"Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you.”

No you don’t understand. You don’t understand at all.
It’s not just a feeling. It’s an urgency. Before everything here that’s gone, I have to write something down. Something. It doesn’t have to be special. It doesn’t have to be for anyone. It doesn’t have to make you feel something.  It’s not an art. It’s just…something I taught myself as a child. Whenever something good happens. Whenever something shocks me. Whenever my mind gets distracted and down for some reason. I do it. I sit to write everything down. I be completely honest with myself. Without having to lose, without having anything to lose. I just do it. I am not a problem solver. I don’t write on world's hunger. I don’t write about how to deal with you ex and stuff like that. I don’t create. This is not something I do for the world or for people or you. Yes you. You’re reading this…You should not have, I’m not Anne Frank. This should not be something you should read. I can find you a bunch of good English novels that I love and you’d love too but I’m not gonna do that. This is not a book recommending site.

I feel like, now that we’re civilized. Certain things bug us. What we almost forget is that, this things that bug us now, were the things we came out of. This isn’t an one-day transformation. This is a transformation of thousand decades. I feel like we’re all caught up in this civilized notion that we created and suddenly we’re all conscious about the things happening around us. People are now being tagged with - uncivilized, uncultured, ruthless, insane. Can we just take a break from judging ourselves and other people and what is right and what is not?  

See I can write on issues like that. I just don’t want to. Because it’s boring and it needs thinking. And examples. And logic. I don’t do logics. I don’t know how to turn a bad writing into a good one. What you have to understand is that I’m not an author. English is not even my mother tongue. It’s easy in a way that, everything in the  computer are in English but I don’t know. Since I was a kid, I had this weird fascination toward western culture and their fluent accent. I felt like I had to learn this and as the years flown by, I realized it’s not something you learn. It’s not something that has to come by force. To any language I believe. You just have to process it naturally. And FYI there’s no end to this. You’re never going to capture it wholly in your mind. There’s gonna be times, you would come across a word and ponder what it would mean and have no idea how to pronounce it. That’s how I feel about English. I would never learn it enough. There’s just so much to it.

A weird thing about it is that, it has an influence, which can’t be ignored. Wonder how  a language could change you and how you think. It sure did to me. I started making impressions whenever I came across a mirror. I still do it. I talk to myself, in American accent. Funny, no? And it changed me, radically. I started to behave like I’m not supposed to be here, in this land, with this people. Like I don’t belong here. Which is so stupid. And another funny thing is that I have been told several times, by a friend and some of my relatives that I don’t look like a Bangali. It’s quite pampering in a way, but surprising too. Why would they think that? I mean, judging by my tan skin, round eyes and a short of height I look like complete form of a Bangali girl. I think what they just saw, is the reflection in me, that I see every day, when I see myself in the mirror, when I talk to myself when no one’s around. It’s not how I dress, it’s not how I converse. It’s the influence of the language, of its people and of its bewildering culture. It’s just that.

  When I was a kid, I had this feeling that- I have to be like all other people around me. I have to be like my sister. I had this feeling that I have to follow the lead. Because of that I always suffered in making decisions for myself. I always wanted someone to do it for me. I couldn’t choose. There were always this voices in my head that said- let someone choose it for you. You don’t know, you don’t have a true sense of beauty, of colors, of what is best. That’s why I’d always looked for my mother or my sister when shopping. When came to decide something that required me, I backed off. 

My grandma, played a huge role in making me insecure and unsure of what I want. She was always cross at me. Everything that I’d do would turn into her vague disappointment. Cut me off some slack I was just a kid when she was alive. I was JUST  a kid. I didn’t know that old people could love you until I reached my teens. Until she died. I had a lot of misconceptions, a lot of self-hating. She made me less of what I was. She scolded me, always. It makes me cry even now, thinking what she did to me as a child. She judged my every action. She hurt me more than I can say. I wouldn’t write this if I weren't hurt. I remember everything because I was deeply hurt by her and even though how hard I try to forget and forgive her I just end up getting hurt and broken by the memory.

You just have to look at the sunny side of everything. The past is nowhere I left it. Things changed for me. I am not like that ashamed little girl who used to fear her like crazy. Who used to cry every night soaking her pillow feeling unloved and unwanted by her grandma. I am not that person anymore. I have grown. I have my own thoughts now. I know what I didn’t know back then. I know now, that what she did to me was unethical to a child. I know now, it wasn’t scolding that hurt me. It was her disgusted gazes, her judgments on my each and every action, her being unsupportive of the dresses I wore or how I posed for a family picture.  Now I know, It was okay, not being able to cry at her funeral. Because she made me like that, tearless, emotionless bitch. And there were no sweeping happy memories of her that I could sob about. There were nothing. She made me feel so empty.    

I was never told I was pretty, let alone cute. I never knew there were things that I could love myself about. My sister was indifferent to me, to all this because she was older and the one busier and the bossier. She was my grandma’s favorite. And she loved her unconditionally. SO there were no one that I could confess my feelings to because I knew if I told my sister about all this she would hate me and I would never want that. So I just pretended that I was okay. I pretended to believe that my grandma, she loved me like all her grandchildren. I pretended that my childhood days were gold. But honestly, if anybody asks me now, I would say my happiest days were my teenage years because those years I was more independent. Those days I was free from my grandma’s torture. 

I know now, that I am not an average. I have potentials. I am not as ugly as she made feel. I have it what it takes to make a decision. I have true sense of beauty. I am not an embarrassment to anyone. Not even to myself. I am nineteen and I know how to live my life and I know my priorities. Am I a perfection inch to inch? No. I am not, and that’s what makes me a human being. And I don’t need anyone’s approval how to be good enough because I don’t wanna be enough. I don’t want you to get everything you seek in me. 

You see, what I wrote up here, won’t change how you feel about things. This won’t solve any math equations. This won’t meet the world's hunger or poor. This won’t change my dead grandma’s feelings toward me. This won’t bring her back either. This is why told you not to read this in the first place.