A lost love story.
Our birth started with a cry. Just like a normal delivery. What we didn’t learn from the start is that the rest of the story can differ, the rest of the life can do without the tears. But somehow we got attached. To ourselves, so much that we forgot how laughter sounds like. Our own laughter. Forget about about that the rest of the world laughs at us, we couldn’t stop our tears ourselves. And why should we stop. Not because we have embraced our almost a century long grief, but because we couldn’t move on. Separation is hard. And moving on is harder. The hardest part is realising it’s our tears that made us stronger. So why should we stop. Don’t we want to become stronger? No. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. And what’s not strong gets killed. This is the story of our lives. For 70 long years. Am I saying we have cried because we wanted to. I am saying we haven’t looked beyond the lines on our cheeks. The lines someone else drew, but we carry on because lines once made are, you know, not erasable. So we couldn’t move on. Just like a heart-broken lover, we gulped our grief down our throats, and said, “We will be strong”. And that’s how we found our happiness. But it’s been long, and we are still not happy, maybe we are strong. But ask our flag, our anthem, and ask today, are we happy? Are we really happy? Someone said choose a color, so we chose one. And forgot the beauty is not monotone. Beauty is well, in the eyes. So we saw what we wanted to see. Hear who we wanted to hear. But our feelings deceived all our senses. Our feelings told us to cry. To still cry because, well, separation is hard. So we are still moaning in pain of the scratch. We couldn’t move on. Let’s admit it. We want to, but we couldn’t. We couldn’t because we never accepted that we are crying for our love. A lost love.
