What is Happening to the World?

I'm mad. Angry. I want to hurt someone, even myself right now.

Well you know what. Don't be nice, people. Because being nice gets you no where.

No where.

The only thing you get from being nice, or considerate is hurt. A whole bucket load. No. Truck load.
I try to be caring towards my friends, they get the wrong idea, turn on me, and I land face down in shit. I try to be considerate towards my friends and those whom I love, because I dont want them to go through any bad feeling, and I dont want them to get stressed -and I get a mountain of sound waves pumped through my ears all day about their problems, how hard their life is, how much this boy broke their heart, how bad they did on their mock exam, Blah fucking blah.

You know what? Why dont I just be a mega bitch. Maybe then Ill get things done. Maybe then I might have some peace.

okay. Rant over.
But being nice, its a bitch. And I hate it. 

An Unconcievable Truth xP

Seeing him just lie there with closed eyes, mouth slightly parted as though we was about to smile, head tilted to the side, was the most disconcerting sight that I had seen. It was as though he was sleeping. 

There was a large tube going down his mouth. It was only later I realised that it was the intubation tube that was keeping him breathing, but wholly artificially. He was gone. The IV to his arm was still attached.

Through the corners of his eyes that had been taped shut lay little tears, just about to fall.

The nurse has specifically told me not to make a noise, there were others around the unit, but I didn't care. What did it matter? I had lost something I could never find again, I had lost what I fought so hard to keep, I had lost something that was a part of me.

I took his limp hand, his hand that was so similar to my own, almost identical.  My own body shaking, I kissed him goodbye. I didn't want to leave. I promised him I would stay put at least until he got better. I promised. And I was going to keep my promise - though he had not kept his.

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School was starting again in two days, Mum wanted me to come home. Ofcourse she did - it was for my best. School is always important - this time though, it didn't take priority. My intuition pressed me to stay there, and not leave - Not for a while atleast. I begged and pleaded and screamed at my mother to allow me to stay a few more days and explained that school was insignificant. Consequently, she talked to my cousin (a doctor), coming to the conclusion that it was best for me to stay put until the time was right .As it turned out... if I hadnt stayed I may have regretted it for the rest of my life.

I made a promise and I wasn't going to leave, not for school, not for my friends, not for the world. I wanted to be there for him. I wouldn't leave, not now. I knew that my presence meant a lot to him - he wanted me there. I say this with no vanity, it is simply a fact.

I promised to stay in India until my father got out of hospital. And eventually; he did get out of hospital. As a matter of fact, only two days later he left the hospital . And he left, dead.

Something feels wrong.. Chapter 4

So, Im in India, back home. And jeeeesaaas; its weird. I dont know, there was a huge mixture of feelings completely. So, before coming on the plane, I was nervous, and I really didnt want to come back. Then in the aircraft, I started crying, and I felt like a prat, but I was so scared of seeing my family again- I just didnt want to see them sad you know?

But then I arrived in my small Indian home town, saw all my family. And it was actually fun, because all the family is back, including my 5 year old cousin, there was so much to keep me busy, that I wasnt feeling all that bad. Actually I was happy being back. Being with my family made me feel closer to Dada, and that was a great feeling.

But then, today... It was completely hit me. Not having Dada around the house any more just made me feel empty. There is so much noise in the house, but yet, its so quiet... no one can fill the space that my Dad was in. I mean, he was just such a powering figure, and towards the end he always kept everyone in the house busy, because he needed constant attention due to his illness.

The weird thing is, we all laugh a lot. A lot more than we used to.  But I think thats just to fill the sadness. And then after laughing and talking for ages there is always this killing silence and none of say anything because we know that the other is thinking about him. He loved laughing, he loved life, and now I guess we all have regrets.

One of my biggest regrets is that we never had the time that we deserved. As father and daughter we never got a proper chance together, which we should have. We were just beginning to get close last summer, and we never got another time where we could be the same. And I remember the night before I was leaving, last summer, he cried. He cried a lot, because he didnt know how he would be the same. And that no one would look after him like I did. It breaks my heart to think of it now.

There will always be this emptiness inside of me. Always. A large hole that eventually will start filling up with other people and things, but there will always be this small part of my soul which is going to be empty. Inside me, is an emptiness that will never fade.

Face the pain, to leave the sorrow. Chapter 3

I read a book a couple of weeks ago, cant remember the name now. It was a story of a family(this lady who was middle aged) who had lost recently her mother, to alzeimers and her brother was proclaimed dead many years ago to autism. Eventually the family found that the brother wasnt actually dead, just in hiding to ensure that nobody in the community knew that the brother could not support himself. He was simply hiding, for his own good. I sometimes wish that was the case for Dada.

How so many people can depend upon one, single, seeminlgy insignificant thing, I do not know. The centrafugal force of a circle, the nucleas of a cell, the heart of a man - all can be so small, but yet so vital. How? Dada was the back bone of my family - a loving son to his parents, a protective brother to his siblings and a caring father to his daughter. As a husband, he may not have been a role model, but his ability to love and concern for his family was always sincere.

People always say that kindness in your current life will bring you a more prosperous future to come - it forms some of the basic principles of Hinduism, Sikhism and Buddhism. A man reaps what he sows, right?No, wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. If that was the case, my family would be the happiest people alive, but instead they are now faced with the deepest sorrows one should face.

Im going to India again in a couple of days, and the thought of having to see my family again and seeing the room where my dad's dead body lay before they took him to be creamted, makes me shudder a million times over. I dont want to have to see his bedroom without him in it, it will be too painful. But sometimes you have to face the pain, to get over the sorrow.

