Two Girls

 The post below is written by a pen pal of mine and her friend Jenny. Kestrel van der Mark and I met on Omegle of all places from where we swapped email ID’s and have been in touch since. In this world of technological marvels, people like me sitting in India can connect with someone like Kestrel in America.

So please welcome Kestrel and Jenny to the blog everyone!

The Bilge Master

The Girl Everyone Hated

I was the girl that everyone hated. They were jealous of me, and I knew it. Perfect grades, loving family, nicer calculator, you name it. But I was untouchable, both in the caste system karma type of way and like a god. Maybe that's why they never showed how much they despised me to my face. I didn't give them a single reason to justify their hate, so they couldn't call me out on it. But I wish they had. I wish they had said hateful things like I never belonged, or I should kill myself. I wish I were the target of blatantly hateful comments. Because if I had been, I would laugh. I would see the confusion and fear on their face when their "victim" couldn't stop laughing like a full blown maniac at their insults, and they would just stand there wondering why. 

But I would have thought it was funny that THEY thought they were the most hateful ones. They gave it their best effort to be hateful and they still didn't come close to the person who hated me most. Myself. I would have thought it hilarious that while they were building themselves up by tearing me down, it would never come close to how each passing second, my mind tore itself apart bit by bit until all that was left was the shell everyone saw on the outside. I would have thought it ironic that while they saw the beautiful facade, I couldn't find a single redeemable quality about myself. But they didn't indulge me. Instead they gave their fake smiles and were friendly without being friends. That was way worse than any hurtful words. Because that allowed my mind to do what it does best. Twist reality. I could imagine what they were thinking as I walked away. I could almost hear their mental conversations. I knew what they thought about me, and that just fed the cycle of destruction ripping through my mind. I was the girl everyone hated. They were jealous of me, but they shouldn't have been.

******

The Girl Everyone Loved

I was the girl everyone loved. The looked up to me, and I knew it. Perfect grades, good advice, supportive parents, you name it. But I was untouchable, in the way people don't know if they're allowed to touch a ancient artifact or expensive painting. For fear they might mess it up...or worse, be yelled at. Maybe that's why no one ever was close to me. I presented myself as an open book, but so many of the pages were stuck together and therefore illegible, that no one bothered trying to read them. 

I wish they had touched, though. I wish they had messed me up. I wish they had pried the pages apart and tried to translate the language that floated in my words. Because maybe then they would have understood how imperfect everything I am was. Because if they had, I would not have been their leader, their role model. I would not have the one they turned to. I would have instead been looked at with pity and I would have smiled. Because had I been closed and replaced on my shelf, I would have become dusty. I would have become static. Had people understood the literature of my being, and been revolted as they would, reviling me in my disgusting thoughts and morbid curiosities and broken suicidal distortions, perhaps then I would not have been held to the same high expectations. I would have gleefully succumbed to the dark shroud that would accompany failure. 

I would have gracefully closed my eyes and relished the disgrace of mediocrity. I would thoroughly enjoy my stream of easy contentment and low achievement while others, those who strived to be like me, instead strived for their own low level dreams. 

But they didn't read me. While I climbed to the top of the stairway to heaven, I artfully used illusion to distract those around me from the pieces of myself that I tore from within and placed under my feet as steps. What they didn't know, but would have, was the way I bottled my tears and drank them instead of water, the way I forced my own blood into the ink of my pen, and the way I held my breath for fear of disturbing the universe. As I suffocated, my cheeks gleamed, and their words crashed in waves of delight at the porcelain statue in their presence. They smiled glittering shards of admiration and I drank it in as one does a poison, with knowledge enough that it would kill me, but with ignorance enough to proceed. And as they applauded me and my efforts and my elegance, I beatifically accepted their praise with open arms, silently begging someone to take my hand. I brushed mistakes under a mountain-like carpet and smiled with my mouth closed to avoid letting the secrets of my self-terrorism reveal the cipher that my pages depicted. I was the girl everyone loved. They looked up to me, but they shouldn't have

*****

 K (@Kestrel_LAOD) and J (@Jenny_LAOD)