Five stages of loss

Denial. 

No. 
She’s not gone. 
I’m telling them, but they aren’t listening to me.
They didn’t know her, you know? Like how I did. I mean…I am her best friend. I’m sorry. Was. I was her best friend. She would have told me…I would have seen it. She’s gone right now…but she’s coming back. I know it. I can feel it. The universe is bending and when it’s straight and it’s all right, she’ll be here. This universe needs her. She knew that. She was happy…she smiled all the time. She knew how much she meant to people. 
No. 
She’s here. I can feel her presence within me. Everything about her was so light…it was like she floated. And if she could float, then she couldn’t drown. When the colours are gone and the whispers are here, her voice will be the loudest and clearest and she’ll tell me what she always does, “Oh honey, you wish.” 
No. 
She’s talking to me right now. She’s teasing me. She’s looking at me and thinking, “What? You really believed I was gone?” She was strong. She was strong and fierce and unshakable. The earth could shatter and break and burn to the ground, but she? She would be still. She would be still and silent and beautiful.  I knew her and I knew what she would and wouldn’t do. If something was wrong…I could have sensed it. She’s sitting next to me, with her right leg crossed over her left, her chin high, her eyes flaming and she’s laughing at me. She’s here all right. She’s here. 
No. 
I won’t accept anything else.

Guilt.

I could’ve stopped it. 
I could have held her hand and pulled her back up. I know I could have. 
I should have looked at the light in her eyes and I should have seen it fading. I should have seen them become empty sockets. I should have seen the fire burn out. 
How did I not?
I could’ve stopped it. 
I should have spent the whole night making it better. I should have heard the silence on the other end.  If only I knew. If only I saw it. All the things I should have done. And who else would have? Who else would have pulled her up? I can hear her telling me now…I can hear all the things she said and she quoted and all the things I left unnoticed. All those things I should have looked at closely. “And I would never want to see the light in your eyes burn out. Because without light, what would we have?” 
She wasn’t quoting a book. She was quoting herself. How did I not see it? This is my fault. This is all my fault. 
I could’ve stopped it. 
I should have seen the dust and wiped it clean. I should have seen the shadows and been the sun. I should have seen the dark and brought a candle. I should have seen the fire and blown it out. How did I miss it? I was that one person who could have told her, “No. No, you are stronger than this. You can stop that voice in your head. You can control it.” And I didn’t. I let it slip out of my hands. I let her slip.
If only. 
If only I had seen it. If only I had paid more attention. 
Maybe she would still be here.
Maybe…I could’ve stopped it. 

Anger.

How could she do that to me?
How dare she leave me alone in this stupid, stupid, broken world? We were in this together, right? We always had been. And then she left…she escaped…leaving me here to rot. 
She was selfish. All she cared about was herself! She left and she didn’t look back. She didn’t even stop to look back. 
What did she think? That after she leaves everything will be perfect?
As if the sun would still shine. As if the clock would still tick. As if the world would still be full and perfect. 
How could she do that to me?
The ripple effect. 
She always spoke about how everything we do in life…has a gazillion consequences. About how everything we do, good or bad, makes a difference not just in our lives…but in so many. She was the one who taught me to think about the ripple effect our actions and words could cause.
Didn’t she f******* think about what ripple effect she would cause?
Didn’t she think about the amount of lives her actions would touch? 
HOW COULD SHE DO THAT TO ME?
HOW DARE SHE? 
Who gave her the right to fly and leave me buried? Who gave her the right to swim and let me drown? 
HOW COULD SHE DO THAT TO ME? 
I’ve spoken to her about her bitchy impulsive decisions. 
She knew. She knew she wasn’t thinking. She knew she would wake up the next day and feel better. Maybe if she ever stopped to see beyond her meaningless childish tantrums, she  could have seen us. Me. Her family. Her life. 
But that’s the thing. She didn’t. All her eyes could see was herself. Her view beyond that was dark and empty. Maybe if her f****** soul wasn’t as dark and empty as the rest of her….she would have thought about the people around her. 
I hate her. 
This is all her fault. 
She brought this on herself. 
I know now how she could do it to me. 
I was a nobody, why couldn’t she?

Depression.

