"The place where it all started ..."

I've been thinking about writing this for a while now, but for some reason, I've had the toughest time just trying to put down in words how I feel about it all - about you, about things as they stand, and about how much has changed ever since you've been gone, and yet still seem to be all around me.

I know it's been a while since you've left this place, and gone back to your beautiful tropical paradise, back home... But it feels like everywhere I look, I'm faced with reminders of you. I wake up to a bright sunny morning, and the first thought in my head is how much you love such days. I go to Starbucks and I can't help but muse over your obsession with strong, full of flavor black coffee. I see people at weekend brunches and it takes me back to that beautiful Sunday morning we met for coffee and took a walk by the riverside with the sun shining down at us, and a light breeze blowing - for those few hours, there was nothing wrong with my world, nothing more I wanted, it was perfect. One of the many perfect times I've spent with you.

I remember it all, every little detail - the clothes I was wearing, the drink you always ordered, the extra hot hot chocolate, the chocolate cake for breakfast and lunch, that night at the bar when you held my hand for the first time right before you were leaving and you just held on for a little longer. I remember Christmas drinks, and new year's wishes, and of course, the gift. It's all so deeply etched inside me, I can't believe that it's been so long. 

And it's really hard sometimes, thinking about all the time I spent with you, and realizing that it's all in the past. But what scares me more is the thought of forgetting any of it. I know I'd rather remember all this stuff that makes me feel real inside, even if it hurts, than ignore and try to forget and just be numb to it all. I feel like I'm just trying to get by each day without breaking down, without being mad about how unfair it all is. I'm trying not to run away from people and places that remind me of you, but some days are just more difficult than others.

Time with you went by so fast, I barely knew you and it was over, yet when I look back, it feels like no time has passed at all. I can close my eyes and relive every conversation, every joke, every moment, everything...

I don't know what I was to you, or if there are any reminders of me in this new life you've got. I don't even know what you are to me anymore. I don't know if it was friendship, or love or just that messy grey area in between. All sane, sensible, realistic thinking went out the window the moment you told me you were leaving. For in that moment, I realized how much you still meant to me. No matter how much I denied it, no matter how much I convinced myself that I was over you, you were still just as important to me as you'd always been. And you always will be. You were the one person who made me feel a little less lost and a little more self assured when I needed it the most. And for that I am forever grateful. I will never understand why it all had to end so abruptly, so soon, but every time I talk to you, I can see how incredibly happy you are, and I know it was the right thing for you. You deserve to be happy, wherever you are.

As for me, I'm taking your advice and trying to be brave. And even if there's nothing else left for you on this island, there will still be the girl who makes you laugh...

Walking Away

When I met you, I was still lost in someone else. Still a broken, incomplete person, dealing with the hurt from the past. Still trying to find myself in those pieces. 

Back then, I never thought I could ever feel that way about someone again. I thought that the next time I fall for someone, my heart would be more guarded, more afraid, less willing to take risks. Because that's the person I was back then. Every time I started to feel anything about someone, I would force myself to snap out of it. Pull myself back to rationality.

But then you walked in. At first, I didn't give it much thought. I didn't think I needed any safety because I saw you as just another person I would eventually pull myself away from. I didn't think of you as someone who was here to stay. When I first realized that you were becoming more important to me than I'd anticipated, I still believed that I had it under control, that it was just a rush of feelings on meeting someone new, that it would go away. 

And that was true till an extent. After a while, we lost touch. And that might have been the end of it. I was normal again. Or as close as it got to that. I would will myself back to rationality, prevent myself from thinking about you, distract myself. And it almost worked. Almost.

But even then, I guess there were always times when I knew I was lying to myself. I knew you mattered more than I cared to admit. And a little while later, you came traipsing back into my life. We talked, we laughed, we hung out. You knew things no one knew about me. And I would like to believe I knew a little bit more of you than most. You were caring and supportive. You were easy to talk to, and above all, you understood. You understood things others couldn't. It wasn't long in terms of time, but as far as friendships go, you were already one of the most important. I suppose that's really the type of person you are.

You were all wrong for me. You were trouble. And I knew there was absolutely no way that I would ever mean anything to you in the romantic sense. I knew I needed to stop risking everything, I needed to guard myself, come back to my senses. Yes, I knew all of that.

Yet, for some reason, I couldn't. When I was around you, I just never stood a chance. I was the irrational fool again. I was silly and sensible, irresponsible and grown up - all at the same time. I knew I was in over my head, despite my reluctance to the idea of getting serious about any other person again. A year ago, when I was still getting over things, I never thought I'd love someone again in the foreseeable future.

And now, if it was possible, I loved you even more. 

I could've gotten over it. I could've broken off all contact and moved on with my life. It wouldn't have been easy but it was possible.

But I didn't want to. Even when I knew nothing would ever come out of it, nothing could ever happen between us. For a variety of reasons, the idea of 'us' just wasn't possible. 

