Everything feels quiet. The walls of my room aren't the same. There's no noise, only the subtle hum of the fan on the ceiling. The minute I stepped in my room after our argument, it's like everything got mute.
My legs can bearly hold me up.
I c..can't believe I did that..
I can't believe I just said that to Sam that bluntly.
I can't believe I took stand for myself..
I'm on the verge of committing something serious. I want to reopen my chances to get to know myself better, who I am, who I was, who I want to be. I want to explore opportunities, choices, rights for myself. I want to spread my arms high and fly wherever the wind takes me. I do not want to follow any more leads, any more orders, I want to be the one who orders, who decides what I want to do and what I don't. I want to become the one who decides paths, a lead and change for myself.
I was always a lover,
When did I become such detractor?
My heart beats for something and my brain immediately catches what it's beating for,
I in a hurry ran to the left side of my bed.
I had a box,
I had a box
I did have a box, I remember—where is it?
I roam around, back and forth in my room, hesitantly, trying to find the box I hid a long time ago. My pounding heart skipped a beat as I close my eyes in exhaustion.
Under my studying table-
I remember now,
I open my eyes..
For a while I stood there, unable to move. What do I want the most in order to find who I am?
I bend down to take the box out, and I sat there.
My breath coughed like a little child when I place the lid of the box on the ground, next to my lap. Light strikes in, making my paints and tiny canvas glow.
I fold my legs and my ichy throat somehow let tears run down my chin, I couldn't hold it in anymore.. and I wept,
All that oppressed silence broke, And I wept.
I gently take one of the brushes in my hands, my brain heaves back and I want to throw it away but my heart makes me want to hug it, and so I wept,
"Oh God." I whisper, hiccups between every sniff and tear, I can feel every drop of my tear's pain going down my spine and suddenly it's harder to stand back up. It's like I'm curling up, crumbling beneath my sufferings. My endless pain to difficulties. I blow dust off of my canvas but the dust isn't just on the canvas—it's in me, inside my lungs.
I try scratching dust off of my arms, as if its been molded on my forearm, iching my arm intensely till my arm turned all red and swollen.
I wish that arm would've stopped.
My body wavered with sobs, each one convulsive, releasing pain. My chest heaved with each ragged breath, those hiccups when I'm sad caused nothing but strings of sorrow, and it hurts,
But with carrying all that heavy sighs and drainage of fluid, I set up my canvas. "Hi" I whispered under my breath.
I'm weakening but I don't try to force myself back, I take my paint brush in my hand.
I can't help myself to move my arm up to my canvas, it's like my whole body is rejecting my arm and forcing it back, forcing it to not raise high, its like the nerves of my arm are frozen and I'm cold, my throat is shivering and all I feel is disgust. each breath is a desperate attempt to fill my lungs when all I can see on that plain empty canvas is my uncle..
That arm didn't stop at my elbow.
I was nine..
He kept yelling how I'm a pussy for what I paint.
"Come here girl, paint my face, Come fucking paint my dick you fucker!" He said, while wrapping me around, I yelled to be set free, I yelled till my lungs went dry, till my throat got coughed in, to let go. But he didn't leave.
His voice, his hand going down my arm is all I have infront of my eyes, which won't go away, which won't disappear, it's been years, why can't I paint? Why can't I forget what he did to me..
"Only girls paint you pussy! you really want to act like a girl?" He said, I felt disgust whenever I was alone, whenever I'm alone. And so to let it stay between me, I never told Sam about it.
But why me?
I inhale, my breath shaking.
All my supplies have gathered dust in the corner of the box.. a reminder of the passion I have set aside.
"I don't know what you went through to stop painting forever but- all I know is one should never let go of their passion."
As I stood before the canvas, the soft whisper of brushstrokes echos through my mind, beckoning me to return to a world I thought I left behind.
"Come here girl!"
"Let your heart reach to it again." That woman's voice got to me.
"You PUSSY!"
"Recover that Art."
"Come to me, paint me! Paint my FACE!"
something stirred within me.
My chin shivering, eyes roving between the blank canvas.
"No.. no I can't, I c..can't." I push myself back. Wiping tears aggressively. "I c..can't."
I've tried.. and tried to push myself to forget what happend, but just can't. Whenever I hold a brush it's like his touch comes back.
My legs feel weak at the knees but I kept them standing.
I take a deep breath in. "But I'm in control now" I whisper to myself, closing my eyes. My chest puffed out, and my hands clenched into a fist, holding the brush tighter. I'm not a coward.. I had to safe myself.
