Kiss and make up

The act of ignoring and the lack of ignorance. They know it, they are conscious of what they’re doing and how much impact their act could have. They know that they’re neglecting (something or someone), with a clear purpose. I’m obsessed with how I am ignored and alienated because of how much it matches with my own theory in my head that I’m not, that worthy. I’m not victimising myself, but somehow, belittling myself, pathologically and in an ill-intentioned manner. The act of ignoring does not come in that handy, it takes them a lot of effort. The effort of turning back on someone requires a sense of determination. The noun form of “ignore” has nothing to do with “ignorance” though they share the same root in linguistics. The embedded connotation that lies in them refers to the seamlessness that conglomerates the two seemingly opposite acts and states — ignoring has a lot to do with the lack of ignorance. You have to know enough in order to ignore (something or someone) adequately. You have to be able to master and command the knowledge of someone wittily and perfectly in a bid to swing your willpower to ignore someone. You have to understand something or someone thoroughly and inside-out in order to strike them impeccably. (She told me there is no quick fix for any type of illness, not as swiftly as the time the pills need to kick in or come into effect). And here you go, the quick fix, the knock-out, without much pain. I’m mesmerised, almost addictively, by imagining how much endeavour they have laboriously invested so as to turn their back on someone. It could be about anyone, but it just happened to be me. And it just happened to be them. Whilst the subjects are interchangeable, it could be you and I today, and it could be me and you tomorrow.

Someone I’m oblivious to spat at my consciousness and daydream and poured the cement into some deep chambers of my head and heart. They whispered the airy yet brutal words into my ears and from within, more precisely speaking. I could hear all of the vibrations of every pitch and enunciation they made as if I was charged by some substance and not sober. The cement went on being poured, until something in me, turned dried out, glued, hardened, and solid. Until dawn, until I’m running out of words and speechless. She, on the spur of the moment and out of the blue, called me three times when I was settling myself in a white and pale room, with a simple and neat medical structure and equipment. I was walled but well accompanied. I missed her calls thrice. I phoned back and heard her accented voice, murmuring and mumbling, words that I had long forgotten. I was on the edge of being unconscious and so was she, just in different formats. She was unconscious, of how beautiful she and her mind was. She has always been ignorant of it, unconscious of her own beauty and liveliness, and I agree that that is where her genuine beauty lies. Authentic beauty is accompanied by unawareness. I could hear her smile, a slow-knowing smile as if it could be tactilely, tangibly, and synesthetically perceived and heard.

The entity that ignores and the ignored. The antidote and the recurring illness. Someone does not need you and someone who needs them. Their presence is signified and marked by their disappearance and absence, which is a state that cannot be explained and delineated, but felt. Feeling someone’s absence and continuously and consistently ruminating that fact, engenders the loudest form of their presence. The irony, irreconcilability, and disharmony. The resemblance of relativism. A defeat comes with the outbreak of war. An end follows the instance of a beginning. Hypothetically speaking, if I was not the one, more or less the one who was on a whim and pulled the trigger, I would not have been shot. There would not have been an irremediable wound left bleeding.

The dawn has been and is broken. We broke the dawn together and at this time, we would say, welcome. Welcome to my days. I’m apologetic if any of these words sound pessimistic, I’m not entirely responsible for such gloom and depression. I’m just the little person, the intermediate agent, who transcribes and translates the happenings and trains of thought radiating from somewhere inside me, verbatim. Take off with me. Let’s kiss and make up because I think I might stop putting up with things. Embrace it with your best possibly grace. For real.