The Very Last Time - Chapter 2

I couldn't sleep tonight, and when trying to get myself to sleep, I started crying, yet again. There are these times every so often where I just cry myself dry, until there are no more tears left to cry. Better to get it out than keeping it in, but what if you cant get all your feelings out?

So Ive decided to write this, since I don't get sleepy until about 3 am, and its just about 1am now.

Tonight, this pit in my stomach wouldn't go away. I knew that I had to go visit my Dad's family some time, but I was hoping it wouldn't be any time this summer. To have to see my family's house in India, without my dad lying on his bed watching TV with all his belongings spread all over the bed ... well, just thinking about it makes me tear.

For the past three and half years (almost 4 this September) my dad spent his time in that house, not being able to leave, not being able to eat, not being able to do anything he wanted. He became a part of that house, and quite frankly, that house is nothing to me without him.

I kept remembering the last time I spoke to him. Saturday, 19th January 2008. I was the last person to speak to him, from the family any way. I felt honored, proud, that he spoke to me last. But I keep remembering his shaking hands holding mine saying "Darling, I cant walk anymore. Im weak" and I kept replying "Its okay Dada, you will be fine, just another week or so and you will be out, and Ill be waiting for you."

I didn't know what else to say to him. What else could you say to the once strongest person you knew who was bed ridden and being fed with a drip? Anyway, it was an improvement from the night before, where all I did when I saw him was cry.
I cried and cried.
And unfortunately, I still keep doing that. And I don't really see any end to it...

At one point, I thought I had cried so much, that my eyes were a desert, with no more water, no more tears.
Im going to try and go to sleep but now, I feel like, the tears wont stop. God, please stop flooding my eyes. If you are listening, stop doing this to me - does anyone deserve this?

God, please stop. I beg you.

Saturday, 18th January, 2008

On the evening of Saturday the 18th of January, 2008, I was walking out of the Intensive Care Unit, getting shouted at by my Grandfather. It was getting dark outside. I was exhausted. I hadn't slept all night on the flight. I had just seen someone I love in pain.

I was in tears, and he was scoffing at me "What do you think he will feel like EH? If he sees you cry? Now you are just going make him feel worse. Pull yourself together stupid girl. How do you think he will feel?"he spat. He just shaking his head at me with narrowed eyes, disgusted at what I had just done.

I tried to pull myself together. But wasn't really succeeding. I walked through the corridor of the ICU, looking at my Dad for the last time that day and put on my shoes. My dusty shoes that had walked through the rain washed mud that bordered the main hospital building.  Walking up the two levels of rickety stairs, I seemed to be on auto pilot, hysterical to some extent. I tried to calm down, and various relatives were patting me on the back. I held onto the tears in front of my Grandmother, who was already going crazy with concern for her eldest son. My aunt and uncle came upto me, both giving me a big hug, and we decided that it was best that I went home -  they did not want me to stay in the hospital which was beginning to seem like an oasis for filth and muck and dirt and death and disease.

Picking up my phone in the room upstairs, there was no signal. Damn. I went to stand by the window - One bar of signal. Thank the Gods. I called my mum but could not help but burst into tears again, staring out of the window. She could not understand a word of what I was saying, "What? I cant understand you darling, calm down for a second. Please."

I cried and cried and cried. I cried down the stairs, and I cried all the way home in our 45 minute car ride home. I cried when I got home. In my Mum's parents' house, my Grandmama saw me in tears. I think it was the first time that she had seen me in real tears, and it was the first time we had a "moment" of our own. She gave me a huge hug, and told me it would be okay, and explained that he just looked tired because of the surgery, and that he was getting healthier each day. Oh, how I wanted that to be the case, how I prayed it would be the truth.

Around 8.30pm, I was talking to my mum, yet again, on Skype, telling her that I could believe the state that he was in, explaining that I had actually cried in front of dad in the hospital.

I know how much it kills him to see me cry, but I still did, and I could not do anything but cry when I saw him.
 He was upset, I knew it.
 But he never shed a tear. Never.

He was always like that, emotions all sewed up like a stitched up turkey on Thanksgiving. When I was talking to Dad, I couldn't think of anything to say, he just looked terrible - far worse than I had ever seen him. I didnt even get the chance to show him my braces or tell him about the outrageous things we had seen and done in Nepal the previous month.

My mum told me to calm down, to stop crying, but I couldn't. I think thats the longest that I have ever cried at once. And I had no clue why I was crying though, everyone said Dad was fine, even he did. But seeing him, he just looked terrible.
And I wasnt there to help him through it.
The killer was crying in front of him.

My mum was worried. Concern pouring through her voice, and no one could help me. I cried my self to sleep, with my grandma next to me, and my Mum worried, concerned about what was to happen. It was a disturbed sleep.
Could things be worse? I felt like a pot of shit.

But it was only the 18th of January, 2008. Who knew the downward spiral had not even began yet.

Back to blogging once more.

I’ve decided to start blogging once more. I haven’t blogged for years but it’s 2013 – who bothers to write diaries anymore? People BLOG instead as a way of ‘expressing themselves’ and ‘voicing their opinion’ and ‘opening up to the world’.

Studying at one of the top universities in the world has not been easy. It was something that I had dreamed about for years but thought was completely out of my reach. I worked hard in my final years of school and I suppose it paid off: I was accepted in to one of the world’s best universities and it was one of the happiest days of my life.

I thought: This is it.  I thought: here is the world saying “Hey K, you’ve been through a lot, here’s an offer to make up for all that”. I thought: the rest of my life was set.

I was wrong. 

Boy, was I wrong.