Dear Neel #2
Did you get my letter? Did you read it? Did you think about me as you saw my handwriting? Did you miss me?
The last time I wrote to you was when I had a writer’s block or when I thought I had a writer’s block. That was the day when I redid my desk with flowers and what not. That was the day when I felt a little romantic. Today I cannot write again. Today I ate chocolate, without anyone having to force me and I almost felt like throwing up. I didn’t. I ate and ate until I felt my stomach would burst and until I felt I could go on seeing through my tears. Today, I don’t feel romantic. Today, I removed all the flowers and did my desk again. Now, only a few plants stay. Now, only my laptop stays. Now, only the emptiness prevails. No more trinkets, no more books clutter my desk. Today, I turn into Monica Geller. Today, I have chaos inside.
But I digress. I am not writing to tell you how chaotic I am. I was reminded of you as I was reading a collection of short stories by Murakami. The protagonist writes letters to his client. The same way I am writing to you. Something about kangaroos, can you imagine? It felt weird letters to a client but then what makes sense anyway. Nor does my letter to you make sense. Here I am with more than two forty-seven words (plus three) (well plus two) and what have I said anyway? Who exactly is interested in my simplicity of the writing table where I am not writing anything? Who exactly cares?
The wall adjacent to me on the table is empty. Well, it has a soft board hanging. And the soft board is empty. There is only one quote stuck to it. It is from Alice in Wonderland. It says that the world’s problem is that we want a magical solution but we don’t want to believe in magic. True, right? But I did believe in magic. I believed in all throughout childhood. If someone came and told me that if I drew with a particular pencil a small ice cream and color it brown, an ice cream would undoubtedly appear in front of me. I would have believed it. I believed it all into my teenage years too. Are you laughing at me then? Yeah? But I did believe in magic even then. Maybe not in the magical ice cream but in some different power, in positivity perhaps? But I stopped believing in it when I was seventeen. Nothing happened really to make me do that. I just stopped thinking magic was a real thing. It was just what it was. So, will you write back to me if I really, really believe in magic now? You writing to me is nothing less, I believe. Will you write back to me then?
I shouldn’t think so really. What will you write even? I mean a letter is a response to something right? And what I am sending you here is nothing. It has no questions, no answers. I am telling you about things that do not interest me. I am talking about letters that people send to clients. That is not memorable. But then what is? Am I?
Hoping to find out soon.
Read More: Dear Neel #1