Darling Ma,
When the world wakes, I go to sleep. I don’t see the face of the day, because that would compel me to see people—their faces, the jobs that they do. The day would compel me to deal with people, work along with them and face whatever they think, silently, carelessly, of me.
People hurt. But no, I’m not tired of it. Not yet. I will be one day…but I’m not waiting for that day. Doesn’t that make you proud? Your daughter is strong. She knows how to take care of herself. She knows where to go and what to say. But I fumble. And for good reason — I trust people easily. I get judged because I’m vibrant and outgoing. I get stern looks because I do things I’m not supposed to. Why? Did you ever want to do something different? Anything different? Or did you want what you have now? For always.
I don’t know and it’s a pity I’ve never asked you. I will. The day I’m tired of everything. Your answer would give me hope — I hope.
I hate too. But not always. Not everyone. But I grow silent every time someone hurts me — someone I love. Do you do that? Or are you one of those who like to express their feelings? I’ve heard you scream. Is that because you were angry or because you were hurt?
I have sinned too. Please don’t be shocked. Lust is a temptation and I have given in. did you? When you were my age? Did I like it? I think, no. because I was never in love with him. Love is a strong word. I didn’t even like him enough to be near my body, now that I think of it. Do I regret what I did? No. Someday maybe it’ll be a happier moment.
I’ve hurt my enemies. I wonder now what made them my enemies in the first place. Why did I hurt them? Was it necessary to punish them or sho9uld I have left it to God? I don’t know because I have already passed judgment and given them what for.
I love you and Babai. But maybe I love you more. Maybe because you’re a woman. Maybe for what you’ve given up for me and Bhai. Do I know what kind of a woman you are? No. Because I haven’t thought of it. Now I am thinking of it and I don’t like it.
I know you would never be proud of me. Truly. Yes, you can keep saying it, trying to convince yourself. But I know what lies deep down. You wish I was better. I wish that too.
When the world wakes, I sit at my notebook with sleepy eyes trying to write you a letter. The world is only dozing now, eyes barely half-open. Do you think I’m peculiar? Or weird? Or maybe eccentric. I’ve been labeled all that before.
I love you Ma.
