The Opposite of Hate...

There was once a girl, who always wanted to make new friends. She thought that every person who came forth offering a friendly hand had good intentions. Walls were nowhere to be drawn. Well you can imagine the unknown vulnerability.

One day, such a friendly hand turned out poisonous. The venom of his words spread throughout the girl's being and began to break her. She withdrew with an inferiority complex about her looks and deemed herself unfit to be dated. She learnt the meaning of building walls around herself.

She was a good kid. Good daughter, good grades, good friend and an okay looking average child. She sure withdrew into her igloo, and surrounded it with hard walls. Somehow, a few people got through them. They only needed to know the simple yet special way inside - be genuine.

The girl grew up to be a good judge of character. She was still vulnerable, but really got people on different levels. The old and ugly memories still gushed up on her up every now and then, but she learnt to pass them.

Soon, with time, the wounds healed. She gained from that. A look at the better things in life helped get through the itch of the healing time. As luck would have it, she fell in love with a marvelous guy.

Again, as luck would have it, the guy's friends turned out to be the venom spreaders. Not great friends, but the socializing side of it. She thought it was OKAY. She decided to be an adult about it. It worked.

Two years later (about seven years after she learnt how to build walls), she got to know that the venom spreaders were still at their work. Calling her names in front of the guy she loved. The guy, however, knew better. He always stood up for her. She never knew for the two years that they dated, that the venom was being spread. When she did find out, it drove her into a great deal of sadness for a while.

The only thing that helped her move on this time was that she was way successful in life than the venom spreaders, who probably always planned to remain a liability on the planet; the ones who never planned to move ahead from criticizing her. Most of all, she had people who stood up for her, even if without her knowledge. And she learnt that the opposite of hate is never love.

Funeral Song...

When I came back from the hospital, somehow, everything had changed. My room wasn't the same, and my things were gone. I huddled into the backyard, just to find an additional room, which had replaced my beautiful garden.

I had lived in that house for 5 years. The memories attached to it were more precious than the ones I built in my childhood home. The first time I left home to rent that house. The first lease signed in my name. My first pay check. My first house loan to buy off the property. The property, which I turned into a beautiful home. My independent life. Tens of firsts came to my mind, and I smiled woozily. The thought occurred to me then - It wasn't mine to keep anymore. I wasn't alive anymore.

I scurried towards my parents' house, and witnessed a sullen looking crowd. I had been in the hospital for about six months, when they sold my house to pay the medical bills. If I ever woke up, they thought, I would have to move back in with them. Ventilator support does not really leave much energy for maintaining a house of your own. It hardly leaves you alive at all.

I always visualized what it would be like, to witness my own funeral. Who would come see me the last time? Who would be crying? Who would be handling the situation well? Who would break down and not be able to look at my corpse? Who would not show up at all? Would I be burnt or buried?

I saw the eyes of all my loved ones, together at once. Funnily, there were some people I barely knew, barely talked to. It was a good feeling, even if it felt a tad sadistic. I was genuinely happy to see them turn up. I just prayed that they didn't cry. They would stop, eventually; that I was sure of. After a while, the misery from watching them cry grew stronger, and I wished I had never died.

That night, I visited each person present at my funeral, in their dreams. I said all the things I longed to say, heard them say things I wished to hear all my life. I vowed not to walk away with words unsaid, unheard; all the while ensuring that they don't cry for me anymore. I could always meet them in their dreams, I told them, just the way I was.

That was the first time I felt the remorse of making people go through all that hell, just for the sake of witnessing their love. For the first time since my accident, I wish I hadn't died.

Don't Make Me Cry...

She called out for her son. He came rushing. She lay there, cupping his face in her hands.

"You've never needed me in your life. You're a strong and independent son. The only thing you did rely on me for was the emotional support you needed to get through the tough phases of your life. That is a surmise based on the tears that I see rolling down your cheek. We both had each other, and then we spread our family. They're all yours now, son.

There is just one last thing to say - After I die, whenever you cry, I'll cry along with you. Son I just have one request before I go - Please don't make me cry anymore. You never did, and I want you to continue being the same.

I cried a lot in my life. As a girl, when I was teased by the other kids for being shabby for wearing worn out uniforms - I cried, but never told my dad about it. He took two jobs for making ends meet, but I never told him.

Next came the time when I made it to college somehow. I was a talented writer, so professional degrees were of no use to me. I was forced to study finance, to not leave room in my life for the plight my father faced. For five years son, I cried every day.

Your father supported me emotionally through it all. We dated for about 2 years before marriage. I loved him, but he took me for granted sometimes. He took away some of my tears, but added a few too. I won't complain, though. He was a wonderful man, and I still love him. Most importantly, he is the reason you turned out so beautifully.

I had you two years into my marriage. Baby, you were the best thing that I could ever expect from my life. I had to give up my career, but I didn't care. You were worth it. I cried when you were born - the only exception when my tears weren't out of sadness.

Your father left us early. He walked out of the house when you were just ten years old. I had yet to re-start my career. I was left alone to feed us both. I put you to sleep and cried that whole night, ready to look for a job - any job, the next day.

I ended up making use of my finance degree to get a job with a decent pay. It was hard to coordinate my family with work. I cried every day, when I saw that sad look on your face. You missed your father so much, and I was not there for you anymore. I had to work, for us.

A few years later, when we were well off on our own, I looked back and regretted a few of my tears which I wasted during my studies. After all, it helped me - it helped us in the long run. Even though my writing career was done with, I continued writing for personal purposes. I helped you with your English assignments, SOPs and essays. You went abroad for studies. I was happy for you, but left alone again. I controlled my tears and let you go. I had all the time to myself. I ended up missing your father, and I cried again.

Years passed by, and I had a wonderful relationship with you and your beautiful family. You are the only one I trust to not make me cry. You being here is a proof of that.

So after I die, whenever you cry, I'll cry along with you. Please don't make me cry anymore. You never did, and I trust that you never will."

She closed her eyes and lay down, waiting to rest in peace forever.