Yet I didn't want to end it. I didn't want to finish whatever it was that we had. I wanted to risk it.

I liked the person I was around you. I like the person you've made me. I've had my dark moments, but every time I was with you, I was happy. Truly happy. I was smiling. Laughing again. Something inside felt alive once more. After a long long time, I was willing to take a chance and lay everything on the line. I knew it would hurt when it ended, perhaps more than before. But with you, it was worth it. 

I loved you. I loved you enough to take chances. Enough to watch you with another, and still be happy. Enough to be happy with just knowing that I loved you. Without any expectation in return.

And that was the deal. I allowed myself to feel that way about someone again, but I would never let myself expect anything in return.

At least I was mature in that sense. I always knew where I stood, and where you were. I knew that the time I had with you wouldn't last, and that I had to make the best of it. I knew not to take things for granted. All those moments I spent with you, I knew how important they were. How I had to memorize it all, for it would all come to an end before I realized. I was aware of the frailty of love, and the ruthlessness of time.

And I was mature enough to accept that. No amount of time I spent with you would ever be enough. When it was time to leave, I had to pick myself up and leave. I had to call it quits and say goodbye. I had to remember the promise I made to myself at the beginning -- no expectations. 

And now that it's over, that is what I keep reminding myself.

You opened my heart again. You made me realize that eventually, its possible to get over past hurt, and fall in love. You made me willing to take chances and believe in love. That is perhaps the reason why it all happened. The reason you walked into my life. And now, a little while later, walked out.

It wasn't long in terms of calendar months. But to me, it seems like an entire lifetime. I am a new person thanks to you.

I will always love you. And when I look around me, there are more than a few reminders of things that you said or did. But that's all there will be to it. Memories. Conversations I can play in my head. Moments that I can relive every time I close my eyes. 

You will move on, have a life of your own. One I never have and never will fit into. You'll find someone else who will make you feel the way I feel about you. And at the end, that's what I want for you. I don't have to be with you. It's enough for me to know that I love you.

Maybe I'll get over it, and in time find another hurricane that will sweep me off my feet, just like you did. Yet, all said and done, you are a person I will always remember fondly. Through a walk in the park during spring time, I'll imagine how it would be to have you beside me. What you would say or do. Or when the season's first snow falls, I'll imagine how it would be to share that moment with you. When candle light reflects off the stem of a wine glass, I'll see your deep brown eyes. And when I'm standing by the river on a moonlit night, I'll miss you.

Yes, I have to and I am, walking away, but I'll think about you. 
Every now and then, I'll think about you.

How do you think it feels?

knowing yours isn't the gift on his bedside table

knowing yours isn't the song playing in his car

knowing you're not the face on his wallpaper anymore

knowing he no longer has pictures of you on his phone

knowing yours isn't the email he was waiting for all day

knowing yours isn't the number memorised in his head

knowing yours aren't the calls he'll jump to answer

knowing yours isn't the birthday circled on his calendar

knowing you're not the girl holding his hand

knowing you're not the girl thats making him smile

knowing you're not the first thought in his head when he wakes up

and the last before he goes to sleep at night

knowing you're not the girl whose name makes him nervous

knowing you're not the girl who lights up his eyes

knowing you're not the girl giving him butterflies

knowing you're not the girl he dreams of all night

knowing you're not the girl he ll spend every moment with 

knowing you're no longer the girl he'll instantly turn to for help

knowing you're not the girl he'll share his every day with

knowing now there's someone else in his head

knowing it's over, for good this time

knowing you're his past and your future isn't him

knowing that time has extinguished your flame

knowing the next time your phone rings, days weeks months from now,

        that phone call, that text ..that still wont be from him...

~M

"For you, a thousand times over"

Brutally honest. Depressing. A work of sheer brilliance.

This is how I would describe Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner

This is an intense story with complex characters and situations that force you to think about friendship and loyalty, betrayal and forgiveness, regret and redemption. It makes you think hard about the consequences of your actions, and how your every day choices and decisions ultimately make you the person you grow up to be.

The story opens with the protagonist, Amir, looking back at his childhood days in Afghanistan, as he recalls a day in the winter of 1975 that changed his life forever. He talks about old memories that haunt him till several years later, even after he tried his best to leave his old life behind. It talks about Amir’s childhood friendship with Hassan, his relationship with his father, and his upbringing as a privileged member of the society.

“I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek... Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.”

I developed a love-hate relationship with Amir. As a reader, I could not help but be angry with him, with the things he did, with the people he wronged, and with his betrayal of Hassan’s never ending loyalty and friendship. Yet, there are times when I couldn't help but sympathize with him. Amir was self centered to have lied to get rid of Ali and Hassan, the people who have devoted their entire existence to the service of him and his father, and ultimately to even get any second thoughts about rescuing Hassan’s son from the war ravaged, Taliban ruled Afghanistan.

