Tiny Ink Blots [Diary]

When there is a blot on paper, you cannot remove it until you wash it away. When you have some memories, you cannot forget them until your soul gives up. These are my blots of memories on a sheet of paper. This is my diary.


8. Home

May 20 2015                                                                                                                                                                       9:58pm


Dear creepy person,

I am soon going to live a nightmare. Why? There's a big reason, that's why.

Times are getting harder than the rock. I never imagined I would have to see this day. And now like a nightmare it's blatantly standing in front of me. I have been living here, in Summerland, for six years and now I am being told that we would soon leave this place. I have no regrets in leaving the people here because I hate most of the people here. I am just too comfortable with this place, the house, the buildings, the markets, I'm too familiar with them to leave them. I know it's sounding stupid but I cried the whole day yesterday. I was secretly shedding tears when no one was around. The thought of leaving this place is too painful. It's too painful. 

Creepo, we have gone through so many things so far and this house has been witness of all our actions for six freaking whole years. This house isn't just a house. This house is a bundle of memories trapped within the walls of this place, the blank walls. Could someone have ever thought that walls trap memories too? They do, they freaking do and no realises it until they come to a situation like this. I cannot like without these walls over my head. When I trace my fingers across these pale walls, I could listen to everything I have ever done here. I could listen to our laughter, to our cries, to our joys, to our sadness. I could feel everything these walls have felt in our presence. They were always right when they said, "Walls have ears," because they could really listen to you. Yet people have missed to mention one more thing: the walls have a heart too. They have loads of memories trapped in them. They are always living, breathing, watching, listening and most of all, they keep your secrets. This house is a part of my memory and maybe even I am a part of it. It's the most comfortable place I could ever find when I am uneasy, it is home. It may sound stupid that a person could be so much attached to some no living thing but this house for me is living. I could listen to its heart beat when I keep my ear to it. 

So many memories, so many memories are adhering to this place. My eyes sting to even think about leaving it forever and living some place else. They say I could make a new start. But it isn't easy to start after the end when you can't even forget about the end. I cannot start after the end. I would live in the end forever and could never get out of it. It's everything, this house everything for me. It's my childhood, my phase of adolescence, my now. Whenever I came home from a relatives, it was a big relief to get back home. It's my comfort. And living in another place and calling it home would sound as same as if we would have to leave planet Earth and start living on Mars and call it our home.  

There is this amazing song by Miranda Lambert: The House That Built Me. I never seemed to her emotions fully until now. I just can't stop crying when I listen to it.

We would be selling it someone else, and its a really odd feeling that my own house would be alien to me. It won't be mine it would be someone else's. I couldn't bear it. I never really realised how much this place mattered to me until now. We don't know the worth of anything until life abstains us from it. And when we realise how much it matters to us, it's too late.

I just cannot bear this at all. It's a nightmare, creepo, it's the worst nightmare I am living. 


Your chimp,

Mercury Chap

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