Journal #1

4/3/2015

12:38 AM

This world is too big and this body is too small. I want a whole lot to swallow, but I only have one mouth. I want to taste everything, to devour and savour what I see in my wake, but I only have one life. And it's limited. And it's short. And I only have one choice, only one time.

I always tell people what I want to become, each different to the other. I have many dreams yet to be granted, but I do not know which I have always most wanted. I am intelligent, sometimes not. I appreciate the aesthetics of life, but I hate irrational thoughts. I might be a genius that is not watered correctly as a seed. I'm incomplete, and I grew to be me. Sometimes I regret it. sometimes I don't. Sometimes I wish I had been pushed to my limit so I can grow to be stronger, like a bald eagle that breaks its own beak and talons against a rock, and plucks its own feathers until they all grow back.

Stronger than before.

Muscles grow back stronger when they are ripped, after all. I become stronger because of pain.

That is the balance of life. That is the black to the white, and the white in the black, and vice versa. That is why there is pain when there is happiness. That is why there is evil when there is good.

I must not complain, must not be afraid. There is a reason to every pain I endure. There is danger lurking in every happiness I get, and peace in every war I go through. There is always an end to everything, and a new beginning when there is an end.

This is life, this is not heaven. This is not hell. This is the balance of both. I get a set, I can't always be happy and I can't always be sad.

I must not be afraid, I must take all the risks. Remember of the danger that lurks, and the happiness that waits. Remember that this world is balance, and that I will not always be happy. But I will not always be sad either.

It all depends on what I do, and what I want to become.

I want it all, but I have to remember. I only have one life, one go, one chance.

I have to be brave, and choose wisely.

Mulling Waters

Ever since he was a little boy, he’s loved the ocean even more than his own safety. Sometimes, he wonders if dying in the water would be more of a blessing to him rather than tragedy, since it always means that you either drown from an accident, or be drowned by someone else or yourself. But really, he would rather die in the ocean than have his death by sickness— withering away on a bed somewhere; or maybe elsewhere and not on a bed at all. That’s even more tragic, to know and count the days until you die, thinking of what ifs and lamenting the days you have left, wishing you could still walk around and have fun. Sudden death is swift, clean and crisp. Having no moment to even think of what ifs, or regret whatever you did to get you in that situation.

It is never a peaceful dying—his grandmother had once said—to die in the ocean, when he came back laughing from being swept away by the waves when surfing.

Maybe not for others, but for him it is. As long as it’s in the ocean, there is nothing to regret. It would be his choice to be in the water if he ever dies in it. He’d be the one to be taking his body there in the first place. If an accident happened, it would be his own choice to be in it, indirectly.

He knows this, knows of the consequence of dying when he gets into the water. Knows it whenever he’s on the surfboard, enjoying the wind in his hair and the salt in the corner of his eyes. Knows it whenever he’s deep under, hands carefully caressing colourful corals and grazing slimy fishes. Knows it whenever he spends hours floating on his back in the dancing waters while gazing at the sky.

“It’s always a sad tragedy, such an unfortunate incident that is, to ever die drowning,” his grandmother had said, tiny and wrinkled eyes gazing out the window, head shaking in a chastising manner. “Don’t ever take the ocean lightly, that place is not your friend, and will never be.”

He’d mulled back then, not knowing how to reply to such statement from an old and paranoid lady, whose husband had drowned in the ocean when they were only newlyweds. He knew then and he knows now, that the ocean truly isn’t a friend, but a home; home to fishes that feed the humans, and home to him that longs to be part of it.

For him, home isn’t a place for safety. It is a place that has a sense of fulfilment when you are inside, and longing once you are outside. It might not be safe, but it makes him feel contented. Safe is never a part of him. Never a part of his life, either.

His house now is the place for an alcoholic to sleep, and a dead brother to haunt anyway. It’s really not that big of a deal for him.

If he doesn’t die in his home in the ocean, it’s likely that he’ll die in his house instead anyway. 

Colours in Your Steps

WARNING: This might be tedious.

People say that those who are born without one of their senses do not know what they miss. They won't even feel like they miss anything, not since they don't even know how it feels like to have that one lost sense in the first place.

Their other senses make up for what they don't have. When you are born blind, you would still know who stood behind you. You’d feel it in the movement of the air, hear it in the differing sounds of footsteps each person make, and remember the ridges and textures of each faces you've touched.

But Danny, he wasn't born blind. He doesn't have enhanced hearing, or deft reflexes. He's just confused for most of the time. He can't make out his surrounding, can barely understand why everyone is always shouting, and him only hearing, only feeling, only knowing.

Without seeing anymore.