"I can do whatever I want to do.." I whisper, opening my eyes..
A long dormant, flickered to life as I picked up the brush, feeling the familiar weight and burden in my hand. The paints seem to be whisping, the same paints who stayed silent for this long, I abandoned them but they're here, speaking after a decade, urging me to unleash the colors that had been bottled up inside me.
"PAINT ME! PAINT MY FACE."
Every scream must I erase by a soft voice. "Recover that Art, that child inside."
That woman sparked something inside me.
I can do this..
I began to paint, my heart cried, my eyes couldn't help but let those tears fall down, dripping down on the floor.
The world around me melted away. The strokes, bold and expressive, danced across the canvas, weaving a tapestry of courage.
Let me paint, let me paint please..
"Stop painting! Give me that brush, fucking girl. Do you really want to be a girl!?"
Why didn't that arm stop at my forearm, that hand brushed my arm with a blade so sharp, so deep,
Too deep that the wound never stopped bleeding.
I went through that-
That hand did things it shouldn't have done.
The pain of suppressing the voice which was supposed to be shouting for help, didn't shout.
It remained silent—I became silent.
But I made it out alive.
"I saw you scribbling.." Sam said. "Are you going to start drawing again?"
If my uncle wouldn't have threatened me with Ayat's name.. maybe I would've spoken up..
I splattered on the canvas. The paint flows from my brush like a river, tears falling down with each second, my chest puffed out with burden lifting up, I exhale every breath that heaved back with each color, now they're blending in a symphony. Time lost all meaning as I became one with my art again.
I tried to protect everyone, expect for myself..
The room, the world, everything faded into the background, leaving only me, my canvas, and all the bright colours of my paints. The pure, unadulterated passion, affection and bond I had with those colours pulled strings of life out of me again and matched it with the canvas.
With each passing moment, the painting grew vibrant, living through that pulsed with guilt of ever stopping something I loved so dearly, if only he hadn't did what he did, I would've never hated you in the first place. I had to hate you in order to stop that hand from going down any further. I had to risk you for my sake and I'm sorry I became selfish but I had to, I was hurting, I was nine, I didn't know how far he'd go, I had to escape, I had to hide you, I had no where else to go, I had to raise Ayat, I had to stop, I'm not a coward, I'm not.. I'm not a coward, I didn't know if that hand would ever stop but now all I know is that this piece right here won't be the last, I'll paint, I'll paint my lungs, my soul out, on every sheet, on every paper I'll pour my heart to it, I'll break the cycle, I'll stop running now, I'll stop prohibiting myself now, I will decide what I want now! I will decide who I want to be. the artist in me merely used a vessel, a conduit for the passion that flowed through me. As the hours slipped away, the painting neared completion. The colors had blended, the shapes had formed, and the child in me had been poured onto the canvas entirely.
I take a step back, my eyes drinking the beauty of what I've painted.
Tears of wonder pricked at the corners of my eyes as I realized that I did it, I crossed the Forbidden line. I'm not a pussy, I'm not-I'm not a coward, I'm one with my paints again. And now, as I gazed upon my piece, I knew that I would never let that flame die again. I will never give up on you again.
"I did it." I laugh out loud. "YAY AA." I jump around in happiness. "I did it-" I laugh again, this time more louder. "I DID IT! Yaha!" Oh God. I sigh intensely.
"Elegant." A voice appeared from behind. I flinch to see, it's Victor.
"How did you get in my room?" I asked hesitantly.
That's misuse of his spare keys.
"I never knew you could paint such elegantly reference"
Thankyou I guess?
"Leave Victor I'm not in the mood."
"You cried."
"No shit, you caught me, now leave." I'm rude because he's invading my privacy.
"Perhaps Art does bring out encumbrance in us."
"I can relate" I say, he's not leaving. "Are you here to give pep talk about how I shouldn't quit?"
"You're quiting? I didn't know." He's so calm, walking around my paints, as if examining them. "Antiques." He says, touching my brushes.
"Yeah they were my mother's."
"Unique. You should paint more often, you're exquisite."
Oh wow- I mean thanks, but I won't thank him. I hate that guy. "I will." I won't quit now, or ever.
"What is it exactly?" He traces my painting with his eyes very carefully.
"It's a bird, tied in ropes." I say calmly. I think I've calmed down a bit after he came in. Is it his calming tone or that I finished a painting after this long? Maybe both.
"He's trying to emancipate himself." Victor said, stroking his chin.
"Yes, he is." I smile.
"Be downstairs in fiveteen, we're having a meeting." He without making a sound, left my room.
