Dedicated to maimunerh

CHAPTER TWO

Thirty minutes later,

I HIT A SNAG AGAIN when I began forging the reasons why I think I should be accepted and was confronted by the sad truth that I have absolutely no reason why I think I should be accepted.

The only viable reason I could think of was that I was an excellent reader but that's barely a skill. I don't even know if it can be considered as one either.

Probably not!

I had thought about all the glowing reviews I get from my essays and had thought to include the fact that I am a fairly good writer and an even better editor but it felt basic, normal even and since there was nothing more, just a blank space, my fears quadrupled.

Shutting my eyes, I try to keep at bay the feelings of fear and frustration snaking its way into my heart like a canon ball wrecking all in its wake.

What do I do now?

What am I suppose to do?

How am I suppose to get the job if I can't even write a mere job application?

And suddenly I couldn't keep my tears at bay anymore. It was just too much. I needed the job desperately and this setback is making all my insecurities come to life.

How can someone whose dream is to become a writer not able to pen down a simple application letter? Does that mean I didn't have what it takes? Am I not enough? Why is life so hard?

And as the tears ran a marathon on my cheeks, the feelings of exhaustion suddenly sets in.

I suddenly felt tired of playing the happy games and faking emotions when deep down I feel numbed by defenceless emotions and knocked down by miles of sorrows hiding deep within my soul while I live life wondering why'd I even mind?

That's just not me.

"Too real," Jabir, my best friend, had called me. Not that I blame him. Like I said, I am a loose cannon.

We had dated for four years before we had finally decided we weren't getting anywhere romantically. I love him and he's one of my favorite people alive but we are just too different.

Jabir is slow, passive, and I am restless. He wanted me to downplay my thoughts and my feelings but whenever I do so, I get bored and cranky and become much worse. I needed excitement and danger almost as much as I needed oxygen. It was my greatest strength but was also my doom for who would want to marry a girl who wanted to do the saving? It was no wonder I find myself single and Jobless at twenty-five.

Perhaps.

Or maybe it has nothing to do with that and everything to do with a tawny eyed rebel?

Irrfan!

Something within me stirred at the thought of his name, tugging my senses with a disarray of emotions, awakening a part that had laid dormant for so long I was afraid it had died completely. Perhaps I was hoping it had gone with the winds like the words happy, be happy, are you happy? You deserve happiness.

Perhaps -

However, I have been told these countless times in my life that the words seems to have drastically quelled, losing it's magic. It's like the rains, stealthily engulfing, filled with excitement, shrouded in mystery and then stops abruptly without any warning.

Or perhaps it wasn't any of these people or situations, perhaps it was something else entirely.

How else was I suppose to explain that excitement for me bordered on suicidal actions and feelings and thoughts. That I never feel more alive like when I am in danger or in a dangerous situation, or in love with a dangerous man.

I guess something is really wrong with me.

My chest heave in pain and my throat, sore from shedding strings of tears, felt like a match had been set within as more tears sneak its way out of my hurting body.

This was no time for crying or brooding Reima, a voice in my head reprimanded me after moments of choking on my sobs.

Focus!

And after a few minutes of lip biting and chest hitting, I did.

@****@

Dear Sir,

I wish to apply for the post of reporter in your organisation. I am English Lit. Major with an even greater passion for human behavioural patterns-

I stopped writing, crushed the paper, took a deep breath and began again.

Dear Sir,

I am an English lit major-

I crushed and began again.

Dear Sir,

Due to the advertisement in the herald newspaper on August 3rd, I would like to apply

I crushed the paper once again and in frustration, threw the pen across the desk.

How can I get the job when I can't even write an application for God sake?

I began laughing and crying at the same time. I felt sad, and frustrated, and pathetic, and angry. And I was getting nowhere.

Focus, Reima, I chided myself. You can do this. I know you can.

Closing my eyes, I try to make sense of my chaotic feelings and at least polish them to my immediate need. It wasn't easy, but after a few minutes of trying, I can feel myself relaxing. Taking a deep breath, I picked up the pen and began again.