I was drawn in by Amir’s voice. I sympathized with him, cheered for him and felt angry with him at different points. He is human and admits to make mistakes, but towards the end he is heroic and noble.

I became attached to Hassan and his father, Ali. It broke my heart to understand Hassan’s true identity, and even more to learn he was eventually shot dead by the Taliban, sadly making me realise that there was going to no happy reunion between him and Amir, no way to make amends.
After everything that transpired between himself and Amir, Hassan bore nothing but love for him, and years later, still prayed for his friend’s well being, and waited patiently and respectfully for his return.

Amir’s father is one of the more complex elements of the story. He is brave, strong in his beliefs, and stands for what is right even if his life depends on it. He is loyal to Afghanistan and always thought of Kabul as home. Confused as I was at first, I eventually grew to admire his courage, righteousness and strength of character.

On another level, this is a book about culture. It is an insightful novel that spans three decades of the life and customs that have tragically become synonymous with terrorism. The story opens on an Afghanistan very few of us have known, a time when its streets and people were not ravaged by the mania of religious extremism and war, when it was a country of prosperity and liberal thought. 

Hosseini describes how the war has changed the country. As Amir returns, he sees the war ravaged streets of his hometown; the burned down houses, and rubble are all thats left of his beloved Kabul. 

“The infighting between the factions was fierce and no one knew if they would live to see the end of the day. Our ears became accustomed to the whistle of falling shells, to the rumble of gunfire, our eyes familiar with the sight of men digging bodies out of piles of rubble. Kabul in those days, Amir jan, was as close as you could get to that proverbial hell on earth.”

The Kite Runner is a melodramatic tearjerker of a novel that attempts to portray some of the pain of a country that has been ripped apart again and again. It doesn’t suggest any answers but tries to highlight the humanity behind the headlines.

Definitely not a happy ending story, it is painfully accurate about the realities of a country torn apart by war and terrorism.
There are no second chances, and by the time Amir has the good sense to try and set things right, most of the people who made his odd family back in Kabul are either dead or dying.
All the characters have their own sins and regrets, and as the novel progresses, time manages to unearth even the most deeply buried ones.

                                                                                                                                                               

The Kite Runner Quotes

“There is a way to be good again.”

“I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.”

“There was brotherhood between people who had fed from the same breast, a kinship that even time could not break.”

“For you, a thousand times over.”

“I brought Hassan’s son from Afghanistan to America, lifting him from the certainty of turmoil and dropping him in a turmoil of uncertainty.”

“I had been the entitled half, the society-approved, legitimate half, the unwitting embodiment of Baba's guilt. I looked at Hassan, showing those two missing front teeth, sunlight slanting on his face. Baba's other half. The unentitled, under-priveleged half. The half who had inherited what had been pure and noble in Baba. The half that, maybe, in the most secret recesses of his heart, Baba had thought of as his true son.”

“Because when spring comes it melts the snow one flake at a time, and maybe I just witnessed the first flake melting”

“I looked down at Sohrab. One corner of his mouth had curled up just so. A smile. Lopsided. Hardly there. But there.”

“"Good," Baba said, but his eyes wondered. "Now, no matter what the mullah teaches, there is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft. Do you understand that?"

"No, Baba jan," I said, desperately wishing I did. I didn't want to disappoint him again. [...]"When you kill a man, you steal a life," Baba said. "You steal his wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. Do you see? [...]There is no act more wretched than stealing, Amir," Baba said. "A man who takes what's not his to take, be it a life or a loaf of naan...I spit on such a man. And if I ever cross paths with him, God help him. Do you understand?"”

“"Then I'll tell you," Baba said, "but first understand this and understand it now, Amir: You'll never learn anything of value from those bearded idiots."

[Amir:] "You mean Mullah Fatiullah Khan?" [...]"They do nothing but thumb their prayer beads and recite a book written in a tongue they don't even understand." He [Baba] took a sip. "God help us all if Afghanistan ever falls into their hands."”

(As Amir prays in the hospital)

“I throw my makeshift jai-namaz, my prayer rug, on the floor and I get on my knees, lower my forehead to the ground, my tears soaking through the sheet. I bow to the west. Then I remember I haven't prayed for over fifteen years. I have long forgotten the words. But it doesn't matter [...]. [...]. I see now that Baba was wrong, there is a God, there always had been. I see Him here, in the eyes of the people in this corridor of desperation. This is the real house of God, this is where those who have lost God will find Him, not the white masjid with its bright diamond lights and towering minarets. There is a God, there has to be, and now I will pray, I will pray that He forgive that I have neglected Him all of these years, forgive that I have betrayed, lied, and sinned with impunity only to turn to Him now in my hour of need [...].”

“Hassan and I fed from the same breasts. We took our first steps on the same lawn in the same yard. And, under the same roof, we spoke our first words.

Mine was Baba.His was Amir. My name. 

Looking back on it now, I think the foundation for what happened in the winter of 1975—and all that followed—was already laid in those first words.”