WE all have our places in this world.
I , am the rotten apple of the basket
.I stay in the basket too long,
i tend to ruin everything.
thats my place in the world.
that was supposed to be my identity till my last breath.
like the identity of my love is to unscrew him,
for my doctor is to do what no one else would,
for for HIM ,it was to smile and make the world
a better place.
its what defines us.
But that day when i had decided to do three extra shots of ***** and five extra drags and three snorts of ******* and then passed out after a seizure ,i didnt know i would wake up to a new morning and to a new identity . i was in pain,in considerable pain,and there was just one person who still smiled at the rotten assemblage of human tissues that i had become,that person was him.a guy with the brightest of smiles and the biggest of hearts who didnt think anyone was bad inside.and for someone like me who has ten thousand layers of bad before the slightest of goof,it meant a lot.What would have happened had i decided to do that one month later? who knows ? i would have died,thats for sure.But i would have died a bitter,angry girl.**** am i happy now? will i be happy five years from now ? i dont know.Do i thank him for saving me? YES. do i feel good about being saved.? again. I'm not so sure.why should i be happy just bcus i have few years more to live,why should i be happy becausee i have more time with my parents? why should i be happy because my folks wont grieve ? For HIM,these questions,were the answers.Then why didnt she get those last few breaths? that extra few years?
AS i look at the empty bed next to me and the missing books adn the absence of his chirping laughter,i feel the world has permanently become a little darker,a little sadder.All i remember of him are his last words to me ' I'll be back.It will be okay.'
Well,he lied.I dont think i am forgiving him for that.Not now,not ever.
He left us behind to miss him,to yearn for him,to find things to distract ourselves from missing him.he is not there.he is not around us.i will never see that smile.he will not be on the next bed trying to irritate the hell out of me.he will not talk till my head bursts into little splinters and then irritate me some more.i have not me his doc Zaarah,but over the last few days i have heard stories. she told Arman that she was sure she he smiled at her long after her heart rate dropped and the lifeline drew a flat line on the monitor and the doctors failed to revive her.Armaan tells me that zaarah had spent the night at the morgue standing outside his frozen casket bcus HE was afraid of the darl.he tells me she had to be forced out before she could catch pneumonia or something worse.she tells me how every night Zaarah comes to both the room and terrace where they had gone for their first date.She tells me how his mother had fainted when she came back to our unlucky room no. 509 and how she had to be pulled back from his bed by his father. He tells me his father looked like a walking corpse when he heard the news.he tells me how both sets of parents had cried arm in arm.he tells me how his dad comforted my crying dad,when i was battling for my life while their daughter was dead. Arman tells me that his father has nt said a word since the day he passed away on the operating table,lying on the side with his back cut open and a smile pasted on his face.it was painless,he tells me.
Does knowing that it was painless make me feel any better? it doesnt. he was no stranger to pain.he was strong and she would have picked pain and life any day over comfort and death.people like her arent meant to die.they never die bcus people never forget them.did he give us enough moments together? he would never have been able to even if he had died a hundred years later.people like him just dont live that enough. No matter how long,how fulfilling,how painless their deaths are= people miss them.Like i;miss him,and i hardly knew him,we werent even friends;we were roommates.
He dies. I live. I cry. Where is the sense in that ? i didnt even want to live.I thought the procedures,the medicines,the doctors and the drips were nonsense.all i wanted was to get injected with a few extra CCs of morphine n my drip and i'd pass on the next world,painlessly.i didnt want this.i hated pain.i have done everything i could find,to run away from it. i used to numb myself by injecting and snorting everything i could find.nobody wanted this. How do you think i will feel when i look at his parents,childless,grieving at his loss? how do you think i will feel when Zaarah crosses my path? We were in the same room.Same room!!! how difficult it was to have our fates switched ? how wrong can god get if there is one ? We were right there.how could he not see?
did i find a donor ? yes,I did. It was him. the perfect match.we were roommates.
But thats not the only thing he gave me. 15 days after my surgery wen i was shifted back to my room,the bed next to me was empty but for a little note on top of it.I opened the note which said.
' you were the best roommate ever.Now we're even. it 2-2.Dont waste it'
Zaarah here was his doctor.and armaan was mine. I survived bcus he lent his life,his breaths to me,it was an unfair experience.
HE was suffering from ALS.godammit,he was only 19. And i had a major lung failure.why could god not switch destinies,pls,why ?
i hope this piece isnt boring to you?