend. I was being treated like

a friend. He did not pressure me to tell him my problems. He understood my need of

solitude and yet he was beside me, giving me company although I had my space.

He said that he had to tend to other friends. He left the packet of cigarettes on

the table and told me that if I needed him, I knew where to find him. He wanted me to

come out and yet at my own pace; when I was ready. He patted my shoulders before

he left.

I took out another cigarette and stood up. I paced around the coffee table. I

was thinking of what I should do next. Should I leave? Or should I play pool? Or

should I stay here until dawn? I did not know. I couldn’t decide. I did not want to.

I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I wetted my hair and

made it presentable. I rinsed my mouth to get rid of the dryness in my throat. I stared

into the mirror. My eyes were red from all the crying I had done. Even though I had

slept all day, signs of fatigue still penetrated the skin.

I shook my head. I did not want to look at my ‘pathetic’ condition. I walked

out of the bathroom. Back at the lounge, I took the packet of cigarettes, pocketed it

and went into the pool room. My friend saw me and pulled me towards a small group

of three.

He told me that they need an extra man to complete the teams. He said that it

would do me some good. I told him, that I was not in a position to play and I wanted

to go home. He smiled at me crookedly and asked if I had only showed up after all

those months, just to drink and to leave without paying. He told me to do this as a

personal favor, and it did not matter if I was in a position to play or not. I was just a

little rusty; a few starters would set me right. Finally, I said okay and he thanked me.

He handed me the cue stick and walked away.

Again it was my break. This time I did not think. I just placed the cue ball and

hit it hard. It was a beautiful break all the balls had dispersed, and a half ball went in a

pocket. I had a few slips for the first frame, but by the second frame, I was back to my

normal standard.

During the third frame, my friend came to check on me. I was doing fine. He

brought a round of beer for the four of us. As our game went on, I got to know each of

them. One was my friend’s sister, who I had never met. The other guys were her

boyfriend and his friend. I had teamed up with the friend. We had won all the frames.

Once our game was finished, we were about to part.

I had my jacket in my hands, and was going to the door, when my friend

shouted for me to stop. The four of them were going to a bar they knew, and wanted

me to join them.

16

I looked at my watch. It was only eleven o’clock. So that was why I said why

not. At least the bar would let me keep my mind clear from my obsession of her.

♦ ♦ ♦

CChhaapptteerr IIXX (Written On the Evening of 18

th September 2006)

We went to the bar on the other side of the street. As we were crossing the

street, a car would have hit me if the boyfriend had not pulled me back. He asked me

if I was crazy; was I trying to kill myself. To answer his queries, I lit a cigarette and

asked if he wanted one. He said no.

In the bar, we took a table for six at a corner. I guess my friend was a regular

as the waiter had asked if he would want the usual. My friend shook his friend. He

said that the night was special as his long gone friend had finally come back. It was a

reunion.

I don’t remember what I ordered but I knew that I had a good time. I had

enjoyed the company. We all told each other jokes and anecdotes. I bonded with

them. Towards the end, I was slightly drunk, and was beginning to lose my cool. I

told them that I needed to go to the bathroom.

I got up and splashed some water on my face. I did not want to spill my guts

out that night. That was ambiguous. I did not want to puke and neither did I want to

tell them my problems, which I usually tend to do when I get drunk.

I stared into the mirror. This time I saw a healing man. I had no signs of

fatigue. When I smiled, it was not a broken smile. It was genuine. I was now happy. I

guess my being away from her was doing the trick. I had heard somewhere that the

remedy was worse than the disease. I find it to be true.

When I was in love with her; things were fine. When I had to leave her, stop

loving her, I was nonplussed. I had this agony within me that I had to let go. I had to

know that pain. The pain that was eating me up alive. My healed wounds had split

open. My whole body was aflame with the burning desire of not living anymore. That

was before I decided against committing suicide.

When I realized, that night, what I needed to do, when hope came surging

through my body, my quest of healing had begun. That game of pool gave me the

opportunity of knowing my old self. I knew at that moment, I could change back, but

it only took time.

