Dear my nameless, faceless Ba

Dear my nameless, faceless Ba,

Can you hear me?

I haven’t spoken to you, or written, in a year. Life feels hard again. What is it about this time of year?

I wish I had known you, your name, your face. In my mind you’re stood still, your sari is catching the breeze. The hem of your skirt licks the dust as you turn away.

I wonder if you’re proud of me. Of my siblings, my cousins, my aunt, my father? What would you make of us? What would you think of this mess we made?

You seem to hold part of that missing piece for me. I’m not sure which piece it is.

I often speak to you, I’ve no idea if you hear me. But it feels good. It feels good to look up into that enormous sky flecked with starlings and I wonder if you once looked up at the same piece of sky when you walked this earth.

– Saffron

Drenched in sepia sadness

I’m sitting outside in the dark warmth of the early morning. I can’t sleep, my mind is back tracking to those early years with Mum and Dad. A montage of childhood memories drenched in sepia sadness is on loop behind my eyes. Xavier is peaceful inside, he always sleeps well, breathing heavily, blissfully unaware.

I slipped out silently, and crept outside to breathe a little. My plan is that Xavier will wake and realise I’m missing, he’ll find me out here, he’ll run his fingers through my hair and hold me, and the memories will wash away. 

My dream of a family and a home, though somewhat stereotypical, has really set recently. I’ve always wanted boys, perhaps because the women in my life are so unpredictable. But I’m terrified of ending up like my Mother. Cold and detached, at breaking point every day, weak. She was never able to fully love us.

All of a sudden Xavier is outside. He’s woken to an empty bed and stumbled out here. I’m telling him not to worry, but he’s not interested in my protests. His arms are around me, hands running through my hair, pulling me close. 

I’m concentrating on breathing. In and out. I won’t make the same mistakes my parents made. I have Xavier. He is my warmth, my goodness, my strength.

– Saffron

Feeling

I made my first trip back home-home before I started writing about Saffron, and before I had started to come to terms with Saffron’s mental health problems. 

Until I left on my big trip, I hadn’t felt in a while. Hadn’t felt anything. All I felt was heaviness and darkness. In fact I remember very little about that period. I don’t remember whether it was a cold winter, or whether I enjoyed my frequent visits to the river, where I escaped everyday. I just felt numb and strangely round and thick. 

But when I stepped out of that aeroplane, I could feel the intense heat and the burn of the large rising sun still stings my eyes. But I felt. From there, it grew. I wanted to feel more.

I wanted to feel the dust on my skin, I wanted to smell the stench of the dirt on the streets, I wanted to taste the heat in the food, I wanted to feel the burn of the sun. And I felt it all. Every sense tingled and stung. After months and months of not feeling a single thing. Suddenly I could feel everything. I felt alive. I felt real again. 

Now, when I feel numb and vacant. I close my eyes and take myself back. I grip my mind tight in my skull until I can feel the sting in my eyes again.

– Saffron