You’re dressed in immaculate white, dazzling smile underneath a mask. Your broad shoulders stretches across the brightly-lit room.

You’re standing tall, looming over my prostate body laid carefully across the metal bed. I’m wearing nothing but green scrubs, so thin, I can feel the cool surface of steel.

The knife clatters as you take it from the tray and inch it closer to me. I hear the blood rush through my ears. My chest is pounding.

I look at you.

Of course you make no hesitation, your long fingers deftly making an incision. The knife is quickly engulfed by vermillion. Everything feels like a whisper until the lids of my eyes close like curtains.

When they open again, I see my hands, pale and delicate, in a basin. The fingers are relaxed.



Honestly, what did I expect?

It was a weird turn of events. We started off as enemies. It was a series of misunderstandings that led to your hating me and my being entirely oblivious about it. You wouldn’t even let me near you. Then miraculously, we were whisked to the awkward land of Almost-Friends. Or was it the equally mysterious land of Friends-of-Convenience? Either way, we weren’t complete strangers any more. As time passed, we grew closer to each other. We grew up beside each other. It was you who mostly talked, while it was me who mostly listened. You said you didn’t like being the talkative one, but honestly, I didn’t like being the quiet one either. But we were predisposed to who we are. And so we continued.

For a few weeks, it was the same old story. It was a pattern we’ve mastered. It always started with a rant, then a joke, then another and another until we end up chortling our entire lives onto each other. No one complained. No one told the other to stop or say, “Hey maybe we should shut up for once in a while because this looming proximity isn’t something I’m used to.” I guess we couldn’t control it. It — us? We were too much a part of each other’s limbs, too much a part of each other’s words that stopping it would mean stopping the world. We looked at each other and saw ourselves. There wasn’t anything we could do about it but keep laughing at nothing and anything and everything in between. And so we continued.

Maybe it was my fault. I didn’t mean to push the boundaries of friendship any farther than it’s supposed to. But in my defense, we were getting extraordinarily comfortable with each other. Friendship turned into a dotted line that spiked with instances of more-than-friendship and less-than-whatever-lies-beyond-friendship. It was a poisonous thought. To think that we could reach any other place than where we are. But I am only human and human have dreams. On second thought, it was a gross thought, but I kept it at bay, letting it simmer at the back of my mind. Every day, I denied its existence but every night it kept creeping back. And so I continued to live the weird double life and pretended to be normal.

Now you’re unfair. You knew all along and you’ve kept shut. I thought you were the talkative one. And now you’re threatening to leave me. You’re threatening to leave your twin, your sibling, your person. I know I’m being melodramatic but look at what you’ve done. Or what I’ve done to myself. Or what we’ve both done to ourselves. You’re my life-support, and you’ve made me believe that I’m sick with an incurable disease that only you can make better. But the truth of the matter is, I’m not sick and you’re not the cure. You’re just a friend that I share common interests with. Actually, let’s not downplay it. You’re the friend that I share common interests with. I’d take a bullet for you, or a shot glass, whichever comes first. And being that friend doesn’t mean I’d have to  with you. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

So maybe, it’s not my fault, that we’ve turned into such misguided hooligans. God knows it was your idea. And God knows I didn’t stop you from doing it. So God knows everything. All I know is that what we are is something we should be.

Letter to my three year old dopplegänger

You’re three and you probably don’t care what’s happening in your life. Heck, you’re probably not even potty trained. And you probably won’t understand half the words I’m saying (that’s what dictionaries are for), but here goes.

First of all, the library will turn out to be a great asset and a great friend despite the fact that you will be socially persecuted for the most of your preteen life. Each book you will borrow will help form your intelligence and the way you will view life: a giant book to be read. Don’t worry if you won’t meet anyone on the way. Life’s like that; it keeps you in the dark for as long as it can then shocks you to realization. Keep the one’s you already know. They will be instrumental to your wellbeing and networking in the future.

You will lose the weight, I promise. A trip to Zara will ingrain in your head that you need to change your lifestyle. Two months of abstaining from rice while working your ass off the gym will bring striking results. You will obsess about it for a while. It’s perfectly normal to fear gaining back the pounds. It’s not normal, however, to ignore the signs that you are straining your body. Although it’s alluring to think that you can keep at dieting, it will ultimately cost you. But don’t worry because as time will go on, you will strike a balance.

You will not lose, however, the insecurities of living in a shell of a 200-pound giant. Words, though you’re used to them, will still carry the sting of a past memory. People will not think kindly of your change. They will still think you are the fat kid you were. It will confuse you and stir something dark inside you. It will make you weak, but only up to a point. Soon you’ll learn that words are what they are: words. Your past weight will be a distinction, something that people can relate to and that will be your strength. You understand because you’ve been there.

Lastly, you will be happy in your own right. Your recess trips to the library will give you the necessary intelligence to pass the school you want. The solitude during them will give you a different perspective. Losing weight will give you a victory you’ll be eager to achieve again. It will give a certain drive and passion. Because of it, you will realize that you can do what you want when there’s the strive to do it. Though it will look bleak, everything will eventually fall into place, albeit messily. So don’t worry a thing.

don’t panic life’s organic