With a smile, I turned for the door. My smile faded as I saw her in the bar. She

was a couple of tables away from where I was sitting. I had to get out of there. The

room was not big enough for the two of us. Maybe I could have survived the rest of

the night by staying there, in her presence, but I would never know as I went to the

table to get my jacket.

17

I murmured some few words of an apology and bid farewell. I was out of the

bar, before any one of them could say another word. I did not stop to turn around.

Although I had a feeling that she saw me, I did not confirm it. I did not have to.

♦ ♦ ♦

CChhaapptteerr XX (Written Continuously)

Outside I lit another cigarette. It was the last of the packet. I bought another

pack and began to walk back home. It was several blocks away. I could have taken a

cab but I chose to walk.

I liked the feeling of the wind against my face. I liked the cold. It would make

me feel alert. The alcohol had already logged in my head and I was already a little

tipsy-turvy.

I saw a liquor store and walked in. I bought a bottle of vodka. It was my

favorite drink. I walked out and emptied the bottle right at the doorsteps. The clerk

gave me a look, which I ignored by lighting another cigarette.

I sat there for a few moments. I looked at a couple returning from their date.

The guy was without doubt good looking and the girl was good looking in her black

dress. As the couple neared, I recognized the guy to be a fellow classmate of mine. I

made no attempts to acknowledge him.

I got up and continued my walk. There was no moon in the sky. The street

lamps shone on the road. The road brightened up by the occasional headlights of the

passing cars. I lit a cigarette as I crossed the road. I took a glance at my watch. It read

that it was around three in the morning. I would reach my apartment in half and hour.

Then I guessed that I would have enough sleep for my classes the day after.

However, it took me two hours before I opened the door to my broken utopia.

The extra bottle of vodka had dislodged my orientation. I had overshot my apartment

by a mile. When I saw a signpost, I realized that I was way out of course. I sat down

on the sidewalk.

My head was dizzy, and my body was feeling funny. I could not stand

anymore. My eyesight was blurry so I closed my eyes. I did not want to see anything.

Wherever I looked, pain seared right into my body. My heart would skip its rhythmic

beating. When I saw love, I was reminded of my failure. I was reminded of her. I

searched for all kinds of outlets, but she always came back in.

Even though I loved her, I did not want to think about her anymore. I

remembered the days when I would sit up late night staring at her photograph. On my

bed, I used to dream of days of us together. One of my favorite dreams used to be

taking her on my bike to the hill behind our school. It was my favorite place. It was

my utopia.

18

From the sidewalk, I got up with the aid of a lamppost. My feet were already

tired from all the walking. Nevertheless, I stood and began to walk. I walked because

I was determined. I wanted to go back to that hill; one last time.

I would not go to class. Instead I would go to that hill. I lit another cigarette

for the road. The last thing I remembered that night was buying another bottle of

vodka and emptying it in my room.

♦ ♦ ♦

CChhaapptteerr XXII (Written On the Night of 18

th September 2006)

I woke up late that morning. The intensity of the sunlight that flooded into my

room told me that it was already mid afternoon. I smoked a cigarette for my hangover.

After I had mellowed out, I looked for certain clues that I did not find.

I got my wallet along with my driving license and the keys to my bike. I went

outside and got on top of my bike. I drove the bike to the hill I was so anxious to go

the night before. As I climbed the twisty road, I had images of my life long dreams. I

wanted her to be there beside me. Right behind me, holding tight, not wanting to fall

off at the blinding speed I was going. I drove like crazy then. I wanted to go faster

than my own thoughts. I did not want her to catch up.

Midway, I reached my favorite destination for a cigarette break. I pulled over

and stopped the engine. I looked at the trees and at the valley down below. The wind

was strong, as it came over me. I suddenly felt cold. I sat down and tied the buttons of

my jacket. The wind kept blowing out the flame of the lighter. I struggled for a

moment or two to ignite the lighter which I soon gave up.

What did it take for a man to have a cigarette? I pocketed the cigarette and the

lighter. I just sat there for a while, taking in the scenery, before I got back on the bike.

