Nothing but foolishness

Layers and layers of wind ruffle across my face as I smell dry earth through the window of my apartment. It feels like the lovers who come strong, kiss strong and leave briskly before you realize their presence. It all feels same–different layers of wind–but I can tell the difference. Just like you can differentiate the love you receive from different people in different seasons. One that is fragile, other one that is slightly needy, but is still love whatsoever.

I can tell, the raindrops are already midair. I can smell them, and want (and not want at the same time) for them to splash. You know, I have a love-hate kind of a relationship with rain. I’ll explain that a little later.

I stretch my hand outside the window, like a child who loves rain or a person who is loved, to catch a few drops. I’m neither. Maybe I’m trying to decipher if I’m worthy enough if the first few drops of rain find its way to my palm. You can say it’s similar to witnessing a shooting asteroid and feeling blessed. I know it’s mindless, but I’m trying to calculate the odds for this to happen, eagerly waiting with my hand stretched out the window as sky rumbles louder, and the cracking sound of lightning cast a glittering message on pitch-dark sky in its own language. My heart is shaking, already knowing it won’t happen, knowing I’m not good enough, yet I want to know whether it’s that I’m worthy-and-wrong or I’m unworthy-and-right.

A few more minutes pass with rumbling and thunderbolt, but no rain. I wait a little longer. For rain. For luck. For love. Then as if the clouds have heard the beating of my fragile chest, I sense the ruffling of raindrops in the air a bit louder, but there is nothing on my palm yet. My mouth gets dry on my own thoughts. I want to be sensible and pull back my hand, but I still wait, bullying myself saying I’m a loser.

A familiar ache in my throat rises when a few raindrops hit tree-leaves underneath. I hear a loud thud in my chest. Falling apart, I slowly pull back my hand thinking that even if I walk out in the pouring rain, I might still return home dry. It makes me teary, and just when the first tears are about to dribble, a splash of rain hits my face.

I don’t know what it means, but with my heart full, I lay on the floor drenched in foolishness.

13 Comments Add yours

  1. Lia says:

    This is beautifully vulnerable-feeling writing. I see the tag says fiction, so perhaps it is an attempt at imagining something, which is something else altogether. But reading it with the idea that it was creative nonfiction created an ability in me as a reader to empathize totally; it was like anticipating rain and waiting with fear and anticipation, not being sure what to expect, emotion building, and then reward is given by the end, and a sense of real love and relief. We feel we get to know the author and the author is very human, very prone to self-doubt like most of us. That makes us feel safe and stronger. Well I’m saying we now, to hide my own vulnerability I suppose, but that’s how it felt for me. :)) Lovely.

    1. NEKNEERAJ says:

      Thank you Lia for sharing your thoughts. The author is indeed real, vulnerable and sensitive. 🙂

    2. Lia says:

      You? 🙂🌻

  2. Beautiful post. Thank you.

  3. In times under the dark shadows of too much realism, a healthy dose of romanticism is well received.

    1. NEKNEERAJ says:

      I know what you mean. Thank you for the wisdom.

  4. Lia says:

    p.s. just read your latest pieces… guessing that yes, it is you. :)) I’m sorry if my question seemed untoward. I remembered some other writing of yours, that was on some other topics. Also there were a few bloggers satirizing the sentimental among us not too long ago (and admitted to it)… that’s why I asked. Apologies for that. 💛

    1. NEKNEERAJ says:

      No worries Lia. I understand your concern. Be assured, I’m not the one using satire on emotional people. Everything you read here is straight from someone’s heart.

    2. Lia says:

      Glad for that. :)) But ‘someone’s heart’? What do you mean by that? It’s definitely hard to broach emotional topics sometimes (for me anyway – hard to know what to share, without inadvertently hurting somebody. If these are your own emotions exposed, I admire the courage it takes — and the writing. And thanks for the reply. I often feel that comments take time when many of us would rather be creating. But they also help connect people and generate true understanding. Either way, thanks again, and best wishes on your journey. :))

    3. NEKNEERAJ says:

      I tend to pick a topic and put myself in there before writing so technically it’s coming from my own heart. Not necessarily everything is from my own experience, but before it goes out I make sure I feel it too. I hope that answers your question. 🙂
      Thank you for being so involved and patient. ❤️

    4. Lia says:

      Thanks for the lovely and honest reply. 🙂💗🤗🌷

    5. NEKNEERAJ says:

      You’re welcome ☺️

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