"Three Voices"

It’s 3 a.m.
The world is at rest.
The moonlight beams into my room through a tiny crack in the blinds.
My mind is racing.
Overflowing with anxiety.
So many questions. So many concerns. Yet I can’t seem to pinpoint just one.
My body is tense.
I try to breathe.
Instead, I choke on tears of frustration.
I need to slow down. And disengage from these obtrusive words.
The voices in my head are battling one another for attention.
I want them to stop. Let me rest.

I’m just so tired.

It’s 5 a.m.
My aching feet are begging for mercy as I force them to continue pounding on the belt of a sturdy treadmill.
Mile after mile, their cries become louder. More indicative of pain.
The voices interfere with the music of my headphones until they once again overwhelm my thoughts.
“Stop running. Stop working. Stop hurting me. Just let me rest.”
I keep pushing.

I’m still so tired.

It’s 11 p.m.
I sit in silence.
I reminisce on another long day.
Thoughts of tomorrow creep into mind without invitation.
They’re tormenting me.
My anxiety festers.
My body grows tense.
My heart begins pounding. Louder. Louder.
I need someone here.
I need someone to help me relax. To calm me down. And show me how to breathe.
I need to get out of here. Out of this apartment. Out of this state.
I need to break away from this monotonous routine.

Because I’m just so tired.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

#1
It was frigid outside. My bare legs were covered in goosebumps as I paraded through Manhattan wearing a slinky dress and delicate heels. I barely noticed the shivers running throughout my body. It must have been the vodka.
It was the night after Christmas and my family and I were headed to an authentic Cuban restaurant nestled perfectly within the city. We were invited in by an enticing live band, the potent aroma of Cuban cigars, and some seriously sexy waiters. We clumsily danced the night away.
I reached for my camera, in attempts to capture those precious moments. Instead, I knocked over two Mojitos and a Bud Light.

It was that night where I had witnessed my first drowning.
I helplessly watched my beloved cell phone suffocate in a sea of alcohol.

#2
I arose to the sound of a pure silence. It had been weeks since my last day off and I finally had the opportunity to give rest to myself as well as my alarm clock. The sun was slowly beginning to rise. I took a moment to gaze out the window and appreciate the stillness of my environment. I set out on a long jog to commence my day of freedom. I read my favorite trash magazines. I washed my hair. I shaved my legs. I painted my nails. I baked muffins. I even vacuumed. I dedicated those precious hours to bettering my emotional stability.

The night, however, arrived quickly. My glorious day had come to an end. I began preparing for my return to reality. I plugged in my laptop. I checked my work schedule. I got my books together.
I waited as long as I could until I had no other choice. I finally turned on my cell phone.

RING RING RING!
“What’s up?”
“Is everything okay?!?!?”
“Yah, why?”
“I’ve been calling you all day! And your phones been off. And I texted you. And you didnt text me back. And I even sent you a message on Facebook! I thought you were dead. Or mad at me!”

And back to reality…

#3
An unknown number.
Should I answer? Or should I ignore it? Maybe it’s that guy I met last week. Or maybe I won that BMW I saw at the mall. Or maybe it’s the director of the internship I’m trying to get.
I should answer the phone.
But what if it’s my boss. What if he wants me to come into work tonight. Or what if it is really that guy I met last week. Do I really want to talk to him now? I don’t think I liked him that much.
Maybe I’ll just let it go to voicemail.
But what if it’s really important? What if it’s someone who really needs me? What if something happened to my mom? Or my brother? Or someone else I love?

Panic takes over.

I have to answer that phone.

“Hello?”
“Hey, Todd?”


Wrong number...

"Sitting, Waiting, Wishing"

The sun is slowly setting in this Arizona sky. The sky is always so pretty here. Especially the sunrises. I love waking up early.