I did not wear the helmet; instead I placed it on my fender, which later proved to be

beneficial. I loved driving the stretch of road which was coming. I could drive at a

great speed and the fun part was that hardly any vehicles drove the stretch, so it would

be a walk in the park. I placed my sunglass, as I did not want to squint in the wind,

and started my bike.

After going a hundred kilometers per hour, I reached the highest point of the

hill. I pulled over and again stopped for a cigarette. This time, I used the bike as a

shield against the wind. After obtaining victory, I walked to the other side of the road

and looked down below.

As it was one of my favorite spot, I always wanted to share it with her. I

wanted to see her face as she looked below at the valley. I wanted her to know that in

this world, in my world, there was a place that I knew of, with a lovely view. It was a

view of human settlement against the wilderness. I wanted to show her that I was like

that view. I was rough and yet calm. There was serenity in my wild eyes. I wanted her

to hear the cacophony of nature. I wanted her to see that beneath this skin, was a man

who knew what it meant to live; who knew how to live.

19

The settlement showed me a place full of sadness and misery. It was where

one human being greeted his fellow being so that he may step over him as he

ascended the ladder. No man had the time to stop and think back on how to help his

fellow beings. It was a world full of me, my and mine. There could be no time to help

a fellow man, unless there was nothing in return. The thirst for money has eaten up

humanity. Everybody strives for maximum satisfaction for oneself. Everybody has

their own bickering to tell. Their own tales sorrows to tell. They wanted pity when

they needed reproach. No one was big enough to hear other’s woe without feeling

happiness. The settlement was, for me, a miniature version of down under. The only

difference was that the red flames were invisible to the naked eye. Even though I

despised the settlement, for me it was my home. It was the place I sought to live. It

was a part of me.

The wilderness showed me a sanctuary; a safe house from all the madness; a

place for refuge. It was a place that I chose for refuge. When the settlement was far

too strong for me, when I could not tolerate the life that I was living within the

flames, all I wanted was refuge, which in found in the laps of the wilderness. I wanted

her to hear the cacophony as it was music to my ears. I wanted her to see the

settlement amongst the wilderness as that was who I was. I was a refugee. I wanted

her to accept me for who I was. But it did not matter anymore.

However, that day on the hill, I did not wanted her to be on my side. I did not

want it to rain so I could offer her my jacket. All I wanted was my solitude. I wanted

to make peace with my soul.

Behind me were steps that led to a monastery. Bells began to ring. It was a

sign, an omen. I closed my eyes to hear the ringing bells. I prayed that the bells would

keep ringing. I prayed that the bells would reach down to the human settlement and

fill their miserable lives with happiness. Each time I used to come here for a prayer, I

used to pray that she and I could once enjoy the serenity the hill had to offer us

together.

As I walked up the steps, the bells echoed in my head. These bells were my

bells of freedom; my freedom from her. I realized that it was not the end of the world.

♦ ♦ ♦

CChhaapptteerr XXIIII (Written On the Morning of 19

th September 2006)

At the door of the monastery, a brother came up to me. I asked him if he was

busy. He was not. Would he mind if he took a little stroll across the monastery with a

lost boy. No, surely he had time for a guy like me.

I asked him about the monastery, the place, and the hills. I asked him how he

could live in such serenity. He told me that it was easy. He was brought to the

monastery when he was a little boy. The monastery was his way of life. It was one

that he grew accustomed into. Maybe he did not fit in at first. He did not remember,

but he knows that he wakes up everyday not feeling any discomfort of any sort. He

20

had adapted himself to the environment. That was what I had to do. I asked him if he

knew how he managed to adapt himself.

He replied by telling me that God exists in various fronts. Man meets God

everyday; it is just that he fails to see when and where. Once a man realizes God,

acknowledges God, only then can he be content. And being content is adapting one

being to alien grounds. He said that I had witnessed a tragedy, and to overcome this I

had to see the blessing in disguise. He told me that I had to find a life that suited well

with me. He told me that for a man to have the lost control, he had to find the way of

life that works for an individual.