Depression. 
Depression consumes you. It takes over every part of your body till you feel yourself choke. Till you feel the air caught in your lungs, suffocating you, pushing you down, closing in on you, failing you. Just like everything else.  
First you feel a rush of pain in every part of your body. Your bones, your skin, your nerves, every cell in your body. You feel miserable and all you want to do is sit in a corner, pull your legs close to your chest, close your eyes and hope to never open them again. You feel freedom in the darkness and fear in the light. You feel numb. Once the numbness settles in, everything fades out. Once the pain takes over you completely, the realization hits and you feel a rush of anger. Anger that blinds. Anger that’s so sharp you’re scared it will drive you insane. But, you let it wash over you. Because this is anger. And anger is still better than pain. Pain will weaken you. But anger? Anger will make you strong. And when you’re too tired to be angry anymore, you begin weeping. Weeping because you realize the anger did no good. You realize nothing became better because acting on your anger only makes things worse. You begin realizing things the hard way. 
After swollen eyes, broken heart and all the tears drained out from them….you feel nothing. You feel absolutely nothing. When you’re at this point, you can’t see….you can’t hear. There’s only you and the world. There’s nothing before and nothing beyond and nothing in between. Depression isn’t anger. Depression isn’t pain. Depression is feeling nothing. Depression is the deafness and the numbness. 
You’d think feeling nothing is power, and that it makes you invincible, but you’re wrong. Because once you feel nothing…there’s no coming back. There’s this big fat void. But you know what the scary part is? You don’t know how deep the void is. So if you fall…do you keep falling? Do you ever stop falling?
Do you ever land? 
It makes me wonder…was this how she was feeling before she decided to…
Maybe it wasn’t  the ‘everything’ that ended her. Maybe it was the exact opposite. Maybe it was the nothing. 
She wasn’t depressed. The depression was her. It was her mind and soul and body. It was feeding on her. 
The depression consumed her.

 

Acceptance. 

I don’t get it. 
And I don’t think I ever will. 
She’s gone and she’s not coming back and that’s not okay. It wasn’t okay for her build a wall so high, that she could have never climbed over it. 
Will I ever forget her? No. We weren’t just best friends. We were soul sisters. We were blood and bones. But then again, will I ever forgive her? I doubt it. 
So how do you ever accept something like this? I don’t know. 
There are a lot of things I don’t know. There are a lot of things I never will. 
But the thing is that, it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t for me to understand. All this while I blamed her because I kept thinking…how could she leave me here alone to fix this puzzle? She’s the missing piece, and if she’s not there…how do I fix it? 
But that’s the thing. When the rope was around her neck and the stool was cold below her feet, she wasn’t thinking about me or her family. She was thinking about herself. 
No. There’s no moving on. There’s no erasing what happened. 
There is what there is and I just have to learn to live with it. 
If you think about it, that’s exactly what she should have done too. She should have learnt. She should have taken all her broken pieces and asked for someone to help her fix them. Ask for someone to help her mend. 
She always told me, “I hate red roses. What’s so special about red? Black roses are what are special. They’re bold and fierce and final.” Bold and fierce and final. Just like her.
So now I’ve inked a red rose with perfect black. The kind of black which leaves nothing behind. The kind of black that takes everything with it. I can finally see why she liked black so much. Black is honest. Black isn’t doubtful.  
I place the rose gently in front of her grave. Only one petal touching her grey stone. I read her epitaph which I had the honor to write. She would have loved it, and why wouldn’t she have? They were exactly what she wanted. 
“May your eye go to the Sun, To the wind your soul…You are all the colors in one, at full brightness.”  (Jennifer Niven)

She always wanted to fly. Always wanted to be amongst the kites and birds and clouds and even the tip of the trees. And now finally, she can.

~Naqiyah Hasan

What I've learnt about writing so far

1. Write about something you know.

By this, I don't mean that you should put a hold on your imagination and only write about things you've seen or felt. But...but, it's important to know that you have to truly understand what you've written. For instance, you can't just make up a poem that sounds fancy because it rhymes. The poem has to make sense. If not to the entire world, then at least to you.
You have to put yourself in the shoes of your character that you're writing. You have to become your character entirely. This doesn't just count for your main character, it counts for each and every character that you write.
What's the point of creating a character, if you yourself as a writer, don't even understand him/ her? You can't expect other people to understand your character, if you don't.

2. Your writing changes with your method.

You can't expect your style of writing while typing and while manually writing, to be the same. Typing and writing, even though both are accepted and equally glorious, are not the same. Both need the same talent of writing, yet, both make all the difference in the world. I am mostly a typist. Writing manually requires more patience and more time. Hats off to people who can do both with equal ease!