I turn to take one more closer look of my art. I really did an incredible job. I chuckle to myself.
Oh Faiza, will I ever be able to see you again?God—You touched a part of me no one has ever seen, would you really like to see? I have unimaginable wounds on my body- would you still like to see me Faiza? See me for who I am? for who I want to become?
I sighed.
This is it, I'm moving out, I'm shifting.
If I want to relive my life, act normal, stay outside, and hang out till as long as I want to, I must take this action.
For myself, I have to.
I grabbed only necessary stuff, packed them all up in a suitcase, mid way of throwing everything aside, I realise,
Maybe I should first look for a place.
The doorknob rotates. "I told you I'd be there in a minute Victor!" I said, as I turn to see Sam walking inside. "Uhm it's me." He flickered a wave.
"Oh, what are you doing here?"
"Look, I'm sorry, maybe I exaggerated-" His gaze found my suitcase. "Wait? You really are thinking of moving?"
I remain silent, I let him figure it out on his own, I'm too scared to create conflict.
"Oh fuck you dude! What the fuck?!" He's yelling.
"You just said a minute ago you thought you were exaggerating!?" I matched his tone.
"Well that was before knowing you'd seriously actually MOVE Out!??" His voice turned squeaky.
"Sam I don't have time for this."
"Guess what! Me neither!" He slammed the door behind him.
He's just momentarily mad. He'll be alright. I guess, I hope so.
Or am I making a huge mistake?
. . . . .
-Two days later.
-Silvan's haven City.
"Evanston" historic Frank Lloyd Wright-style home on Forest Avenue, with a sprawling porch and beautiful gardens.
It's too huge for a single man like me.
I swipe through my phone.
"Ravenswood" A cozy Victorian-style home on Elmwood Avenue, just blocks from Northwestern University and Lake Michigan. None of these locations are close to Ayat's house. Or her restaurant.
Sometimes I wonder where Faiza must live. I wonder if she thinks about me as much as I think about her. She was different, touched my heart in some sort of way I can't comprehead. I wonder if we'll ever meet again. I wonder if Sam will find a way to forgive me.
Ugh.
Why am I even swiping through houses. I'm not looking for a big place. I should probably stick to apartments for now.
"Wicker Park" A vintage walk-up apartment on Milwaukee Avenue, surrounded by trendy boutiques and restaurants. Ah there it is, Ayat's restaurant. Just a few blocks away. A 345 main street apartment.
Isn't it just perfect.
Door opened. "Who is it?" I shout, I'm currently at Ayat's restaurant. She was very picky about picking a name for her restaurant, her first idea was Silvandurham, or haven, I said they sound copied.
Ayat called me to finalise some decors for her brunch tomorrow, I can't believe it's been a week since her opening and since I got to meet Faiza, since I made my mind to move, since everything, ever since Sam slammed the door on my face he didn't show up here. I can tell Ayat's upset about it. He said he'd visit for her brunch, he didn't say it to me, I heard it from Ayat. He's not really talking to me, which is understandable at some point, I guess. But bloody hell he is acting like a child.
"It's us!" Ayat stepped in. The restaurant's fully furnished and decorated, we're just adding a bit more sparkle to host an event.
"Good!" I turn to her. And I see she came with someone. A tall, masculine dude beside her. His arms are covered in tattoos, so is his neck. He has a buzz cut and very sharp features. The face card is surreal, but almost as if I've seen him.
"And who might this fine dude be?" I ask.
"Oh yes, introduction." Ayat hesitates. "Ifan do you remember Zaid from my university?"
"Oh yes, wow, you weren't this buffed before." I say. So that's where I remember him from.
He laughs and forwards his hand to me to shake hands. "I recognised you in seconds." He says,
"Pleasure to meet you again." I smile.
"This place is pretty dang good, but it ain't goin to be complete without the stuff I bought." He gave Ayat a concerning amount of affectionate smile.
"Yeah! show us." Ayat says. She's always so hyped and excited, she's like a ray of sunshine. "Keep those steps followin." He walked infront of us.
"I didn't know you hit such jackpot." I whisper to Ayat. "Shut up it isn't like that." She elbows me, and we follow Zaid.
After decorating her restaurant more for her brunch, we went some place he said was his property. Its a little cabin coffee shop on a hill near a lake view. He claimed he owns it all. Rich stuff, isn't he..
Ayat and Zaid sat side by side on the worn wooden bench, sipping their coffee and talking. They seem close. I hope he's good to my baby sister.
I walk closer to them.