The traffic is steadily dissipating as rush hour comes to an end. I’m sure people can’t wait to get home to their families after a long day at work. They’ll probably have a nice dinner together. And talk about everything that happened that day. They’ll be laughing and smiling and savoring the moments they share with one another.
I miss my family.

A little girl is playing on the sidewalk. She has pink chalk in her tiny hand. She delicately draws a flower. Or at least I think it’s a flower.

I used to love playing with chalk. I used to love playing in general. Kids are so easily amused and I’m so envious of them for being so carefree.

I remember the days when I could sit on a swing all day long and be perfectly content. We would go to the same park everyday and challenge each other to see who could fly higher. I always felt like I won, even though I never got the highest.

I see a plane gliding through the clouds. Leaving Arizona. Gradually getting higher and higher until it just vanishes. I love planes. And I love airports. I always wonder where people are going. And whose waiting for them. I always wish someone would be waiting for me.

I love the feeling you get when you’re so close to your destination. You’re anxious and excited and nervous and relaxed all at the same time.

I can’t wait to get out of here.

Wasted Away Again in Margaritaville

It was another monotonous afternoon of serving chicken lettuce wraps and egg rolls. The dining room was gradually emptying as the masses of satisfied customers waddled out the doors. The clock nearly struck 4 o’clock as we anxiously awaited the arrival of the night shift. I cashed out my last table. Ripped off my apron. And bolted for the exit. Freedom at last.

“Arthi! Wait up!”

I panicked. I glanced behind me hoping that the voice was not associated with management or anyone that had the authority to make me stay longer.

Fortunately, it was just Chris. His charming smile and his laid-back vibe seemed to relax me a little bit. I let him catch up.

“Damn girl! What’s the hurry? Hot date tonight?”
“Ha, no. I just really had to get out of there today. Too many picky women. Too many screaming children. Too many assholes. And not enough tipping. If you’re gonna treat me like garbage… at least pay up at the end.”
“I feel ya. Well, hopefully tomorrows a better shift. In the meantime, how bout we go grab some margaritas at juan’s? My treat!”

Who am I to turn down a margarita? Especially a free one.

We made ourselves comfortable on the patio of Juan Jaimez, an upbeat bar just down the street from Chang’s. The sun shined bright and warmed our aching bodies. The sound of rush hour traffic filled the air and the aroma of savory tacos brought on some serious hunger pangs. I leaned back in my chair. Closed my eyes. And with that first sip of Juan’s classic, refreshing margarita, I let myself go…

The sun felt so good soaking into my bare skin. I drifted in and out of sleep with the sound of gentle waves playing in the background. The air was still with a cool breeze that seemed to present itself at just the right moments. My heartbeat was steady. My breathing was easy. I didn’t have a care in the world. Oh Mexico. Don’t let me let you go.

“Arthi? Arthi? ARTHI!”
“Oh my bad.” I shuttered.
“That margarita musta hit the spot, eh?

I guess you could say that…

Diary of a House Plant

We lived a beautiful life together for over eighteen years. And then the movers forgot to put me in their truck.

I came all the way to Arizona from a cozy suburb in Michigan, and instead of going with her to Baltimore, I got left behind. But I know she was sad. And I know she wanted to take me with her, but I was just too big to fit on a plane. My silk leaves surely would have been crushed by the low ceiling.

I heard her on the phone one evening.
“Please take my plant! I can’t give it away. It’s been with our family forever. It’s like one of my own children!
“Mom, I don’t want your stupid silk plant. It’ll be so out of place in my apartment.”
Click.

Where am I going?

My anxiety grew as her days in Arizona began to conclude. And then the phone rang again. And I all heard was…
“Oh you have no idea how happy that makes me! I really wanted to give this plant to someone I love and I promise it’ll look so nice in your apartment! Thank you so much for not making me give her away!”

Oh God, where am I going?

I now reside in the corner of a clean one-bedroom apartment with her daughter. It’s pretty lonely here. There’s no dog. There’s no noise . There’s barely any sunlight. She comes and goes frequently, and often sticks around only to have a cup of tea.

