"I prefer acting according to what my emotions dictate me at the very instant the pulses run down my nerves. I believe emotions should be expressed; and not suppressed and encaged like a bird in your heart. Yes, emotions - as if they're a being and they deserve their lawful freedom of expression; as if they've got some rights of their own. I sometimes fail to comprehend why I feel that way - most of the advising minds in the world would suggest you to rationalize your feelings and pass your decisions through a scanner of logic and reason of your head and the rational mind before you act upon them. But I often fail to do so - rather I filter my highly logical resolutions through a sieve of emotional impracticality. Why do I do the reverse thing, sometimes even knowingly?

Sudden unexpected burst of emotions can devastate relationships and leave nothing to hold onto. Such occurrences if repeated might actually wear out the relationship to irrecoverable tatters. But I never seem to be able to put myself in others' shoes when it comes to judging how my expressions might be perceived by them. I tend to presume I have done the right thing - by speaking what I felt in the spur of the heated moment - because it is equivalent to speaking the truth, at least according to me. Yes, it was the truth, at least at that particular instant and scenario. So there is nothing called overreaction in my dictionary of sentiments.

Tears have become a regular addictive drink. I stare at myself in the mirror, watching my flushed red face – the swollen wet eyes, the dried marks of last night’s tears, the lips that cannot recall when it smiled last. I do not cry out with an inborn grudge – I no longer hold any against anyone. Yes, some improvement has seemingly appeared – that I have let things go. Probably this is a new twilight of hope – of being able to move on and erase the memories of the tormenting past. The past keeps emerging as haunting shadows now and then, reminding me of itself again and again. And I go through the so familiar rituals of reminiscing it intensely, embracing the usual hysteria and feeling every corner of it with devoted focus as soon as I find myself in a lonely spot. These actions I undertake right after I happen to observe the present – that links itself to the past and buries whatever little calmness I’ve managed to acquire earlier. The present, that is not so long-lasting, soon becomes an inclusion of the immediate past and merges with that highly painful past, causing it to expand to a voluminous magnitude. As more and more small random incidents happen away, adding themselves to my collection of hurts, I unknowingly allow an army of daggers to form within me. It fiercely attacks me at the smallest inducing trigger arising from any additional new happening information. The consequent agony paralyses me for some hours, throws me into another hysterical fit and eventually lulls me to sleep. Once I wake up, I find myself in the same identical condition as before when I come across my face in the mirror. I want to break free from this repetitive cycle of punishment, I tell myself.

A light drizzle wakes me up one morning. I turn off the air-conditioner and open my windows and instantly a cool welcoming breeze blows into my face, messing up my hair and fringes. All the time I keep imagining that it’s late in the afternoon, my usual wake-up time. But when I glance at my table-clock I’m literally shocked - it is quite early in the morning! I can’t trust my eyes for a moment – somehow at least the day is starting out to be different – new sets of pacifying realizations, some hopes mingled with new ways of accepting the reality to become an indelible part of it; and most importantly, a new spark of a feeling of warm freedom that I have been hunting for. I feel glad to find myself unchanged – I didn’t really like the new me. I wasn’t quite enjoying being different. Sometimes trying to taste the forbidden fruit doesn’t make you as happy as you expect. I discover that I’m still the same person at heart – I feel comfortable, thinking of retiring to my old shell. Now I know exactly what to do and how to do it. I recapitulate my priorities – they appear crystal clear now. I summon up some courage to play that song that has once deafened my ears but hasn’t been played for a long while because of the distressful memories that it carries within. Surprisingly, it doesn’t cause pain anymore – rather it pleases my soul somehow. Yes, today is a different day after all. Now I have new hopes – I don’t aim big anymore - I take a small gulp at a time so that all my wishes get materialized. Like right now I am looking forward to some good time and solace ahead because I know he’ll be out of my sight in the near future. I have learnt to dream cautiously.

I was struggling to decipher my various emotions – what made me happy, what saddened me, and what things had the potential to change my state of mind. I discover that he still hasn’t quit smoking. I keep wondering why no one else is encouraging or helping him to give up that destructive habit. But why does it affect me now that everything is over? Who is he to me or how are we related? Why does it have to upset me? I dare not ask myself these questions because I am afraid of knowing the answer, the truth. I decide immediately, that I will stop asking myself such apparently rhetorical questions from now on. I let those inner curious voices die away. Again I recall those small glances that I dared to throw at him once upon a time, which revealed to me his wet eyes glistening in the light, full of pain and vengeance. It might have been a figment of my colourful imagination. But why did it hurt me to see him unhappy? Where was the dark sadistic shade of my personality, if it really existed at all? Once again, I see him with the love of his life. I notice him thoroughly enjoying her company, feeling ecstatic and smiling; enthralled by her face and words. Perhaps he has found her to be much prettier than I. I acknowledge that they’ve been seeing each other for a considerably long time – even when I was in his life. Or perhaps I was never in his life in that sense – my existence has always been meaningless to him. Now that he is happy, why does it hurt me again? This time my heart can’t refrain from asking such questions – I keep questioning till I find an answer, the truth. I figure that it hurts me more when I find him unhappy or disturbed. I realize that I need to teach myself to be happy when I see him happy, even if it’s with another girl. Because I will be transcending beyond the circle of my principles if I still desire him, now that he belongs to someone else. That’s just pathetically sinful a thought.

I tend to forget all the disgusting and loathsome things he said to me and how viciously he has injured my delicate heart; and I also overlook how he has portrayed a despicable image of myself in his mind and amongst others. I tend to recollect only the good times that passed by and the nice aspects about him, as if I involuntarily forgive his wrongdoings. Forgiveness is not a vice; just because he has been mean doesn’t suggest that I should be too. The very clichéd phrase goes: when a dog bites you, you don’t bite the dog back. It proclaims your superiority as a being. I will hopefully learn to forget that he was ever about to be mine, when I spot him with someone else – because, he wasn’t ever in fact. Losing him wasn’t the outcome of a mistake but a signature of my sacrificial power. The whole experience didn’t pinpoint my innate flaw but unmasked the incredible depth and capability of my loyalty. Soon I’ll also learn to be happy for him at his happiness too, in spite of the numerous piercing blows that he darted towards me.

And some things in this world aren’t meant for everyone to have. Many people aren’t fortunate enough to have those tiny moments of joy in their lives. Many people possess absolutely no such moments and hence no related photographs to later cherish. When I see him with her, when I see them together and many others, I admit I nurture the regretful silent complaint – I start counting the little so many things that I don’t have. My eyes become tearful – I spitefully look up to my God with a sarcastic smile; as if I was certain that I didn’t deserve this deprivation; as if I was very close to having similar moments. But now I know I wasn’t ever; it was a deceptive mirage that left my heart painfully wounded. It was only an unlucky failure of my analytical skills. Yet I feel happy – knowing that I’m still the same old me. I might not have many of those possessions I secretly crave for, but I too have got a lot of things that they don't and wish to have. It is time that I do something for myself and take pleasure in the small things only I have.”