We then chatted upon how life works. Life is a mystery and best to keep it that

way. Religion and science have always battled on how life originated. Was life a soul

or the beating of the heart? No one knows. He said that in his line of work, there is no

absolute. Life is what life does. If it means by cutting down trees and selling the

timber in the market, then life for a lumberjack is wood. The example is not specific,

but I was supposed to get his drift. If life meant pain and suffering, then that was what

life was.

He told me that life is just a phase between two deaths, and death is just the

transition between two lives. One cannot be sure which came first or which one is

more important. Death is as crucial as life. All of us are just born to die. The only way

to truly live is to make an impression. To make the world around us a better place

than we found it. A virgin beach is more beautiful than an untidy beach, but think of

the beach if it only had one set of foot prints. Now that, my son, is your purpose, our

purpose.

I told him that I already knew that I had a purpose, but what it was, I could

never understand. I came here to make a difference, which I have already done. I have

inflicted pain to people when I should not have. I disappointed the girl I loved. I left

people without saying goodbye. My selfishness, uncaring nature did more harm to

others then my self. And yet, I did not feel sorry.

That day in my room, looking at my reflection, looking at the man in the

mirror, I was trying to drown myself in self-pity. I lost a girl I never had and would

never have, and somehow, it was not my fault. I could have never been wrong. And

could I, I was living my life through my eyes. I was always the hero of the motion

picture we call life. The moment on the hill top, hearing those ringing bells, I felt

something I had never felt before.

It took me three days to realize this. It took me over several packets of

cigarettes, several bottles of vodka, a game of pool, and a trip to the hill to realize this.

I had taken this as an act of God against me when actually, it was a beckoning.

God was planning all of this, to the minute detail. What surprised me was that he went

such great lengths to make me a better man. I was cursing that all roses have thorns

when I could have rejoiced that all thorns had a rose.

I thanked the brother and came down to my bike. I smoked another cigarette

before I left the place. On my way down, I saw a snake basking in the sun on the

21

middle of the road. I swerved to the right to miss him. The sudden shift in weight and

direction caused the bike to topple over and skid across the road.

The helmet which I had tied on to the fender saved me from being squished

from the weight of the bike. In accidents, it is always better to be thrown off than to

be squished. It also saved me from losing a leg. The bike kept on skidding. Sparks

were being emitted from fender and the helmet. The sparks burned through my jean

and they singed my skin. I yelled in agony, but no one heard the shouts echoing

through the air. The bike went over the road, as I could not get out, I went down with

the bike into the tress down below.

As the bike sailed through the air, I got thrown off. I lost my consciousness on

impact with the ground. When I regained my bearings, I looked up at where the road

was. It was some fifty meters away. It would be a steep climb up. I looked for my

bike, knowing that it did not survive the crash. It was a miracle that I had survived.

The bike smashed up pretty bad. I got up and tried to make my way up the slope, to

the road, to ask for help; help for a broken bike; help for a broken lad.

♦ ♦ ♦

CChhaapptteerr XXIIIIII (Written On the Afternoon of 19

th September 2006)

As I climbed towards the road, I slipped and fell down several times. My head

ached, my hands bled, and my legs were mildly broken. I felt pain each time I moved.

I could not grab on to anything for support because I had a severe cut on both of my

palms. My jeans were burnt, my shirt torn. On the way up, I once fell and slid all the

way towards the crash site. I hit a jagged rock with my forehead. Blood spurted like in

those gore movies. Blood fell onto my eyes and I could hardly see. My expensive

sunglasses had left me a souvenir on my cheek; something to remember this day.

When I reached the road, I turned back to look at the debris. It was the last of

what I saw of the bike. The path between me and the bike was filled with blood. All

the leaves and the dirt had this reddish tint.

On the road, there was not a single vehicle in sight. It would have taken me a

whole day to walk back to the apartment, and given my condition I probably would

not have made it. My head was hurting from the impact on the jagged rock so I found

a tree nearby the road and sat under it.

I thought of phoning someone I knew for help, but when I kept my hands in

my pocket, I only found my cigarettes. The cell phone must have dropped out of my

pockets while I was skidding in the dirt. I was too tired to go down, back to the debris,

and retrieve my wallet; even if it was the only thing that could save me. Even if I did

try, I would exhaust all my strength. I wanted to go home, but that seemed like a

distant wish. There was no way I could reach any place where I could sleep and make

way to my home.