3. You have to be comfortable with what you write.

I am most comfortable while writing in 1st person: I, my, me, we, our. Being able to write in both 1st person and 3rd person with equal beauty is difficult. This is one important thing I learned while writing my book. Since I usually write in 1st person, I wanted to try something new by writing the second part of my story in 3rd person.
It was a task. I had to re-read everything more times than I'd like to admit. But then again, it was definitely worth it. It was a good practice as an amateur and helped me improve in what is not my biggest strength.

4. Make sure your tense is right. 

Now, before you start thinking why I would write about this, the most basic thing in English literature, hold your thought. Because, even though tense is the foundation of writing, it is also a very tricky thing. It is easier for a reader to spot a tense error, than it is for a writer. Your tenses can make or break your entire story. For this reason, it is very important to have a third person to read your story. They can give you a review as a reader and you'll be surprised by how much they can help, even if they aren't avid readers or writers.
Don't be too full of yourself to accept a mistake in your writing.

5. Don't be afraid to edit. 

While writing, if you're constantly trying to make sure everything is perfect so that you don't have to re-read it, then you're not going to go a long way. Being confident about your work is important, but even the best authors in the world have to re-read their work and edit it. This means you might have to re-read it even ten times (or more, if needed) to make sure your end result is perfect. While writing in your flow, even if you notice that you've made a mistake, don't stop. Let the words flow. Then, after you're done with a page, or a chapter, re-read the entire thing slowly and carefully. Reading it aloud helps to catch your mistakes even more easily.


6. Starting from the beginning is okay.

You're not always going to be fully content with what you write. And for me, being satisfied with my work is the most important thing. That is why, when I'm not happy with something, I delete the entire thing and re-write it. If I'm not happy with it  yet again, I delete it and re-write.
You can't be lazy. You can't expect other people to appreciate your work, if you yourself are not thoroughly satisfied with it. Don't write just for the sake of writing. Mean what you write. Stand by your words.
When you're done with writing, always ask yourself this question: would I be happy with this work, if someone else had written it?

7. Read more than you write. 

If you don't read, you cannot write. It's as simple as that. The best form of learning how to write and becoming better, is to keep reading books.
There is no such thing as perfect when it comes to writing. There's always place for improvement. The day you decide that you're done with reading, is the day you should stop writing.

I recently wrote a novel called 'Feather People' and these are some very important things I learned in the entire process. I am going to remember these things every time I write something; then whether it is a school essay or an article, or poem, or book, is irrelevant.  
I hope this relatable to everyone who is passionate about writing! 

My book is about the life of four different girls. It puts light on how every action of a person, affects every small part of their life. It's about how big a role coincidences and destiny can play in one's life. It is about courage, secrets and hope. 
You can buy my book internationally on Amazon. It is also available on Flipkart, Bookadda, Infibeam. As an e-book, you can purchase it from Amazon, kindle. 

Black & white

 In a pocket full of lies
She picked out black from white
She wore her frown upside down
And her shoes inside out. 
She saw the colours in the void
And filled them with spaces of blame
And when she closed her eyes, it was all still the same. 
The brightness was magnified, but the darkness was too
And when it wore out, then it would all be for me and you. 
She saw something no one did,
Was hope really that wrong?
In the words that followed
She wrote her own song. 
Maybe it was more than that,
Maybe she just couldn’t see
But how was she supposed to understand? 
In a world full of yellow, red and blue,
And a million other in her sight,
All she saw was black and white.  

I couldn’t stop looking at her. I wondered if she could see me staring at her from the corner of her eye, but even though I considered that she could, I still held my gaze firmly. She seemed tired after she’d told me what she had done and I remember trying so hard not to show anything on my face, to be completely unreadable, and I hoped I’d succeeded. I didn’t know what I was feeling towards her. Is this normal? Looking at someone so much and then not being able to look away? Me being me, so unfazed and never confused, it felt weird to think about someone so much constantly. My god, she was so beautiful. There was nothing on her mind that those beautiful eyes of hers already didn’t show. She had pretty, long eye lashes that kissed her cheeks lovingly every time she closed her eyes. She tucked a strand of her brown hair carefully behind her ear and I could almost see all of it happening in slow motion. I think about what it would be like to get closer to her, what it would feel like and I question my level of sanity. I’ve definitely lost it. But even if I did like her, would she ever like anyone like me? I’d caught her eye a couple of times, and then both of us had just looked away, like nothing happened. And then it hit me, I was so fathomlessly in love with her and she was so ineffably beautiful. But she was selfless and I was self webbed, she was caring and I was ignorant, she was careful and I was reckless, she was shy and I was stupid and I erased the thought completely. Nah, there was no way she’d ever like me. She looked at me suddenly, and I looked away almost abruptly and I only hoped I didn’t make it too obvious. 