Dear Sir,

I hereby wish to apply for the post of a reporter in your establishment. My names are Reima Ahmad. I am a graduate with a major in English lit. Attached herewith is my CV.

I am an excellent reader, a fairly good writer and a very good editor. I am also an optimist with a perfection syndrome, who enjoys travelling and intellectual research. My biggest strengths include, ability to learn fast and keeping my head-particularly during stressful situation.

If given the chance, I promise to work towards improving myself for the betterment of the organisation.

Thank you for your most anticipated support.

I read the letter for over twenty times making sure there wasn't anything I would like to add or do away with but that did nothing to stop the insecurities that had surfaced when I was about to place the letter in an envelope.

What if they don't like it? What if they don't accept me?

And consumed by this crumbling doubt, I almost tore it off.

I am really afraid of another rejection and like I said, my sanity depended on me being accepted. I feared that maybe, just maybe, I had set my standard too high.

These are the qualifications for the job, and it states that;
1. Passion for entertainment, lifestyle and human interest news; Truth is, I'm a loner and I have no interest whatsoever for the lifestyle of anybody-mine included, nor interested in any news that involve people too. Like I said, I'm a loner.

2. Age: Not more than 25 years; I think this might actually be the only qualification I am well suited. I have nine more months to go on that mark.

3. Mastery of grammar, spelling and punctuation; I think I'm fairly good at this. I dabble in writing sometimes. Not anything major, but I am hoping maybe someday I'll get to tell my own story.

4. Ability to work with people and under pressure; Yeah...not my strongest point. The reason is simple, I have so far met less people that really interest me and thus, preferred the company of myself. You really don't want to meet the bored me; she's cranky, irritable and very, very impatient.

5. Positive attitude and a willingness to learn; This I can live with. I have always being an optimist, dreamers tends to be so.

6. Excellent communication and time management skills; Yeah...we need to work on that ASAP. It's that bad!

7. Prior experience working in any news reporting agency; my least qualification. It's no secret I was wanting in the experience department. How can I find experience if not given a chance? I mean, how can every organisation add such a clause? It's depressing really, and clips any chance a 'non-experienced' person like me would most likely have; that was if they don't count all the movies I've watched on such places like superman, super-girl, the devil wears Prada, beauty and the briefcase etc. Then I guess I'm screwed over. Very much so indeed!

And no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't find any reason why I should put myself through the trauma of rejection.

Hissing, I fling the pen on the desk and began changing out of my nightwear. I am going for a walk in the rains, after all adversity they say, is the greatest motivator; if it doesn't kill you, at least it makes you stronger.

I touched the screen of my phone to check the time; 2:06am.

Great! I have become a night prowler.

Maybe I should add that, "I have a higher tendency to live successfully as a vampire," to my list of not-so-great achievements, who knows, maybe I could actually be given a chance then. Perhaps it is insane.

Perhaps I am insane but insane times calls for insane measures. I need unorthodox ideas, since the orthodox ideas aren't working for me.

***

"Aren't you going to bed?" I heard unexpectedly from the doorway. I had changed out of my nightwear and was now in my blue tracksuit with my hair trapped in my cream headwarmer. My hands were busy with my raincoat in one and my pair of sneakers on the other.

My heart almost dropped in fright. It was my mum. I didn't know she was still up.

"I'm going for a walk," I said to her as I hurried toward the door shimmering between her lithe body clad in a similar night wear and my bedroom door as I head towards the kitchen. I busied myself with drinking a bottled water I grabbed from the fridge as soon as I made it there and turn on the lights.

"What? It's 2 am in the morning and raining cats and dogs, and you want to go for a walk? What is wrong with you?" Her voice startled me from behind and I almost choked, sputtering and coughing. I didn't know she had followed me

"No. . .thing, ma, I just ne. .ed to clear my he. . .ad that's all." I managed between coughs.

"Reima, you're going to have to deal with the truth at some point." She said with that tone mothers use when trying to remind us of our failures, the- it-isn't-your-fault tone

"What truth are you talking about, Ma?" I said flatly as I sat on the kitchen chair and putting on my running shoes. I wasn't even looking at her. I got up and tried to move past her to leave the kitchen for the dining area to grab a torchlight. I might have been carrying around some baggage of guilt but so was Mum.