"Gregory Alan isakov is brilliant, I don't why people don't hype him much." I say, commenting on the music that is playing in the cafe.
"I'll have to agree with you on that one man." Zaid says, smacking his lips.
"Infact I'm the one who recommended him to Ayat, otherwise she ain't wasn't goin to listen."
"Hey?" Ayat elbows him. Zaid laughed.
"That is true, you know." I tell Ayat teasingly.
"Still" she roll her eyes.
As we stepped out of the coffee shop, the sky seemed to darken in an instant. The first droplets began to fall, hesitant and slow, but within seconds, the rain intensified, drumming against the pavement.
"Oh no." I say.
"Why oh no? Its raining!" Ayat laughingly, grabbed Zaid's hand, and they took off together, sprinting down the sidewalk towards their car. Zaid's eyes fond deeper after realising Ayat touched his hand first.
"You're going to catch a cold Ayat!" I take of my jacket only to see Zaid had pulled Ayat's arm to him, pulling her close, shielding her from the rain with his jacket.
Oh.
I guess she doesn't need me..
I walk behind them, quickening my pace, my long strides eating up the distance. "Hey, wait up!" I called out, my voice carrying above the patter of the rain.
As they reached the car, Zaid yanked open the door, and Ayat slid into the passenger seat, shaking the rain from her hair. Zaid dove into the backseat, laughing, as I started the engine and turned up the heat.
For a moment, we just sat there, catching our breath, listening to the rain drum against the roof of the car. Then Ayat turned to Zaid, her eyes shining with mirth. "Well, that was fun." She sighs.
"You're going to have to take your antibiotic now. You know how easily you catch a cold." I flicker Ayat's forehead.
"Hey! In my defense it rarely rains here." She slaps my hand away.
"So its haven or wait Silvandurham's brunch tomorrow huh" I tease Ayat.
"Oh God, I switched the name already" She groans.
"Please don't say Silvandurham." Zaid clasped his hands together, teasing her with me. Obviously she picked a new name before the opening, we're just teasing her for her old choices.
"I, too said the name doesn't sound good" I say, agreeing with Zaid.
"If you guys really don't even know the name of my restaurant, you're not invited to my brunch" She crosses her arms.
"We're kidding" I say. "But what was the name again?" I mockingly ask. Zaid laughs at my joke. Ayat slaps my arm.
Zaid and I both waited for her to say it.
"It's deniz!"
Ah our name.
"Really?" I ask.
"Really like a freely pringle!" She sang.
"Whatever she's happy in." Zaid smiles, his gaze fixed on her, as the corner of his lips curl upward.
He likes her.
"Alright, who's hungry?" she asks, already knowing the answer.
"Ifan, I know a place down there, they serve the best hamburgers there is to exist." Zaid said to me, his strong accent really does make a good impact on his looks.
"Then I guess we're having burgers." I shrug my shoulders.
After a long drive down, we pulled away from the drive-thru, the smell of greasy burgers and fries wafted through the car, making Ayat's stomach growl.
"Ah goodie. That smells magnificent!" Ayat rubs her hands.
"How are you describing a smell with the word magnificent?" I laugh at Ayat's commentary.
"Because it is!" Ayat rips open the paper bag, releasing a flurry of paper wrappers and cardboard boxes.
"Let's see what we've got." Zaid chimed in from behind.
"Hey you didn't order fries, don't touch mine." Ayat slaps Zaid's hand away. I simply listen to them, their voices overlapping on who should get what.
"Ay, I did." Zaid frowns.
"You didn't" Ayat says.
"He did Ayat" I pulled into a quiet parking spot. "See, told ya"
And they dug in.
"Don't take his side." The sound of Ayat's munching filled the car. "Ah I feel so much better" Ayat melts, slipping down the seat.
The rain continued to fall outside. We talked, laughed and ate.
After everything, I told them I had to leave. To look for a place but I didn't tell them what the reason was behind my hurry. I just dropped myself off, and Zaid took over the driving seat.
I'm happy Ayat has someone near her but at the same time. I feel sort of sad. Sad that she's growing up. It may seem ridiculous but I do.
After Ayat and Zaid took off, I went on my way to find myself an apartment. Good enough to adjust for a while, then maybe I'll buy myself a house later on in life, I don't know. It's a huge change, I know I should talk it out with Sam first but he's acting fussy, and immature. I don't think he'd understand. I wish Sam could understand where I'm coming from. For now even Ayat doesn't know I'm looking for an apartment. I'll surprise them after brunch. For now, Let's home myself up.