I wish I were in Baltimore with her mother. And her dog. I wish she loved me as much as her mom loves me. I wish she wasn’t gone so much and I wish she kept the lights on at night. I wish she bought more furniture so I didn’t feel so alone. I wish she turned the heat on and I wish she watched better shows on television instead of those stupid reality shows.

At least it always smells nice in here…

Not Quite the Fairytale.

I had envisioned a beautiful wedding. With lots of people. And bright enticing colors. The aroma of exotic spices would have filled the air as people graciously loaded up their fresh banana leaves with rich chutneys and steaming dosas. The old grandmothers would all be sitting together. Gossiping. How many children will she have? How will she learn to cook? Where will she set up her puja room? Little kids would be running around. Laughing. Playing. Unaware that soon enough they would be the ones playing bride and groom.
I had envisioned her wearing the most stunning sari. A fiery red layer of silk would have draped across her body accentuating her perfect figure. Her jet-black hair would have been neatly tied in a long braid dangling past her lower back, with crisp white jasmine flowers intricately woven in. Her arms and feet would have been elegantly decorated with henna designs, and her eyes would have sparkled just like those diamonds in her ears.
I had envisioned the wedding of my parents. Their relationship was so full of passion. And love. And affection. They were so deviant of the typical Indian couple. Their story reminded me of a fairytale. Or so I envisioned…
And then I remember hearing the real story. A quick prayer. A crammed temple. A faded sari. Not a family member in sight. My parents married against the blessing of society. They were of different classes and of different worlds. But they believed in themselves. In each other. And in their love. And I suppose that’s where I came into the picture?

Be Kind. Make up your Mind.

“I need you to listen very carefully. You may even want to write this down.”
She speaks to me as if I were seven-years-old. I quickly grab a pen out of my apron while smiling innocently. “I’m ready when you are!”
“I’m gonna need a glass of water and a glass of cranberry juice. I want ice in my water glass. Make sure its filled to the top with ice. I like a lot of ice. But I don’t want any ice in my cranberry juice. I want an extra glass on the side filled with ice. And make sure the ice is filled to the top. I also need lime. I need a lot of lime. And I need sweet n’ low. Do you have sweet n’ low? Cause if you don’t, I’m changing my order to a diet coke.”
This is gonna be a long day.
I return with beverages, glasses of ice, a bowl of limes, and another bowl of sweet n’ low. I even bring a diet coke, just in case she’s not completely satisfied with our sweet n’ low.
“Miss, are you ready to order? Or do you have any questions about anything?”
“I’m trying to eat light, what’s in the bikini shrimp salad?”
“A mixture of iceberg lettuce, our spring mixture, salt and pepper, grilled prawns, watermelon balls, candied walnuts, cilantro, and our bikini dressing, which is a little tart.” I hope to God that was right.
“Do you have any ranch?”
Seriously, this is a CHINESE RESTAURANT. We do not have ranch, nor do we have low cal options.
“No, I’m sorry! I can have the dressing brought to you on the side if you would like.”
“No that’s okay, I don’t want to have to mix it up myself. I’ll take the salad anyway. Just give me the half order.”
Half order?
“We actually don’t do half orders, but I can always box up any leftovers for you to enjoy later.”
“But then it’ll get all soggy. Do you have any other lighter options?”
“Our egg drop and hot and sour soup are pretty light choices. You can also get any of our dishes stock velveted, which is essentially cooking the meat using vegetable broth rather than oil so it cuts down the fat a lot. Any more questions?”
“No, that’ll do. I think I’ll just take a cup of the egg drop soup. That sounds good. And bring me some of those fried wonton strips on the side. And actually get me an order of the sweet and sour pork too. Oh. And don’t forget the white rice!”

And that was only my first table.

This is gonna be a REALLY long day.