Once the infancy withered off, Joy sang beautifully. The voice that eased out of her throat was charismatic, just like her Soul. Her dad was a singer too but wasn’t encouraged enough. Though he had learnt guitar and loved it, he had other plans for Joy. He didn’t want little Joy to suffer the way he did. So at the age of five, Joy went to a dance class and at nine, she joined a music school and began training for violin.
She despised it at first; she believed that it was a waste of time. She cried, she refused to eat but soon, she began connecting with her blood full of it. Her discovery was that that the violin was alive. Yes, it breathed, ate and slept alongside Joy. It whispered into her soul and she did the same. The smell of mahogany became her own. The bridge of the violin she would compare to her button nose. They shared their happiness and sorrows mutually. A bunch of strings became her friends in life; they became the knowledge she shared, the wealth she possessed. Throughout her life, her violin would be her destined love. She’d hug her pacifier and it would cuddle her back. They interlinked, combined, extinguished and freed emotionally at each other’s presence.
The old lady walked in her light blue night gown through her veranda, holding a mug of water for her indoor plants. The bright bonsai bend her head to drop off on the wet cement floor. It tumbled off the edge into the slush and turned bright brown with the mix of mud. It had rained heavily last night and the air hung loose and damp. The lady poured a bit of water into one pot with great effort. The plant heavy with excess water, bent to say Thank you in excess. Perhaps she was lost in thoughts for that moment. As always.
She remembered how blooming her knuckles had looked when she held the mug years ago and now how they creaked inside. How clear and non creased her pale skin was and now how wrinkled her body looked to her. How scary her heart beat was to her and now how it is the sole pacifier, her owner.
Gone are those days when she belonged to the world or the pretentious society as now she has abandoned herself. How her smile overturned into a lumpy wash of flesh and how weak she felt from beneath her breath. How systematic her brain was and how surprisingly crazy and whimsical it acted these days. Steps ahead seemed and felt like miles to go. Speech was a soothing balm and silence killed through it’s stealth. Long ago did she die and how recently was she buried.
Her thoughts had pranced like a paddy field, dived in like a dolphin and plunged into the deep valleys like an adventurist. The effort to hold them back, turned futile as moments passed by. Thoughts then became her reason to live, her master of command. And that scared her because they came without warnings.