I was there, beside the road, all alone, with no place to go, slowly bleeding to

death. It was an awful way to die. I took out my packet of cigarettes, and had one. The

22

sky darkened and it began to rain. Things could not have been better. Just when I felt

that life was going to be better, things like these had to occur. I had to have an

accident. I had to become sad again. I had to go through pain, one kind or the other.

Was my life a rollercoaster? Being full of ups and downs?

I could not even be happy for more than an hour. I would either see her or fly

off the road. I wondered why. Why was it all happening to me? Had I not learnt my

lesson already? Had I not changed for the better? Was I not on the verge of leaving

her? Was I not doing what she wanted? Was I not suffering enough? When would I be

able to look at the mirror and like what I saw?

True, I did not like what I had become, but at least it was me who I despised. I

had despised myself for playing somebody else’s fool. But I had changed, hadn’t I? I

loved her, and as the days had gone by, I loved her still. Despite the pain and anger,

my love still had not died down. Would all my misfortune go away when my love for

her died down? If my love for her was going to kill me, so be it. I would die for her,

but when the time came.

With my bloody hands, I lit another cigarette. Smoking the cigarette made me

at ease. The rain had washed away most of the blood from my body and onto the

grass. The river of blood slowly trickled onto the road. Had I paid attention in high

school biology, maybe I would have tied my wound, preventing me from being

knocked out unconscious,

I got up when I heard a car passing me by. When I was up on my feet, the car

was already out of sight. Damn. I had missed my shot. For that moment I was scared.

I thought that I would not make it. I looked to where I was sitting, the grass was

crimson. My white shirt was torn and red. And my hands had already begun to drip.

The rain had subsided and the sun was up again. It was almost going to set. I turned

my wrist to look at the time, but the dials were covered in dry blood. I was in a bloody

mess.

Was I going to bleed to death? Or was I going to drown in it? I was too weak

to struggle. I did not want to struggle. I did not have to. I would take life as it came. If

I were to die, so be it. I did not care. If I had to die a slow death, thinking over my

sorrow, so be it. If I were to be knocked out and by some chance a truck was to run

over me, so be it.

I had been standing for too long. With my loss of blood and the sudden head

rush, I collapsed and went on all fours. I crawled towards the red patch of grass under

the tree. I laid my body and looked up. The setting sun made the leaves look even

more beautiful than it already was.

In the distant, I heard the bells of the monastery. I heard my bells of freedom. I

guess that it was the bells that made me calm. Soon, darkness engulfed me. I saw

nothing, I heard nothing. I was in a deep slumber. Slowly from the emptiness, a

vaguely familiar sound emerged. It was rhythmic; it was the sounds of my bell. The

bells still were still echoing in my ears.

♦ ♦ ♦

23

CChhaapptteerr XXIIVV (Written On the Evening of 19

th September 2006)

I dreamt of waking up, there was a guitar beside me. I took it into my arms

and begun to play it. As the guitar was not tuned properly, I tuned. I took extra care as

I did it. I had played the guitar after an interval of several weeks. As I struck the

chords, music flowed through my veins. I began to tap my feet and nod my head. I

closed my eyes and let my hands loose. I took no control of what I was playing. I

struck the chords as it came. I hummed a solo that went well with the riff I was

playing. Then I switched. I went straight for the solo.

I played the notes as my body convulsed. The sensation was overwhelming. I

played the guitar in a way I had never played it before. I guess that I wanted to do was

to play the guitar, for the rest of my life.

The rest of my life was a time period that would not be long. I do not

remember how long I was sleeping. It could have been days, it could have been

weeks, but all I saw when I opened my eyes was a bright light right in front of my

eyes. Then I lost my consciousness again.

I woke up again. The bright light was still there. I wondered what the last

thing I remembered was. I had a vague memory of voices, then the sound of an

engine. I heard screams, wails, shouts, and the very last thing I remembered was

seeing the light before.

The white light…Had I died? Was this heaven? Was this the door? Was this

the end? I did not want it to be so. I wanted to see her; just one more time. I wanted

her to know that I still loved her and I could not stop loving her. Despite the fact that

she had made my life miserable, I still loved her.

