Mifta’s yarn

yakub nagar road, firingee bazaar

"why don't we have a village?" i used to ask abbacha. each eid, everybody gets to taste the delicious scent of their own soil; why do we miss that?”

abbacha always smiled at me and told me to look around, inhale my surroundings, and sense the warmth of the fabrication surrounding me. each time it felt same, like home. generations and generations of us has lived here and it amuses me how strong each structure still stands today. from the brick laid field to the towering mango tress, everything narrates a story here. the karnaphuli used to touch us , right where we have our drawing room now. abbacha’s grandmother would sit down by the river and wonder. now karnaphuli has gone far away, it doesn’t even show itself when we peer through the balconies. but we still have a roof, the place which calls us as its people.its my dadu basha, also nanu basha to many more. this is my own safe spot and this is my soil.

imagine how many people, right at this moment are being forced to let their own soil sweep through their fingers? how many naive palestinians gaze back at the war-torn land that raised them? how do they feel when they realize it's no longer theirs?

i know its too many questions but at least one should hit your nerves to feel what they are going through.

here’s a page of my diary.

something struck me after lunch. i wanted to sleep it off then i realized i hadn't taken my meds. i was lying on my bed and my mind was refusing to heal, but i remembered what i had promised. i saw sallu passing my room and called out to him to tell ammu to give the meds. i requested him to give me two. he yelled at me for that and then scolded me like the older brother he always pretends to be.

today i found myself in my own dream. i saw how i was erecting a barrier between my own self and those that loved me. i shut myself in my room and refused to go out.i could sense my chest getting heavier and heavier. i actually felt it in my sleep.i was stirring up a hard time for everyone, it wasn’t intentional, i promise.

it didn't feel like a nightmare because a part of me was actually living it. i awoke in a state of panic and i couldn't breathe because my chest was tight. the sensation is similar to a parasite; it sucks on you and you let it suck. i didn't want to be the person i saw in my dream, but it was too late.

amar icha korse ekshate onek gula tablet kheye eita shesh kore dite. i'm at a loss for words to express how i felt. i couldn't hold back my tears. i went out with abbacha to get my mind off things. it didn't help, nothing helps. now my eyes hurt and my head feels like a fu***ng bomb about to detonate at any moment. you have no idea how much i wish i didn't have to wake up tomorrow.

but every story has a hero. in my case, i had three. my friends, the family which i chose, the people to whom i will always be indebted to, compiled this list for me. whenever i felt down, i would look at these A4-sized articles that featured straightforward english but new aspirations for my dull self. i used to gaze at these for hours, and I still do. i made the decision to do this, not for me, but for them. ‘for us’