He knows of a story he once read when he was still able to, not too long ago. Two Indian children were born blind and received an eye surgery to grant them visual experience, both the age of each 9 and 12. They were able to see for the first time in their life, and it was a huge first step for them into a world full of strange visual sensations.

But the problem is, the experience of seeing came without the knowledge of it. They just stood there when the gauzes were finally taken off, confused and full of wonder by this new sense, not able to make out their new, colourful world just yet. They didn't know that a square has sharp edges, and that a round ball has no sharp edges at all. They thought a mountain was closer to them than the cat in their house, simply because the mountain is bigger. It's almost as if it is reversed. They are blind now that they are able to see. They don't understand the beauty of being able to experience colours and shapes.

That huge first step is just another stomp of finally reaching the hill, and finding out that you're tumbling back down again. The difference is, now you're on the whole different other side of the hill.

Danny didn't understand that story when he first read it. But now, he kind of gets what the writer is trying to tell.

Danny is just like that now. He is now blind, and he sees no beauty in being able to focus more on hearing, touching, tasting, and smelling. He misses reading. More importantly, he misses watching his favourite Sunday cartoon.

He is only eight, but his world feels like it's over.

Danny always wakes up at half past seven in the morning everyday to get ready for school. Nowadays, he is not sure if he still does that or not.

He wakes up just fine, but he can't really tell if it's already half past seven or not, or maybe even already nine. He cries every time he wakes because he thinks that he is late for school. After that, he starts crying even harder because he just remembers that he doesn't go to school anymore. 

It's devastating for him, and he doesn't even know the word yet, so he just cries some more since he barely knows how to convey what he is feeling in words.

Life is like a dream for him now. He feels like he is asleep when he is not since everything is endlessly black. He can't tell if he is already sleeping or still awake because there really is no difference for him between both.

But he does know one thing, though. If he sees colours, that means he is currently dreaming.

"Daniel, eat your food."

Danny looks up to the voice, but drops his head down again. He is sitting on a chair, having dinner or breakfast he is still not sure, but breakfast seems to be the case from the way his skin feels slightly warm from the sunlight. Or perhaps it's just the lamp or the fireplace, even though he can't hear any crackling.

"Danny, sweetie, you need to eat. Can't you just hold your sandwich and not drop it again on anywhere but your plate..." his aunt sighs and he hears the scraping of her chair, the pit-a-pat of her soft feet on the floor. "Let me help you eat."

"Alicia, no," Uncle Jerry speaks out. "Let him be. He needs to start learning how to take care of himself. Better sooner than later." He takes a spoonful of his oatmeal, chews, and swallows. "Daniel, your aunt is going to give you another sandwich. Don't drop it again this time."

Danny just swings his legs under the table. He blinks and looks up to Uncle Jerry's voice, resting his head to one side of his shoulder. He blinks again, and he knows that Uncle Jerry is just slightly disturbed by that from the grunt he lets out. Danny knows that his eyes now look... milky, he guesses. 

At least that's what he knows from the last time he saw someone blind on the telly.

"Jerry, would you just please stop. He needs a little help every once in a while. Danny, what do you want to eat other than sandwich?" 

Uncle Jerry gives an exasperated sigh and rubs his temple, dropping his spoon with a clang inside his bowl. Danny hears that, but pretends not to. "Ice cream," he says simply.

"You know you are not allowed to have one in the morning, dear."  Aunt Alicia frowns.

"Oh, so it's morning right now?" Danny quips back.

Uncle Jerry gives a huge groan and snaps. "Stop it your with stupid comebacks. You bloody well know it's the bloody morning, I can see it in your eyes."

Aunt Alicia gasps at that, and stares in a horrific fashion at her husband. 

"I can't see anything." Danny shrugs and rolls his head around his shoulders, then slumps forward to the table. 

Uncle Jerry gives another grunt and Danny hears him picking up his spoon again, shovelling mouthfuls of oatmeal. "I'm done here. See you both later."  He picks up his truck’s key, swipes his hat on, and Danny hears his heavy footsteps stomping towards what he thinks might be the front door. He hears the creaking of wood, and a slam not too long after.

Aunt Alicia sighs again and starts cleaning up the table, taking her plate and Uncle Jerry's bowl, clink-clank-clink, and walks away. To where, might be the kitchen, might be the bedroom, but Danny bets that it must be the kitchen. Simple logic.

"Do you want some fruit instead, Danny? Or maybe oatmeal? I can help you eat, dear."

Danny rests his cheek and glances over to where he thinks Aunt Alicia might be standing at the moment. "I want ice cream." He answers.

He could be talking to the wall, but he really doesn't care anymore. Aunt Alicia shifts the ceramics she's holding, and Danny hears, but can't see.

