She is looking for a cigarette. Searches the table and bags, gets disappointed to find just the lighter in her purse. It would be easy to dissolve the pain with the smoke – she thinks. I know that because she screamed those words out loud once.
With disgust in her face, she sits on the chair and starts typing something furiously. She is probably weaving some analogies between life and smoke.
BULLSHIT! I say. How can one thing be similar to another thing of a different composition?
“Everything speaks a universal language. Love, hatred, jealousy, peace, they can be understood without words, just with the eyes,” she argues at times.
Personally, I think she has idolized some kind of novel in her head and wants to live by it.
Regardless, I can’t resist to peek at what she writes, she makes people feel something with her words.
Turns out she is writing a ‘Statement of Purpose’ for her college somewhere. She used to love this place, now it seems she wants to get away from here as soon as possible.
I have tried to read her on this. Something tells me, it’s a boy who broke her heart and she is doing all this to start a new chapter in her life. But deep down, I think she needs friends. A few people she can share her cool interests with.
I have seen her writing on a paper with her new Parker Pen once. How she would love to have people around, how she would play, cook and read together.
Then she turned pale, crumpled the paper and threw it away in the dustbin she made out of a Daraz delivery box.
After typing in angrily for about an hour she plays Rocket Man by Elton John. She sings it out together with him and imagines herself performing it on a stage.
I can tell because she is smiling, her eyes closed and her hands running wild over the imaginary strings of a guitar.
I don’t know what the outer world looks like but she does. She says she has met all kinds of people; good and bad. And then corrects herself hastily, no single person is always good or, always evil. I wish I could make sense of whatever she speaks about.
By now, a few hours have elapsed and she has given up on her disappointment of not finding a cigarette.
Well, that’s all about her today. I will tell you all about her in the coming days. Of the scared child in her, of the elegant woman in her, for I’ve seen both.
Until then, I hope you all be kind to her because she has always been kind to everyone she met.
– The Voodoo in Her Room