I was there; with the white light in front of me. I wanted to turn around and go

back to earth. I wanted to live. It was strange. All my life I had never feared death.

But at that moment, I was not ready to die. On the hill, I was ready. But in front of the

white light, I was not ready. I wanted to live. I made a silent plea to God. I pleaded

him to send me back down. I pleaded him that I would come when I was ready.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed. Darkness engulfed me. I asked the void if I

would live. I closed my eyes in anticipation. Had my plea been heard? Just then I

heard a voice saying that I would live. I opened my eyes. Darkness was still there. I

closed my eyes and smiled. I gave my thanks to God.

The voice again said that he was not God, but a mere doctor doing his duty.

He told me that a truck driver had found me. He saw the bike and called the hospital

he was familiar with. He, the doctor, found my wallet and identified me. He also

found the phone diary in my pocket. He was greatly amused by my entry at the slot of

‘In case of emergency, please contact:’ I had written ‘closest person in sight’.

24

He had called my apartment, but he only received the machine. He searched

for the entry of my either of my parents, but he did not find it. As I was on the verge

of death, he just called the first number on my quick list.

I asked him who came, even though I already knew who. There was only one

entry on my quick list. It was her entry. I closed my eyes and softly swore. I did not

want her to see me in my pathetic state. The doctor told me that he had to go and

inform her. He had to tell her that she could come in.

I told the doctor that he should not go and tell her that, but he was already out

of the room before I could utter a word. I was talking to the wall.

Why her? Of all the people he could have called. It had to be her. It had to be

the girl whom I loved. The girl I promised I would not love anymore. The worst part

of it all was that she had come. She had come to see whether I would live or die. She

had come to identify me if I had died. Had she seen me already? Had seen my bloody

body? Had she watched the operation as it was in process?

I heard the door open, and stood on the doorway. I tried to smile but my lips

did not move. As I had my neck brace on, I could not see her, but I felt her presence. I

could only see the six hundred watt halogen bulb in front of me. I heard her move

closer. She slowly came into view.

She was looking beautiful. I tried to read her face. Was she sad? Was she

angry? She neither had a frown nor a smile. I guess I only saw the disappointment in

her face. For a moment we only looked into each other’s eyes.

What was she thinking? What was she going to say? What could she say? Was

she going to shout at me? I looked away. I turned my head to face the window.

Although my neck ached, I turned. I would rather bear the pain in my neck than to

look into her eyes like that. I winced as a tear formed in my eyes. I closed my eyes

and the drop of tear ran down my face.

What was I going to say? What could I say? Whatever I said, would have only

made things more difficult. The tension in the air mounted. The silence was killing

me. I was afraid that she would just turn the door and leave.

I finally said that she should say something. My voice was pretty unclear. My

throat was dry and husky. It was like the voice one gets when he speaks to cheat

during an examination. I repeated myself, without her asking. I spoke slowly, so that

she could understand me. My hands were trembling, and my knees were shaking. I

was nervous.

She spoke, slowly. She asked me how I was feeling. What should I tell her?

Should I tell her that I felt bad? That every inch of my body was aching like hell? And

that I could not even lift a finger? Should I tell her that my life was a mess? And that I

did not know what to do with my life? Should I tell her that every time I saw her, I

had this burning sensation in my heart? Should I tell her that I still loved her? Should

I tell her that I felt as if I could not survive without her? Should I tell her that the

arrangement she proposed was not working out for me?

25

Even though I loved her with all my heart, I did not want her to be there. I did

not have the courage to look straight into her eyes. No matter what she said or did, I

would still love her. Even if I did manage to leave her, even if I could go back to the

way things were, I would still love her. My heart would always race as she would pass

me by. Even if I were to be able a total stranger to her, she would always be in my

heart.

I turned to face her. She was waiting for an answer. She was looking at my

wounds, at the gash on my face, at the stitches; I knew that she could also not look

into my eyes anymore.