I could feel his eyes on me and it was so hard to not look and check. He’d been staring for so long now and I began feeling extremely self conscious. I tucked a fallen strand of hair behind my ear and tried but failed to imagine what he might be thinking. For the first time in forever, I’d been able to read his usually unreadable face and if I wasn’t wrong, just for a brief second, he looked taken aback after I told him what I’d done. And now here I was, thinking about him. I was doing that I a lot these days and I wondered where these sudden feelings were coming from. I seriously questioned my level of sanity. In spite of all, it was hard not to admit that it was nice to get attention from such a good looking guy. But maybe I was just being paranoid? How could HE like ME? I mean he was popular and smart and he had this reputation and I was, well….me. Plain, old me. And more over, why was I even thinking about him so much? Did I have feelings for him? I didn’t know. One thing I loved admiring about him is how graceful he was. He never stumbled or tripped or stammered. He was sure and comfortable with who he was. He managed to make even his nervousness somehow look smooth and unfazed. It would be an insult to describe him as anything less than perfect, because that’s what he was: perfect. Oh and that small scar below his right eye, it was like it was made and shaped especially for him. And that’s exactly what made me wonder, why me? Because he was graceful and I was messy, he was straight forward and I was hiding, he cared too little and I cared too much, he was sure and I was confused, he was funny and I was boring, he was talented and I was so ordinary. But because I was me and because I was messy, because I was stupid and I did everything that was totally wrong for me….I liked him. 
I couldn’t do it anymore, I finally turned and looked at him, and he looked away carefully, like I was just a passing gaze.

Death and possibilities

Okay so there are three possibilities as to what can happen once you’re dead. 1) the most common and yet the most controversial : heaven. The concept of heaven is pretty simple. Let’s forget the fact that there are seven billion people in the world and our dear God has the time to keep an eye on everyone. He has all the time in the world to maintain books on all the good and bad deeds done by people. And guess what? If your good deeds are more than your bad ones, then you go to heaven. A place where you don’t age, apparently. God is kind of like Santa Claus.  He keeps check on people and then decides who is worthy enough to get gifts (in god’s case the gift is heaven) But there’s one more thing about Santa Claus that we’ve forgotten- he doesn’t exist.
2) You are buried under mother earth, mentally dissolving into nothingness and physically eaten by maggots, worms and what not. But, I refuse to believe that this can happen. You do all this hard work your whole life, fight for yourself, stand up for what’s right, take the hard route and then when you die you’re just…gone? Gone into a kind of darkness that has no end. You don’t get to see if people miss you or what they say about you once you’re gone. You don’t get to see if all that you did while you were alive was of any use. You don’t get to check on your loved ones. And you do so much in life for what? To get layers of soil over your body and a huge stone with your name on it. Woah.
3) You become a ghost and wander forever. You’re there but you’re not really there. You get to see what everyone’s up to. You get to stay in silence. In a way, that’s so cool. But at what cost?
If I say I believe in ghosts then I’m basically saying that I believe we’ll never find peace. You know why they say ‘He’s at peace now’ or ‘he’s in a better place now’ when someone dies? It’s because they’re away from all of it forever. They don’t have to worry about a thing that goes on here. But if we were to become ghosts then we would be stuck here. We would never move on. We would be stuck in between reality and oblivion. We would never find peace. And I don’t want to believe that. I want to believe that you only get one life and that’s all. When you’re gone, you’re just gone. You don’t get to stick around and see how things work out.
But then again, these are just possibilities. For all we know, life after death isn’t as simple as being a ghost. It could be so much more complex than anyone could ever imagine. In a way, it’s our blessing and our curse to not know what happens after this. Let’s respect that. Let’s make the most out of this one life. Let’s not worry about what happens next.