She let go of a deep breath as if weighing her next words carefully and then she went on maintaining her tone,"You have to stop running every time you are confronted by a blockage."

"I am not running away, Ma," I said with an exaggerated patience, "I am simply going for a walk."

"Sounds like the same thing to me." She refuted. "And I think it's high time you began thinking seriously about your future, you aren't getting any younger."

I stood for a moment unable to move. Here I was trying to think seriously about my future and all my mum could see was that I was trying to run.

God, its 2 am! I can't believe I'm having this conversation right now.

"Later, please Ma?" I pleaded trying to maintain serenity I neither felt nor welcomed. I was already stressed, screwed and screaming, I absolutely didn't need this conversation right now.

"No, now!" She said firmly.

"Mom, Its 2 am." I replied with my voice thick with exasperation as I stood there with my back against the wall staring at anywhere but her

"Like I said," she reiterated in a voice which gave no room for argument, "It's about time we had this conversation." She concluded dragging out a chair from the dining area.

"I am listening, ma" I asked gruffly.

"What are your plans, sweetheart? Like I said you aren't getting any younger and neither am I. At some point, you are really going to need a family of your own; I'm just hoping it wouldn't be too late then." She looked frustrated and defeated which was rare for her. My mum is the strongest person I know. I felt a twinge of guilt and softened.

"Mum, I don't know if you can tell, but I'm having a hard time with being jobless right now. I don't want to marry anyone until I find meaning to my chaotic life. Can you please understand me?" My voice scream with my undiluted fears

"You're a great person, Reima. Why can't you see that?" She seemed sincere, but it felt exactly like something a mother would say, which most of the time might not be accurate. I needed to find me, how am I supposed to make them understand.

"I know, Ma. But I need to see it for myself." I was beginning to feel irate. This was a conversation we have two or three times every week and I'm getting tired of explaining myself. But for this conversation to take place there must have been a trigger. I wonder what it was this time. Not that she needed it these days. She was being outright obsessed about my marriage that I sometimes feared it was maybe because she had a deadly disease or something.

I just hope not!

"Fatima is getting married." She blurted out finally.

Now I get what this was all about. Fatima is the daughter of a friend's of my mum and two years my junior. Strange, I didn't think age mattered to my mum, she was the fall in love and get married type. I guess she got worse after my break up with Jabir.

"Mum, please." I said under my breath.

She hesitated before continuing. "You know what I think already. I want you to settle down, have a family of your own and be happy."

"I will, Ma. Eventually! But right now, I really need to decide for myself what would really make me happy. Can you please understand me?" I asked desperately with my eyes bare of all my fears and desperation.

"I'm always on your side Reima, even when I'm opposing."

"I know, ma. But right now, I really need to go." I said, heading to the door. The conversation was over, at least for now

"Don't wander far." She called after me and I smiled, which I always find myself doing whenever I talk to my mum. She is almost like my personal anaesthesia.

"I won't." I called back, pulling the hoodie of my raincoat up over my headscarf, I pushed the door open and jogged down the stairs toward the walkway as the rain began pelting my face.

***

I ran, then walked, then ran again for almost an hour, I couldn't say for sure, but the rain still held on, drowning the world with its embrace and me with my despair.

I have finally accepted the fact that for my pain, I couldn't force anyone to offer sympathy as they couldn't force their kind of love on me. It's just that it wasn't an easy decision, no matter how much it rang as truth. For there are days I stare at the mirror and barely recognize the person staring back at me and that scares me, more than I care to admit. I am scared that the few days I do recognize the person in the mirror would cease completely, and the day I finally became a stranger to myself was getting nearer. I just hope I find my purpose before that.

A sudden loud bang made me pause from my drenching thoughts as it pierced the night with its irregular rhythm. The sound was so loud it pierced the already stormy night deeply. And then it went on and on for a few more minutes, before a wail screamed across, almost like that of a tortured animal. Curious, I followed the sound, oblivious to the fact that it spells danger. My worries had made me beyond fear, I felt immune to it, if I daresay.