♦ ♦ ♦

CChhaapptteerr XXVV (Written On the Night of 19

th September 2006)

Once upon a time, we were very close with one another. I knew deep down

inside, that she could never forget me. I had been a big part of her life, the only way

she could forget me was to pretend so. I said to her that that the doctor said I would

live.

I was not even sure if what the doctor told me was the truth or not. I had lost a

lot of blood. Twenty four hours later, who knows I may even die from cerebral

hemorrhage. But who was I kidding? If the doctor said I would live, then I would;

unless God had other plans. I reassured her of my survival.

She grabbed a chair and pulled it near the bed. She sat there for a while. I

guess that she was here for another reason. So, I asked her why she had come. She

looked away, and then I knew why. She took out a tissue from her purse. With it she

dabbed her eyes.

She took a deep breath before she told me that she knew the kind of person I

was. She had always dreaded the accident. When she got the call from the hospital,

she needed to know. She could not stand it. She could not be the same if she knew

that I had died.

I stopped her there. She thought that I was suicidal. She thought that I had

tried to commit suicide. I wanted to tell her that it was not so, but I could not say

anything.

She went on saying that she could not have lived her life with my death above

her head. She begged on why I was doing that to her? Why was I causing pain to her?

Why could not I just stop loving her?

When she said it, I got up. She was startled by my sudden movement. The pain

in my back, increased by a tenfold. I howled with pain as landed back on my back.

The pain was intense, but I had to say something to her. I could not afford to be

misunderstood then.

26

I told her that my accident was because of a snake lying on a road. Not

because I was drunk, or I had made the decision of flying off the road. I emphasized

saying that I was not suicidal. I did not want to die yet. I could not die.

She apologized, but then retorted saying that she had reasons to believe so.

The night before at the bar, she saw me there and saw me leave. She met my pool

house friend, they knew each other. They had talked about my breakdown. And

before that she had seen me kneeling in the corridor. What else she could gather that

did not say so?

Her sudden outburst did not catch me by surprise. I was expecting this. I knew

her. I knew that she would shout at me. She wanted to relieve her heart. She could not

bottle up the feeling she had for long. And by taking out all on me would make her

feel better.

I told her that what she saw happened, but she had to realize that I was having

a rough time. Yes, it would be difficult letting go, but someday I would be over her. It

may take days, weeks or even years, but it was inevitable. Since it was inevitable I

would not die.

I felt a sense of guilt as I lied to her, but she had to be lied to. She had to feel

relieved of the burden I had given her when I told her about my feelings. I know that

she wanted things to part between us well, but as that could not happen, I had to lie to

her. It was the least I could do.

I told her that she need not worry about me anymore. I would try not to bother

her. It was purely chance that the doctor had called her. It was chance that the snake

was there.

I told her that as soon I was able to get out of the hospital I would be leaving

for home. I had wounds to heal, and I would heal them at home. I would return home.

I would return to my parents, and sort the things over there.

I told her that I was sorry for what happened, for all these complications, but it

had to happen. I told her that it was not because of her if I had died. I told her that it

was not way I had wanted to end, but I could not ask for more. I would always cherish

the moments we shared together, but things had happened that I could not erase.

However, I would try.

I knew that it was not what she wanted to hear, but it was what she needed to

know. Maybe I would move on. I wanted us to leave on good terms. I wanted to be

able to smile when we saw each other, but I knew that it was not possible.

I knew that she would be in my heart till the day that I died. She finally

smiled, and said that she was sorry for the misunderstanding. I said that it was natural.

After all, I had given that impression for my lack of will to live.

She smiled again and said goodbye as I needed to rest. She got up and headed

toward the door. At that moment, I somehow felt that it would be the last that I would

see her, let alone talk with her.

27

When she left, my heart was finally feeling better. I felt light inside. It was a

feeling I always had when I used to talk with her. I closed my eyes and went into a

sound sleep.

♦ ♦ ♦

CChhaapptteerr XXVVII (Written On the Morning of 20

th September 2006)

It was a week later when my pool house friend came over to visit me. He had

brought his sister and her friend. They had brought a bouquet and a card for me. By

that time, I was already fit and fine. I was only under observation for the past few

days. As I had lost a lot of blood, I had the risk of cerebral hemorrhage, so, I was not

trusted to go home.