"It's only nine, Danny, you could have a stomach ache."

Danny blinks and blinks, the sunlight shining upon his baby-fat cheek. 

"It's always night now," was his only answer.

Danny wants to know how he looks like right now. Aunt Alicia took him to the barber right after breakfast was over. He had oatmeal in the end, with Aunt Alicia spoon-feeding him while talking about trivial things, such as the new neighbour that just moved in yesterday, Uncle Jerry's laundry that she hasn't done... Danny asked about the continuation of his cartoon to her, but Aunt Alicia just stops talking altogether. Danny thinks she might have frowned at that. He doesn't even think she even knows which cartoon he meant.

Perhaps Aunt Alicia could be his eyes. She could watch his cartoons for him and tell about what happened in the newest episode.

Or probably not. Hearing about that would only make him want to watch it all the more, and he can't anymore.

It's only been a week that he's been blind, but it feels like forever. At least, a week is what Aunt Alicia told him. It could be more, could be less.

He touches his newly-cut hair, trying to make up an image in his mind about how he looks right now. Does it look stupid like last time? He massages his scalp, scratches it, wondering if it's a bowl cut because it feels like one. He hopes it's not because it's stupid, he feels like a mushroom the last time he had one. 

Danny sighs and flops down on his bottom on the carpeted floor. The living room is the only room that has carpet in it, and he's manoeuvred himself from the front door to here by lightly touching his fingers on the walls and the stair's railing. He knew that Aunt Alicia was watching, somehow, so he was not that worried that he'd get lost or fall down somewhere.

He touches his eyes, feeling the skin there, wondering just what had gone wrong on his face that makes him unable to see. He huffs out a sigh, and feels his hair moves. It's probably afternoon, so his cartoon should be starting soon.

It's Sunday, and he knows that much since Uncle Jerry always goes out with his truck on Sundays, his motorcycle on the other days. He’s heard the jingling of the truck's key this morning. It's certainly different from the motorcycle’s, the sound heavier and noisier because Uncle Jerry has attached so many other keys along with it. 

He hears nothing at the moment. It's silent, and even Aunt Alicia is silent, sitting somewhere in the living room, quietly reading her book. He relaxes and tries to imagine certain shapes and colours, in case he forgets. What does blue look like again? How does one describe how blue look like? Does it smell of something? Is it sharp? Is it melodic in tune or screeching in nature?

"Danny, can you get me that magazine over there, dear? It's right next to you on the table."

Danny snorts and flops himself on the carpet. He feels so lazy, and very, very annoyed. What does Aunt Alicia want by asking him that? He can't see, and he doesn't want to care. He should be the one asking for things to be taken for him, not the other way around.

"Danny... Did you hear me, darling?" Aunt Alicia tests, lowering her book down, frowning at the lump that is Danny on the floor. "It’s right next to you, can you feel around to find it? I'll help you with direction."

"No. I didn't hear you." Danny rubs his eyes and buries his head under both arms. "I don't hear anything."

He just doesn't want to do anything. He is so done.

Aunt Alicia stands, Danny hears it, but pretends again to not to. Her feet drags on the carpet, the sound soft, and Danny finds himself concentrating on it, trying to figure out what she's going to do. She takes something, the magazine perhaps, sighs, and drops it next to him. Plop. Then she sits, and he can feel her eyes watching him.

"Danny, you have to stop moping. Use your ears, your imagination. I'm sure you can go around by yourself in no time if you just focus and concentrate. You can even learn how to read again and go back to school. Don't you want to play again with your friends?"

Danny tries to glare, looking over to where Aunt Alicia's voice comes from. "I want to watch Mighty Jack-Jack. I don’t want to do anything else," he grounds out.

“Danny, you know you can’t do that anymore. You have to understand. You should be grateful you can still hear m—”

“I don’t want to. I don’t care.”

Aunt Alicia’s grip on her own forearm tightens. “Danny, you know—“

“NO I DON’T KNOW!” Danny screams. Aunt Alicia jumps a bit at that, and Danny... he starts taking a lungful of breath, and just screams.

“I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW I DON’T KNOW AND I DON’T CARE!” he screeches out, he chokes, gulps down his saliva, and cries.  “LEAVE ME ALONE!”

He rolls around on the carpet and screams and screams and Aunt Alicia starts panicking herself. Danny heaves himself up on both arms, starts swinging his fists around, trying to take hold of something, anything, but he can’t see, he can’t see, can’t see. “I HATE EVERYTHING! I HATE YOU! I WANT TO DIE!”

“Danny! Stop it! Stop it right now! Danny!” Aunt Alicia panics, holding out her hands, momentarily forgetting that Danny can’t see the gesture.

