#8. One Picture. One Story. || The Dress.

WARNING: Look carefully at this picture because it has so much to tell you.

source: http://golden-versxce.tumblr.com/

          They say it is worth it, all the hard work and constant anguish is worth it. That all those tortuous months are repaid by a few minutes. That momentary happiness encroached to us is unique, in that window of time,  we are special and we are blessed to be able to possess that allurement. I believed it, I grew up with the thoughts of that special moment, 'my' moment, jostling in my mind, I grew up with the excitement of wanting to experience that kind of happiness, but now, after three years of forced smiles and faked obedience, I wasn't so sure and it is for that reason only, I am here, standing still in front of a door with a sign saying 'EXIT', ironies of life.

           I was hesitant.

        I was afraid of taking the wrong decision, my palms were sweaty but I felt that if I did otherwise I would lose myself forever. My body no longer belonged to me and that made me choke in the gloomy darkness that prevailed, uncomfortable to the bone. Feelings that were stuck in my head for quite some time now but which I wasn't able to get out of my mind.

        But not today.

      I had been chosen to be the showstopper, the model deserving enough to wear the dress that would close the show of the trendy fashion designer of the season and that privilege was taking its toll on me . Months of hidden anguish, intensive working out every day, diets, tests ... I had been torn apart to to fit into that dress. It seemed like the roles had been reversed and the dress had become a human being who had to find the perfect clothes, and those 'perfect' clothes were me, I had to shape myself so that I would fit in the dress. But I couldn't complain, I was fortunate, they said.

    After many months of work, the result, the feeling of having achieved the goal lasted only for a few seconds, the time that takes you to walk through the catwalk wearing the dress. Seconds in which the pressure and anxiety were palpable in the air. Because, ironically, the protagonist weren't you but the dress, you were only the necessary means to show it, like some disposable item.

   The fashion show, and with it the whole event was over. My work here was done, but I wasn't sure I wanted to go through it once again, that I wanted to go back into the world of fashion.

        I was lost in my thoughts when a feminine voice interrupted me, asking me for help, she gestured at me so that I would accompany her. I was dragged to the bathroom and there I found another one of us, another model, lying on the floor. The demands and pressure had failed her. You could tell she had not eaten in a long time and that the little food she managed to force down her throat had taken care to expel itself as vomiting. I was told that she had fainted, and as a result, had received a blow on her head. I went outside and asked for help from the event managers, who after several shouting matches from me, had paused their celebrations long enough to call an ambulance. When I saw that peace was beginning to be restored, I  walked away from the bustle. I wasn't able to do anything else.

      This whole situation had rushed my decision and without even showing a sign of doubt, I walked out the door for good. That simple act gave me back my dreams, made ​​me feel like myself again, the owner of my body and soul. I closed my eyes in contentment as the breeze tousled my hair and the sun's rays caressed my face.

     At the same time as I walked out of the door, at the same time as I undid the chains bounding me to that world, other girls, some with less than 20 years of life behind them, went through the door, walking inside the building, condemning themselves to become mere objects, mere means to distribute a product.

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All the stories found in this blog are written by both of us, and are original. Don't use them without asking our permission first.

#7 One Picture. One Story. || The Price of Poverty

WARNING: Look carefully at this picture because it has so much to tell you. 

                                           image source: www.google.com

            I could n’t sleep. My limbs were jittery, my fingers numb with exhaustion. I rolled around on the tattered excuse for a matteress for the millionth time. I could hear my mother swearing at me to ‘stay put or get the hell out’. I couldn’t blame he, she juggled three jobs a day. Not wanting to piss her off anymore, I forced my body to cooperate, and scooted further under the dusty cloth. In the dim light coming from the lamp across the street, I could make out the cobwebs lining the corners of the room. The walls once used to be white, but after suffering the weight of spills, five chidren and a fire, one could call them a grey shade of black. I could feel the dusty grimy floor as my fingers wiped it clean, no one was bothered by it anyway.

        

         The children stayed indoors all day, the streets in this part of the town were dangerous. That was why she was even able to pay the rent. Sometimes, if you were careful enough, you could sweep down and peep through the keyhole to watch the latest fight. Blood was splattered, weapons fished out, and a colorful string of obsceneties thrown, often about each others’ wives and mothers. I once tried asking the meaning to one from mother, and the stinging slap that followed, left me with a swollen cheek for days. I was careful afterwards.

         

        I was the bigger one, at 12, The rest that followed, were Maria 7, Hina 5 and Shahbaz and Amir, the twins, 3. This meant, I could go outside, as long as I stayed out of the bullies’ way. They wouldn’t want to pick on a scrawny awkward kid like me, my father had once remarked.  He had his motives so, since he was the one always asking me to go grab another paan or a new pack of cigarettes. Sometimes if the cheaper brand was available, I had just enough pennies left to buy a candy, or even a bar of cheap chocolate, if I was lucky. I hid in a sideways street and ate my treat ravishly, trying to make it last, as long as possible. A sweet harmony enveloped my tongue and trickled down my throat. After that, I went without a drop of water as long as I could, not to wash the taste away. But one look at the childrens’ dirty drooling faces and matted hairs as I went back, sent me drowning into a pool of guilt. I swore that next time, I’d share the sweet with them, but the greed always overcame the resolve.

         

            My reverie was broken by shuffling at the door, there was only one person trying to unsuccessfully open the door at this hour. I carefully made my way to attend to the issue, before any of the children woke and started crying those endless tears they stored in some infinite pool inside. As I unloked the door, I found my jobless father, in all his glory, standing there. His clothes were ruined, suggestive of some fight he must have gotten involved in. As he drawled, his breath reeked of alcohol, I had to force myself not to gag. His horrible attempt at some old song was the only sound penetrating the chilly cold, And then he dropped down at my feet. Sighing, I shoved him inside and left him to fall into deep slumber on the cold floor. He probably deserved it since he was going to make the day even  more miserable now, owing to the hangover that would follow,

Suddenly exhausted, I drooped down onto the pillow and before I knew it, I was far off, in the world of my dreams, where only, I found peace.

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All the stories found in this blog are written by both of us, and are original. Don't use them without asking our permission first.

#6 One Picture. One Story. || I'm not homless anymore

WARNING: Look carefully at this picture because it has so much to tell you. 

image source: www.airesmateus.com

"I have always been alone. I have always felt lonely even when I wasn't alone at all. People telling me they will be there for me but disappearing when I most needed them. I could see life pass through me without meaning. I met people who weren't able to give me the feeling I was looking for. They weren't able to reach to the deepest of my soul, and most of the time I wondered if it was because they didn't try harder, or it was because I built a wall so that they couldn't reach me.

I never had a place to call home, someone with whom I felt myself. My soul was craving that feeling. 

Loneliness. 

That feeling was consuming me. I was dying slowly without even realizing it. Every step I took, every decision I made was drowning me more and more. 

That's why when I reached to this place I couldn't believe that I have been living my life anywhere but here. The sky filled most of the landscape, a vivid blue, clear sky. A sky containing the brightest sun I had seen. The land, plain, with pasture for livestock was fertile and healthy. The sound of air moving leaves reached my ears, the birds chirping. My heart was filled with excitement and joy. 

Never thought a place like this could get to exist. 

I never thought I would end up calling home to a place like this. 

Finally my soul  found that feeling that it was craving. 

I was happy."

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All the stories found in this blog are written by both of us, and are original. Don't use them without asking our permission first.