8:00 pm: Getting hammered is a ritual for me like my mother’s
ritual is to wake me up every morning. So here I am bar hopping on a Sunday
night.
2:00 am: And car hopping. After midnight they don’t serve you
alcohol in this city.
2: 30 am: I see the seventh floor on the lift buttons. And all
I wanna do is press all the buttons except that.
8:00 am: It is Monday; way too bluer than blue, hanging over
my head, grinding teeth at me. Getting up was like an award winning effort.
8:35 am: Mother’s sweet voice did not reach me. Nor my alarm rang
in my sheet, draped in sleep. I had lost my phone and my senses, last night.
9:35 am: Breakfast had a special menu; a bowl full of sorrow
and a tall glass of curses. Mother was silent. But when she broke it, her words
made me wanna take a fork to my mouth and quickly shove it down my throat ‘cause
I would rather choke than argue with her for even a second.
9:45 am: I managed to snake my way out of home. I work like
it’s a duty and party like it’s my business.
4:30 pm: At work, I spent the day like watching a film reel
that cut into another film reel and another and another and the images spin by before
I could make any sense of them. There seemed no way to get to the beginning,
even if there was one. Sure as hell, I was in hangover.
6:45 pm: My girlfriend was silent like an ocean before a huge
tide. And I sat in the car, trapped like a useless rock on the beach side.
6:50 pm: Her eyes deep in which I could not dare to look into.
The tide was almost there, in some distant part of hers but did not come up
front.
6:55 pm: She is an avid reader. Wish she read my thoughts and knew
how apologetic they were.
6:56 pm: Love is a mental disease.
8:30 pm: If old habits die hard, then bad habits die harder. On
my way home, I swallowed some beer to stop my hands from shaking and to face
the people at home. It makes me feel brave enough to make promises.
9:30 pm: I parked my car next to the park where my mother strolls
around every evening. The park was empty, the building was dim, only dressed in
white noise.
9:43 pm: Climbing up to my floor never felt so heavy before. I
reached my house to find a trolley bag sitting in front of the door.
9:44pm: Maybe there will be no arguments, no questions, no
answers, no promises, no time to even break them. It’s only time for me to fuck
off. This bag looked a lot like my only belonging for the next few weeks or years.
9:50 pm: Almost choking on the ashes of the burnt cities in my
throat, I rang the door bell. Several parts of me had started to pack stuff and
were ready to leave.
9:51 pm: mother opened the door for me.
9:55 pm: father asked about my day with nothing but a father
like smile on his face.
10:00 pm: The place felt like home and I like the shy kid of
the house.
10:00 am: The bag maker was happy to get a job after several
days. The bag was happy to get the
fixing done after ages.