“NO YOU DON’T KNOW! YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING AND I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! DON’T TELL ME LIKE I KNOW, I DON’T KNOW!”

“Danny!”

Danny screams again and he feels like his throat is being ripped apart by that.

“I AM NOT ME! I AM NOT ME I AM DREAMING!”

He cries painfully, and his voice is hoarse, but it’s not as bad as the fact that he can’t even see where he has screamed to. He realizes that he could be screaming at the wall instead of Aunt Alicia. He feels so stupid.

“I WANT TO DIE! I HATE YOU, OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!”

His heart is constricted by god knows what, it hurts so much and he hurts so much. He can feel tears, and he even briefly wonders that if his eyes still work up tears, how come they can’t see?

“IT’S NOT FAIR, OH MY GOD! WHY—” and there he chokes again, grips his hair, and cries pitifully.

Why can’t the evil kids in his class be the ones blind instead?

“Danny! Why what? Danny, please don’t cry, I’m over here, here.”

“NOOO! I CAN’T SEE! DON’T TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE I CAN’T S—“

“WHAT ON EARTH IS HAPPENING HERE?”

And that, is Uncle Jerry barging into the room.

He takes hold of Danny’s shoulders and shakes him until he is silent, hot tears still fresh on his cheeks.

It's week one of him becoming blind, and he hears Aunt Alicia and Uncle Jerry arguing downstairs. He's in his room, locked, and is currently pressing his ears on the wooden floor, trying to hear his aunt and uncle. He's locked because he’s thrown a tantrum, screaming bloody murder on the top of his lungs when Uncle Jerry came. He's so stressed. 

"That kid is a burden if you keep this up, that's what he is! Stop babying him all the time, Alicia! Do you want him to be a FUCKING cripple for the rest of his life?"

He hears the stomps of Uncle Jerry's foot, blam-blam-blam, and Aunt Alicia's indignant reply.

“He might only need a shrink, Jerry! Trauma care and such! I don’t know what’s it called but he needs that, and we can’t just—“

“A bloody fucking shrink?! You want a bloody shrink? You’re making him into a fucking wimp! He is not weak, Alicia, he should never be treated like he is some delicate flower!”

“Jerry! He needs help!”

“Alicia, by God I swear what he needs is some faith in himself and a fucking determination to want to see what he can do now! He is not a baby! He is eight! He has a working brain and a pair of perfect ears! My bloody brother was blind at 13 and he functions just fine!”

Danny blinks and feels the crust in his eyes from the tears earlier.

“You have to know, Alicia. God might have taken his sight, but I believe He has given Daniel something else! Losing his sight does not mean that he is useless, or that he needs babying! He gains so much more as well, he has us now! Thank God he is not with his skunk of a parent that is his bloody mother! Imagine if he were blind then when he was still in her care! God knows what that twat will do!

“He only needs to realize that he is blessed! With ears, his bloody endless imagination that we can see from whatever things he’s built with the damn cereal boxes, and all of his remaining senses! He only needs to realize that he has to take that first step into this new world of his!”

He sighs and closes his eyes. He hears the both of them yelling, and he imagines.

Uncle Jerry is moving around downstairs. His feet are huge, and his steps huger. Whenever he stomps, Danny sees red popping out at the back of his mind. Huge blots of blurry reds, blinking lights and blaring alarms.

Aunt Alicia has the steps of a rabbit’s. He imagines her feet, soft and small, pit-a-patting on the floor, fluffy white cotton and winter clouds. The floor creaks, and chocolate brown and yellow fireworks spark behind his eyelids. He sees her, moving back and forth, to the left, to the right, stopping right in front of Uncle Jerry, the colours following everywhere every time he moves his eyes.

“Alright... I’ll... Danny... and...“ her voice drifts off.

There are small footsteps coming up the stairs. Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, cotton white lights blinking up in his dark, dark world, and Danny knows that it’s Aunt Alicia. She’ll be here in, 3, 2, 1...

“Danny. Let’s go downstairs, dear. We need to talk with you.”

Danny sees her. He sees her in front of the door. He can’t see her dress or her hair, but he can see her white footsteps coming closer to him. She is on his right, face full of worry, and he knows.

“Okay...”

He knows that he can still see, and that he can see even more than just footsteps in no time.

But then again, if he sees colours, that means he is dreaming.

Is he dreaming now, then?

END

SHORT STORY

Ratu Annisaa Suryasumirat

Start: 21 March 2016 | Finish: 25 March 2016
Honestly, this story is rushed. I only had 4 days to finish, and the word limit was 3,000 words. I don't like word limit, but I made it. It's exactly 3,000 words, including the title. It's not great, but I'm quite proud with how it came out. I quite like it even though the ending is rushed like hell.