hiraeth

I know we've parted ways but,

I hope my name sticks on your tongue like a truth you can't deny,

I hope your heart aches a bit when you think of me,

I hope I cross your mind everytime you see something of my interest,

I hope you look for me in a crowd even when knowing there's no way I'd be there,

I hope you think of me when you reach for a snack that used to be my favourite,

I hope you see me in the new people you meet,

I hope you dream endlessly about me after we parted ways,

I hope your guts make you feel sick whenever I cross your mind,

I hope you think of me every single time of the day,

Whether it is me on my bed at night,

Or when I'm in the middle of a howdy gathering,

Whether it is me alone in the kitchen, cooking something,

Or when I'm in my class at 8 am,

Whether it is me folding clothes

Or when I'm laughing and joking with my friends.

" The Morning After I End It"

On a sunny Friday, the birds chirping loudly.

How quiet has it become ever since I left? The kitchen and the living room were filled with steam. It seems like a normal Friday to me.

Mom, cooking breakfast, but making one dish less, lost in her very deep thoughts, "Where did I go wrong?" She repeats the question over and over again.

The last time I made tea, Mom told me I put too much sugar. She smiled when she said it. I didn’t know that would be the last smile I’d ever see.

It was never your fault Mom. Never.

She hears dad's car keys, letting her know he's back from the graveyard with my brother.

The same graveyard where my grandfather is also buried.

How lucky I am to be in the same place as my grandfather's.

My cat was just laying where the Air conditioner was blowing, like everything was the same as before.

I remember when Dad first taught me how to pray. His hand on my shoulder, firm, steady. Now his hands are trembling on the prayer beads.

Just doing his usual dhikr, thinking what it was that he could not provide? Was that love never enough? Have I failed being a father? The questions flooded his mind as he kept a normal expression like he always did, even when he was breaking inside.

It was never your fault Dad. Never.

On the other side, my brother,

When he came home from work, he’d toss his bag on the couch and never even look my way. I wonder if he remembers all those times he chose silence.

Maybe, I hope, that he regrets not having to spend time with me. He was always so cold. I wonder what he feels? Does he regret? I wish. I wish I could have had one conversation with him, in these past years, Not a single day, had he talked to me with a smile on his face.

Does he regret?

It's really sunny today, the weather is bright, but everything feels dead. Why so?

My sister just prayed Dhuhr, it seems like she's praying for me, and I guess, tearing up.

"Was I not enough?" "What made her do that?" "She could've talked to me, I was always there for her" "This is not possible" "This can't be happening"

Warm tea, fried eggs with baked bread on the table, everyone is there, but just one is missing.

Why is it so quiet tho?

How can my death affect them?

It's not their fault. It isn't.

Before I had decided to leave this world, I didn't want to write my last words or anything.

I just wanted to, go away without anyone knowing.

I watched my videos where I sneaked my phone into school, and made videos with my friends, I trusted them with my whole life, but at the same time, not at all.

What does it even mean to trust someone?

I took a look at my friends' chats one last time,

as I always had this bad habit of re-reading old chats. I wonder, what would my online friends think about me? I was always so grateful towards them. Some of them were like siblings. I thought to myself,

I keep getting notifications

"____ shared a video"

Maybe I should text my very dear ones?

I never got the courage to do that.

I thought, "Maybe one last story on TikTok?"

I laughed and factory reset my phone.

Clearing every memory, every picture, every text, every contact permanently.

Leaving nothing behind.

Before leaving, I cleaned up my room quietly and changed my bedsheets, so my scent also leaves with me.

I thought about all the hobbies I started and quit, all the times I convinced myself I was worthless for not having a passion to hold on to.

Nothing ever felt enough. Not my words, not my drawings, not me.I always envied people who had dreams. All I had were distractions I could never keep.

I tied all my stuff in a plastic bag and kept it in the store room, where one rarely goes.

I pet and kiss my cat on the nose one last time. I let her scratch me all she wants, until my whole hand and arm started burning with cuts.

It's alright. I kiss her once again and fill her food bowl with fresh food, giving her cold water as she likes.

"I wonder if she would ever think about me?"

I thought as I stood by her side waiting for her to finish her food, feeling empty as always.

Maybe tomorrow she’ll wait by the kitchen, not knowing I'll never be able to feed her again. She looks at me and walks away like everything is going just normal.

I stare at the shelf, where I see a packet of noodles. I feel hungry, I wish, this hunger could eat me alive, I hate this. I wanted my last meal to be noodles, but everything in me had died, my appetite, my wild thoughts, my love for everyone, for myself, but hadn't it died long ago?, and my will to live. I just walked away with an empty stomach after forcing to vomit everything that was in me.