I have no memories of my childhood with my parents. Every time I sit back and start thinking , How I use to be with my parents, what were the things I did with them, anything ? There comes nothing ! Except the things told by other people and my parents. They tell me I was so adorable and everyone who see me wants to hold me … There are pictures of me when I was 2 or 3 years old and then there is a complete blank without any pictures till I was 14 or 15. May be my parents lost their camera in my childhood.
I have some memories of this time period in school and with my friends. I remember every friend I had during it. I remember how we use to play , how we use to chat with each other and how we use to spend the recess time during school.
I remember I use to make houses with dry mud ! I was expert in it back then. All my friends use to gather around me sitting in the mud with clean white uniforms and we had no fear of ‘how we look’ to the people back then. They use to gather accessories for the house I was making. Some leaves , some yellow fur like thing and some beads like things from the trees and some colorful wrappers ! Till then I make a pile of dry mud and through it , I use to make the first floor and plain it with my hands. So perfect like we plain the surface of Cake with cream while making it . Then the second floor and some times the third floor. Then comes the turn of accessories and I use to decorate it like I am doing a task that would change my life, so keenly. When it was done, my friends use to clap for me .
May be back then I had a thought embedded in my mind , of my future. May be back then I knew I won’t have a chance to make the home of my choice and decorate it . May be I knew I would be forced to live in a home that would be never a home for me. So I already fulfilled all my wishes for a home with mud and tree accessories !
I remember I was the best in every game we use to play . I ran faster than each of my friend and won every single race back then. We use to play doge-the-ball , hide-and-seek, catch-me and many other games and I always use to win. My friends use to fight with each other to become my partner in any game. I was the one they look up to when deciding what game we will play and for resolving the fights.
May be back then I knew I would lose at every single step in my real life. So I won everything already back then. I already felt the pleasure of winning. I never realized life is not a game. We can win games but even the best player loses in his life !
I had a special pattern regarding my studies. I noticed it when I was 15. I stood first in class for the first , second and third years. Then I was an average or you can say below average in fourth, fifth and sixth years. Then again I topped my class in the seventh , eighth and ninth years. Tenth year was a disaster ! It was the year I started getting spoiled . Followed by the first two years of college. Making again the three years. Now in university I have passed four years and they were remarkably good. I would never be able to understand this cycle related to my studies. I want to know though.
I Guess I need a psychiatrist. May be he could give me answers I want to know. But I know I would never be able to ask anyone .
Three weeks back when I was in my home and it was the last day there. I had to come back here in hostel the next day. I was laying down with all my family. My dad, mom, and the brothers. We were chatting and then my dad started recalling his past. The things I heard were shocking !
He told us that he always felt alone back then even with his parents and siblings around. He said there is a hollowness inside him that was never filled even by his daughter and sons and wife ! He said when he was 15 he felt this hollowness so much that he started saying that his parents are not real and he is adopted that is why he feels like this. When his parents , my grandfather asked him why he is saying all this. He said you should know the answer. You are my parents and you are behind everything I feel since the childhood. My mom then told me that my father had a diary that was filled till the end with poetry. All sad poetry with the same topics , loneliness and sadness.
Tears were falling down from my eyes and absorbing in the pillow as I was hearing this. But it was dark so no one could see them. I was shocked and hurt at the same time while knowing this. These were the same feelings all he described that I use to feel all my life. The same pattern. the same hollowness the same pain. He dared asking his parents why is he like this. I never had courage to ask them . I have seen Him the same close to Allah like I am. No one other can feel him the way I can. I can’t put it into words but his life seems to me same like mine.
I would never gather enough courage to ask him the same questions he asked his parents. I know how much he would be hurt , knowing that he had to give all the answers he searched for all his life. Knowing that his little girl has grown up, and she feels the same as he did all his life. I can feel his pain…
I kept thinking all night, Are feelings and emotions genetic ? Is pain genetic ? Are sufferings and the after effects of the sufferings genetic ? Is the way of thinking genetic ? Is it possible that the way my father use to fight with himself it was genetically passed on to me ?
I wondered and there was no answer. May be this condition has some name and it has been proved to be a genetic thing by science. May be not.
May be I am thinking too much.