They betrayed her fantasies

           It’s said that memory is like a safe in which you can save your valuable things, and it’s true. And like all people, I also have one of my own, a bittersweet one. My family and acquaintances know well that the saddest moment in my life is the passing of my wife. She embodied everything to me. She was my refuge and the spark of every smile drawn on my face. She would put others before herself, an act of indescribable altruism. She always provided her environment with pure love and affection. The memories we created together are engraved on my heart forever.

Having said that, there is something that I want to reveal, something that substantially affected me and even led me to reinterpret a lot of events I have witnessed so far.

 On the morning of the sixth of June, 2010, and in conformity with a habit I have been in since the death of my wife, I decided to saunter along the coast. The weather was fine and the sun was brilliantly shining. The sea was charmingly adopting friendly terms, and the view of variegated flowers was utterly inspiring, letting everyone’s eyes glitter with enthusiasm. It was the perfect incentive to evoke the most enjoyable memories I shared with this place. I also scheduled a visit to the park where I first met Sara, my wife. On my arrival at the park, I was lucky to find out that the very same bench where we hold our first conversation was vacant and handsomely in good trim.

‘Do you like autobiographies?’ were the first words I had ever heard from a lovely girl. She was carrying a book in her left hand and broadly smiling. The expressions on her face exuded vivacity and charm. Her voice was light and hearty, and her eyes were brown and lustrous.

‘Yes, I do,’ I said

‘You must have a special taste. I am reading this novel. I am really interested in fiction,’ she said.

‘It is kind of reality versus imagination,’ I said

‘Reality is a legitimate child of imagination- inventions, the remedies used to cure an illness, the voyages we set out on were all imaginary ideas, and even these books we are reading,’ she said.

‘You must have developed an imaginative mind-set through these artistic choices,’ I told her.

‘And you must be an expert on the ins and outs of the non-fiction world,’ she beamed.

Yes, everything was part of immigration, except one thing, seeing your face and hearing your voice. This moment was a celestial gift that gladdened my heart. We were fated to gather and embark on one exhilarating journey.

While I was attempting to catch my breath, I heard a voice coming from an adjacent place. It was soft, but a sad one. I turned left to see a thin girl in her twenties, who was covering her face with her hands and sobbing. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to weigh what was going on, and then I decided to approach her and see what her problem was.

‘Are you alright, daughter? Is there anything I can do for you?’ I said.

The girl uncovered her face and cast a look in my direction, but she didn’t utter a word. She had a young visage with watery eyes.

‘You must be going through hard times. Your tears and sobs tell everything. I am all ears if you need any help,’ I said.

‘You must have a warm heart, Sir. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I am accustomed to situations like this, and I am all set to handle it on my own. Life has tirelessly been trying to toughen me up,’ said the girl with a soft little voice.

‘Can I sit beside you?’ I asked.

‘It’s a pleasure, Sir,’ she said.

‘This place is special to me and it cherishes the memories of those happy times,’ I said.

‘You must be patronising this place,’ she said.

‘To be honest, this is my first visit in forty years. It’s here where I met the person who added a special flavour to my existence,’ I said.

‘What makes you believe so? I can understand what you feelings, but I am not sure whether you feel the reciprocity or not,’ she said.

‘Reciprocity is an honest art that cannot be manufactured. I think we were born with, and it remains dormant until certain circumstances or souls awaken its giant power,’ I said.

 ‘What if this honesty is always taking a one-way street? You sincerely do your best to make your loved ones keep a shining smile on their faces, you care for them and you even make huge scarifies without expecting to get anything in return, but when you are in need of emotional support, you find no shoulder to cry on,’ as she said these words, a torrent of tears was flowing down her cheeks.

‘Thanks to souls of this ilk we continue to subsist regardless of the hardship we face or sometimes inflicted on us,’ I said.

 ‘I always build up my fantasies about people, I draw the most attractive pictures that could exist on the way we should love and treat each other, but each time I feel that these fantasies are betrayed,’ she said.

‘Good intentions always prevail,’ I said.

‘Even the only man I loved decided to leave me after I had gone through pregnancy loss. I lost the kid who was a gift and my last hope. I wish I could see him back, and enjoy the motherly embrace and touch,’ she said.

‘Loss is not just a mere word, it, indeed, carries weight. I also had my experience, although yours is completely different. It seems like I lost a past and you lost a future. The past holds our memories, and the future is the emblem of the unknown, but the latter is still in the making- that’s why you should never lose hope, and keep your spirit high, however sore what you are experiencing might be,’ I said.

 ‘Are your memories causing any pain?’ she asked.

‘It is a kind of a mixture between what is enjoyable and what is painful,’ I answered.

‘As for me, Sir, I think I have reached the final stage. I need to change the way I see things and treat those around me,’ she said.

“Change is inescapable and is a must. We need to make room for new things to rise; we have to accept the dissolution to undergo a healthy transformation,’ I said.

A quirky silence fell upon the scene.

‘Not very loss is a loss- it actually emerges every so often to either enlighten us on a lesson or offer us a relief. Life is a school that teaches us things that nobody else could. We encounter a lot of people and face many challenges, but we should see everything happening to us as a once-in-a-life opportunity to grow stronger, learn and unlearn, and to be more resilient to the vicissitudes of life. Be always yourself and never ever let your inner beauty decay because of the ugly deeds of others,’ I added.

‘Your words are soothing, Sir. I have been waiting for this talk for ages,’ she said with a faint smile.

‘I’m uplifted to know that my words have secured a place in your heart. But what really matters is to know how to soothe yourself- this is a fundamental skill that you desperately need to acquire,’ I said.

The girl gave me a warm hug and rose to her feet. She kept looking at the sky for a few seconds then said: ‘I really appreciate your words of wisdom, they have cheered me up, and I am really relived to meet someone who could understand me. I will never forget this moment. I hope that we meet someday. Thank you so much.’

She left the park, yet she remained in my mind. I wandered to no topics but hers. I stayed alone thinking about her words which were obviously harbouring deep suffering alongside a sense of wisdom. This made me cling to an eternal belief that the world will be in safe hands by virtue of those who wage morally righteous battles about which we know nothing.

By Ismail KAMAL