When my friend had entered, he had a big smile on his face. As he spoke, his

smile faded. He asked me if I remembered the time when he told me that I had been to

hell and back. I told him that I did.

He apologized for that. He was mistaken. He told me that I was in hell then.

He said hat after he had talked with her at the bar that he realized I was in serious

trouble. He had heard the news of my accident that very day. She had called him. He

told me that he would have come with her, but she had told him not come. She had to

see me alone.

But as he knew that everything was more or less alright, he made time to come

and meet me. He said that his sister had some good news for me. I asked what, and

she told me that I was being discharged that very day, and that there was a welcoming

party all set up in my honor.

The news made me smile. I thanked him once again for all the things he had

done for me. She said that the doctor owed him a favor, so it was nothing. I asked him

what he was talking about, and he asked me what I was talking about. I told him for

the game of pool and his presence in all of this, and most importantly his friendship.

He smiled and said that it was time he had to go.

I told him to wait and to tell me about the favor. He shook his head and said

that it was nothing and he was already late. They got up and left.

Later I took my belongings, I asked the doctor about the favor. He said that

once upon a time, my friend had saved his life. How, he did not say. He said that my

friend had asked him to waive all medical charges, as I had no health insurance. I

thanked him and left.

As the doctor had not allowed me to smoke in the hospital, I went to the

nearest shop and brought a packet of cigarettes. I smoked in the cab on my way to my

apartment. I opened the door to my room and went straight to the unhooked, broken

mirror. I looked at it. The mirror was useless. I took it and I threw it in the dumpster.

28

I walked towards the pool house, where the party was being held. On my way,

I looked at a mirror through the window of a shop. I liked what I saw. It was the same

old me. I recognized the face. It was that of mine; the only difference was the scar

below my eye. I lit a cigarette and smiled. I watched myself smoking. I had the air of

a man who was content.

I had finally made peace with my heart. Although I had a lot to do, I had to

disappear again, but this time I would tell everyone where I was going. I had to be

away from her for a long time. I did not want to see her.

I looked at the man in the mirror and smiled. He smiled right back at me. I

nodded my head. He nodded with me. An elderly man passed me by and muttered

something that sounded like nuts under his breath. I did not care.

I turned back and walked into the shop. I waited at the desk for the clerk. I

grew a little bit impatient. I hated waiting, but that did not mean that I was not patient.

As he came, I told the clerk that I needed a new mirror.

I got the mirror that I had seen on the window and went back to my apartment.

I hung the mirror on the hook and looked at it. It was beautiful. I took a marker from

my table and drew on the mirror.

Once I had finished, I smiled again. It was perfect. It was me. I had finally

reached my destination. I had done what had seemed impossible to do. I had swum

the swim, had climbed the climb, and had crawled the crawl. I had gotten my guitar. I

was myself again. I knew that I was different, but I was more or less my usual self. I

was moderately happy. How long it would last, I did not know and I did not care. I lit

a cigarette relieved as I looked at the drawing I had drawn.

♦ ♦ ♦

Also in Klogg® Paperbacks by the same Author

Articles:

A Lesson Not To Be Forgotten

How I Wish Life Was Different

I Know the Key to Invincibility

Philosophy of Perception

Stories:

An Old Man’s Legacy

Jeffrey and Mary – That Phone Call of Destiny

Jeffrey and Mary – A Conversation to Last for Some Time

Life as an Ocean

My Uncle’s Confession

The Letter of Death

Novels:

Nocturnal II: The Battle of the Prophecy

“If you look in the mirror long enough, you will see yourself blink.”

‘A marvelous read’ Sunday Telegraph

‘This book is a joy. One of those books you regret having to finish’ Daily Express

‘After reading this book, I never looked at the mirror in the same way again’ Mail on Sunday

‘Riveting…Mr. van Doesburg is a superb, instinctive storyteller’ Los Angeles Times

‘My Reflection creates a terrific level of mixed emotions; it is the kind of book you cannot put down’

New York Times

© Cover Illustration: Arthur Ashish van Doesburg

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