Her room was a mess. Dim light, airless and beautifully ruined; A museum of procrastination. Her bed was always unmade and the chair has turned into a clothes rack. There’s a mirror covered with fingerprints, in front of it, an open lipstick, dried up mascara and nail polish spills everywhere; all abandoned. Amid the academic battlefield there are half opened notebooks, pens uncapped; scribbled thoughts lying on the table. Beside her bed you will always find a book, her favourite book, yet unread. It was less a room, more a mirror of her mind, she knew where everything was; the mess was not the disorder. It was hers.
“ Vera! Your room is still not clean yet? You always mess things up”, was her mother’s taunt everyday, and her reply was, “ it’s getting done today, no doubt”. Oh absolutely, today. No doubt.
Vera was the eldest by birth, mother by default, keeper of peace, secrets and spare socks.She was 25 and smiles like she hasn’t been tired since 2000. She was a soft featured girl, has freckles, rosy cheeks and doe eyes. Her hair always falling like curtains. She was a secret, whose birthday was known but always forgotten, nobody knew her favourite colour as nobody has ever asked her. She was the least favourite child, but somehow the most needed.
She woke up almost everyday with planning to clean her room, but time just didn’t allow. She moved through the house like the Queen of “ Why is this still there?”, broom in one hand, frustration in the other. She was sweeping problems under the rug everyday. She sighed, folding shirts and singing to the dishes. She danced with the mop; a dance she never wanted to learn. She was always the cleaner of other’s people mess but her mind and her room remained “A Mess”.
Then came the day that broke the pattern, Vera finally decided to clean her room first. As she cleared the mirror, she began to see herself. She started scrubbing the floor and untangling her thoughts. She threw out the trash and her emotional baggage. Every item in its place was silencing the noise inside her. Everything she was cleaning asked her: “What else are you holding onto?”. Behind every object she was moving was a thought she was carrying within her mind. Finally, as her room got cleaned, so did her mind. But suddenly, she looked around and realised, her room has no windows, no light ever entered her room. The people she lived with were more like shadows than presence. This was never her home but a house full of strangers. All these years, and still nobody really saw her.
She muttered quietly, “ I wasn’t supposed to be loved for what I do, but for who I am, they never knew me for what I am, but for what can I do for them. I have to go, I shouldn’t be here anymore. This place was never mine and if I stayed, I’ll lose myself more, I’ll forget who I am. These four walls have seen enough of me, I’m walking towards the light now, I must, I should, I will”. She left, took no luggage, only her Favourite book.
Her mother called out to her, “ Vera! You were supposed to do the laundry today, where the hell are you?” She repeatedly called her out but got no answer. She sent her brother into her room to call her. There was a letter on her table written, “ Mom, I finally cleaned my room, and my mind too. It’s time for me to go”. Her brother ran to her mom shouting, “ She is gone”, “ She left”. A reply came from her mother, “ What! Gone! Is she gone for real?, but who will do the laundry now?”.
M. 