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Pramila Bastola

An accountant who loves literature

Kathmandu, Nepal

A seeker

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It is a dark night like someone has poured black ink all over it. I am looking outside of the kitchen window adjusting my chin against the window's iron rod after finishing up my everyday household chaos. It has become a routine for me to stare outside of the window every night since she has decided to leave me alone in this earth. I have kind of figured out that in an entire day, emptiness and silence of this moment is what truly belongs to me. The electricity poll in the edge of the street makes a shadow when the deem light from our neighbor's garden reaches. I, just like every day, try or pretend to draw a human-like image around the shadow: an image of a holy spirit from the stories I have heard, an image of a soul wearing human body, an image of HER. I know it sounds silly, but I cannot stop grieving and I have been stuck in all the ‘could have' and ‘would have. I could have asked her how she was feeling when she was here or just silently stay beside her to let her know that she still has not lost everything. I should not have lost her to realize what I should have done. So why wouldn't I look for her? Why would she choose to leave me? Why she never thought necessary to let her daughter know what was killing her deep inside? Is she really in a better place now? Didn't she know that a part of me will die with her? I vividly remember someone said that ghosts, spirit and souls are only in our imagination, they are seen because they are inside of our head; It has been approximately 400 days that she has decided to leave me and I have been imagining and drawing picture of HER every night but the ghost inside of my head never jumped out of my imagination and showed up Infront of me. When a pigeon comes to my terrace seeking for food, I presumed that it is her in the form of a pigeon. But if it is so, when I tried to get close, why it would fly far away like it is going to disappear in the sky and never going to return? Maybe they are right, who leaves this earth never returns. But I have always wished for your return, at least once. I have a lot to ask…. I have a lot to say…. And again, I realize what is the point of asking and saying? what is the point of saying everything I could never say when she was here with me? What is the point of making her feel guilty for leaving me like this? If she tells me why she chose to leave, can I bring her back or can I make it right? Then, what is the point of digging into her suffocation that will do nothing but kill me a little more. And just like every night, when I am done looking for her, I say to myself ‘leave it' while closing the window. And when I am getting out of kitchen, I turn back again to check: Maybe I will see her tonight?

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