Tea.

It was a typical, quiet Sunday.

I stood in the hostel corridor, massaging Johnson’s baby oil deep into the roots of my hay-wire locks, my reflection in the full-length mirror guiding me through the process.

It was two p.m. The day seemed gloomy. First, I presume, because I had just woken up from, God knows why, thirteen hours of sweet sleep. Then, my only companion was on her visit home for the weekend. I wanted to spend time with other friends who live in the same wing, but I hesitated as the apprehension of being despised for encroaching even for minutes into their lives crept on me like a fortune-teller’s warning.

I had dared enough to stand in their part of the wing for the sake of the mirror, something I usually avoid by settling for the small, stained, rusty one on my side of the wing. Today would be different. Most of them were home. I wouldn’t have to spend five minutes there listening to their merry laughs and miss being a part of them, or to struggle to respond to crack-up humor with a dry joke, reflecting my boring vibes, “lame” according to them. I wouldn’t make a gossip headline today, for the last time I wore an old T shirt in their part of the corridor, that used to intimidate them in terms of body size, I was told I’m putting on weight. The next day rest of my friends had time to time looked for my butt while we crossed paths to testify and satisfy themselves. The last time I told one of them in college to accompany me to another spot, she said “it’s because that guy you talk to lately is there, right?”

Today would be different. I didn’t have anything to face today. I didn’t have to repeat history and refresh bitter judgements. I didn’t have to re-open creaky doors to dark rooms that reek of self-loath and echo of painful sobs. I didn’t have to visualize that girl lying in fetal position in one corner, her black hair splayed across the length of the room, her own shadow haunting her…

I split my hair in two parts, and let them hang down each shoulder, making sure every strand possible got their fair share of moisture as I continued oiling them.

One of these friends emerged from her room, knocking at her neighbour’s door, calling her out. The two then went about knocking at the rest of the doors, calling out to our other friends.

“Baby oil, eh?” one of them asked me with a smile. I smiled back.

“Where does baby oil come from?” she joked.

“What does that even mean!”

“You know, like coconut oil comes from coconut. Where does baby oil come from?”

I guess I didn’t really get the joke, because I didn’t laugh, neither did I know how to respond. So I pretended to find it slightly funny.

“Hey!” She called out to our other friends as they opened their doors. “Come on, we’re going to the mes to have tea.”

I watched them from the corner of my eye. I watched them come out. I watched them lock their doors. I watched them stand right beside me as they slid their feet in their slippers.

I watched them leave.

I watched them as I hummed along the tune to Russian Roulette.

When they were gone, I sang the song.

“ I’m terrified, but I’m not leaving

Know that I can pass this test…

So just pull the trigger.”

It’s hard to be invisible. There might be those out there that don’t mind that kind of treatment. I’m not one of those. I cherish isolation but don’t want it to linger forever.

One thing I must correct that I typed wrong. It’s hard to be ignored. If I were invisible she wouldn’t have initiated a conversation. It was just a tactic to make me feel a little more, then suddenly a little less. In other words, to build expectation and then disappoint. Doesn’t everyone hate disappointment?

That’s how they pushed me away, using their subtle, almost unnoticable tactics. When I was gone, they had something to gossip about.

I sang and sang. I tried not feeling overwhelmed with the hurt of not being invited to tea. I struggled to keep that hole stuffed with positivity, with the blessings I overlook, but this time it regurgitated everything and made itself felt.

You are alone.

You are despicable.

You have no friends.

You have no one to talk to.

You cannot risk jeopardizing your relationship with the one person left, because you have no one to turn to if you do.

You can either be obedient, or friendless.

Having one friend is like walking on egg-shells. You need to be close enough, yet not too close. If you cross that line, you will eventually blow it. You will always ruin friendship if you don’t keep that distance. Of course, that’s not true for everyone. This is my mind bashing my heart.

I tied my hair up in a bun. I strolled back to my room and set a mug of water in the microwave for a couple minutes. I sat down on the bed with a teabag in my hand, thinking how much I wanted to have tea…

…with friends.

So just like every day, I watched the mug rotate in the dim golden light, and once the alarm sang, I dipped in the teabag and watched the color swirl in the water as it spread, like the pleats of a dancing girl’s frock open when she spins to melancholy music, approaching climax of emotion. Just like every day, I added milk. Just like every day, I thought. Today wasn’t any different at all. It was just a typical, quiet Sunday.