And there I saw the silhouette of someone. And from his physique, I was able to infer that it was a man. He was kneeling in the middle of the road, with his head bent to the ground. It looked as if he was praying, but from the way his body shook you can deduce easily that he was crying. I found myself moving closer, drawn by a force which seemed beyond my control. I was never the meddling type, but strangely today, I really felt like my help was needed. I could feel it deep within my bones.

"Hello," I called, but he remained still. It was as if I hadn't said anything at all if not for the rumble of thunder that reverberated at that moment.

"Is everything all right?" I tried again, walking a few metres towards him, but still it evoked no response from the stranger. I waited for a few minutes, but nothing. Thankfully, the rain was swallowed at that moment by the sky; for I feared the stranger might get sick-if he wasn't already.

I tried again. "It's almost dawn you know, you wouldn't want to be out here an hour before that, trust me."Nothing happened, not even the slightest of motion. Hence, I went on, "You know, like they say, the darkest hour is the hour before dawn." I laughed softly, "But if you were to ask me, I would tell you the night was fighting with everything it had to avoid the embrace of the day, but unfortunately the light of the day always forces it to flee. No, dark is not the enemy, light is and always will be" I rambled on like I usually do whenever I am nervous.

I don't know if it was because of what I said or the fact that my voice was raw with unconcealed emotion, but he looked up at me and for a few minutes we stared at each other in the darkness of the night as if the dark helped lay bare our souls.

I cracked my voice, "Are you alright?" When I asked that question again, I was under no illusion that it would be answered. I just did because it was the most logical response to such a situation, if there was any. For here we are, two strangers on a lonely road a few minutes before dawn.

"Was I supposed to say I am fine? Because I am not," He said in a guttural voice. It was clear he was going to have a cold.

"What are you then?" I found myself asking before I could stop myself.

He paused, "Straddling...between two lines."

Funny, but it was the same place I was. He stood and started walking away.

"What lines?" I followed him; it was in the direction to my home anyway.

"What?" He asked.

"Straddling,"

He paused for a moment, as if he was weighing his answer, "Insanity and madness."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Maybe, maybe not," He stopped abruptly in front me, "Like how living meant dying, and yet most insist they lived. For what else is life if not a means to an end," He resumed his walk

"What are you saying?" I was confused.

He paused and faced me again, "Let me tell you a secret, a secret which perhaps might not even be a secret, but is my secret nevertheless. I was killed today by the hands I trusted the most but I am not angry. I should be, but I'm not. And that is what is making me angry. I had stood there helpless for hours, scared the moment I closed my eyes, all would be lost. But I lost anyway, I lost...I lost...anyway," He began to laugh hysterically, and at that moment I feared he really was mad, but as abruptly as it began, it ceased completely and was replaced by the sound of his tears, "It cheated me, my God, I was cheated."

I didn't know what to do for him, so I simply stood still and allow him space to face his demons. Mine suddenly seem inconsequential to what ails him.

'Every problem has a solution,' I was almost tempted to voice these words, but on second thought, I realised it wasn't in my place to offer advice to anyone.

I slightly turned my back at him, allowing him some privacy. God knows, if it were me, I wouldn't want the world to see my tears. But when I turned back after a few minutes, he was gone. I searched back and forth for him with my eyes but there was no trace. I don't know, but I felt kind of disappointed. For a minute there, I thought we were bonding. I guess not!

The timing of this absurd meeting though was perfect for me. It kind of reminded me that there were people out there who had it worse than me. I am crumbling, yes, but so are a million people out there. I can't keep feeling sorry for myself whenever I meet a block. Maybe this was what my Ma was trying to tell me earlier, and maybe it was even the right thing to do, but nobody can deny the fact that it was hard to see the whole picture when you are in the picture

I caught glimpse of a faint blush up the sky; dawn was upon us. This ray of hope made me want to smile somehow, for it reminded me that I had somehow survived the night, against all odds, and against it all-my fears and worries, and that maybe, things aren't as bad as I thought.

Smiling, I ran back home, knowing the white sheet of paper on my desk would soon be covered in an envelope and sealed, to be mailed appropriately.

Yes, it was the break of a new dawn.