Laugh and let go

If we were all extremely honest and straight forward, I think we'd all agree that all of us have a share of complains about the people around us. It might be small and simple things at first, but as we look closer we might realize that the things we like about them are much lesser compared to the things we dislike. I have my fair few share of complains too.
We live in a world where people tend to care about some one more after the person is dead. Where they get to know about them more after they are no more. We live in a world where people love their pet dogs more then their relatives. A world where it is a big deal and a hell of an achievement for a girl to go alone in an auto. A world where we are taught to follow religion and to worship God because otherwise, no one would really care. A world where the threat of hell is given to get things done. A world where the biggest mistake we make is thinking that every friend we have is our best friend. Where, we don't even realize that having a best friend is a very rare thing.
We live in a world where we give out money more than we give love. A world where, if you wear expensive clothes and too much jewellery, you get judged and if you wear faded clothes and no jewellery, you still get judged. If you're too thin, you're judged, if you're fat you're judged. If you're fair, you're judged, if you're dark you're judged. Basically every choice you make from the time you're born is being observed and judged. So, you might as well do what you want, right?
We live in a world where, a person is misunderstood by the company they keep. How can we not see that every person with God's grace has their individual thinking and their own instincts and a sense of right and wrong. They are given their choice to do what they want and they should be strong enough to not get influenced by their company, and if they do get influenced, then its STILL their fault. The choices WE make cannot be blamed on others.
We all know that if we look at the negatives, then we can go on and on cribbing and complaining about it. There are so many, that a whole book can be written on it and even then as we grow up, we can find more.

But, let's a take a moment. Let's not forget this. We live in a world where our mom gets sick worried if we don't text or call whenever we go out. A world where, she'd stay up even the whole night, just waiting for you to come home. Where, the last piece of cake is definitely yours if you like it and even if she loves it. A world where, she makes sure you are comfortable with something before she thinks about her own comfort. A world where even if you don't know her likes and dislikes, she'll know all of yours. A world where, 'home food' and 'outside food' can make all the difference in the world. Where, even if you don't get what you want, you still have what you need. A world where you are blessed enough to go back home to a family dinner where silence, arguments, jokes, stories and fights, everything is equally remembered and cherished. Where you know that wherever you are and whatever you're doing, you have a home to go back to. Where, it might be easy to fight with others, but its too hard to fight with your mom because that's how much you need her. Where, no matter how many people come and go, she will always be there and make sure you always get what you need. When you're sick, happy, sad, worried, angry, confused, flustered- how ever you're feeling, you can always fall and expect to be held by her.
Who cares about the rest of the world?
If you have a home and a family, you already have everything you need.
And if you still feel horrible about the rest of the world, then go to sleep, wake up with swollen eyes and press repeat. Life will eventually get tired of playing the same song over and over again.

Black curtain

Mom said this would be a good idea. She said I need to talk to people. She said I look depressed. But, looks can be deceiving, can’t they? I adjust my black shades on my nose, which seem to be heavier than they should, really. My palms are sweaty from holding my cane which I refuse to keep aside even though I’m sitting on a stool. I know where I am only by the smell of the familiar aroma that is dancing from the kitchen. I can hear chattering around me, but I don’t catch a word until I hear my name in the conversation, someone says, keeping a firm hand on my shoulder, “How are you now?” It’s my aunt’s voice and I think, “My eyes just stopped functioning, how do you think I am?” but I don’t let the words escape, instead I swallow them up, “I’ve been better” I say. I hear her move in front of me and drag a stool, she settles down right next to me, so close that her knee touches mine every time she moves even slightly.  I feel uncomfortable sitting there, I feel abnormal in my own skin somehow like my brain is with me but I’m in someone else’s body. I guess that’s just what being blind feels like, right? My personal black curtain in front of me makes it hard for me to try to concentrate on anything else. I wonder what other people look like when they are laughing, I wonder what kind of hand gestures they are using, I try and think about how many other people might be sitting alone right now. And then I think about all those people who might be staring at me, wondering what it must feel like to be blind, feeling sympathy for me and I sink a little more into my skin. It’s funny how you depend so much on all your other senses when your eyes aren’t being eyes. Simple things like smell, touch and sound begin to give life to everything around you. Being blind is supposed to have made me lose something, but instead all I could feel is the gain of my other senses. This thought somehow makes me feel more powerful among all the people I am sitting with.

Naqiyah Hasan