04.

Dear little girl,

I don’t know what it likes to live with a scarred face. Not that I don’t have scars in mine, but they are little and most of the time, invisible to many. I have an average face. A face that gets lost in the crowd because it’s neither pretty nor ugly. A face that doesn’t get much attention. And I am just thankful to the crowd.

I realize that you might not be able to get away in the crowd now. Your friends will ask you about the scar in your lips and even give some comments about it. Your crowd will always talk about your scar, your neighbors will tell a story about it to their kids and your teachers will ask you every year when you go to higher level. There will be people who will laugh at it, people who will give an awkward smile because they feel sorry for you, they will murmur to themselves with a pitiful eyes and some will just remain silent.

You might find yourself alone in those times. You might be jealous of those pretty girls with flawless faces that have no scars. You might hate all those attentions your scar brings to you, all for the wrong reasons. You might get angry at yourself at times, at your fate, at your face but mostly at your scars. You might cry to sleep, you might think your mother and brother doesn’t understand you, that no one really knows what you are feeling.

But believe me, you are not alone. And I am not just bluffing or telling this in a vague term. I have a friend with an incomplete cleft in her upper lips and she shares how she is scared to meet new people because they will be asking her about it. Unlike those people are me who simply doesn’t notice it till she mentions. I have another friend who loves counting scars on his face and recount the stories. But reaching to his level will be a long and hard journey.

You will have to pass the point where you are affected by comments from people. You will have to accept the scars and even love them. Be proud of them. You will have to believe that people will love you despite those scars. And not doubt them at all. You will have to learn how to love yourself, over and over again. To reach his level, you will have to have patience and endurance and they are one hard thing to have. But that doesn’t mean you will not reach that level at all. You will, one day. If you let yourself to reach there.

And even if you cannot, even if you feel insecure and inferior and utterly helpless, know that you are not alone. Even if you feel unpretty and ugly, it’s okay. I will forever remind you of how¬†this will never matter, how this is just a stupid perception people have, you have. How, what really matters is what you are from inside – a strong, independent, creative genius – who is loved by her people.

Know that what you look and how many scars you have isn’t a really big deal in this world. The big deal is how many people smiled because of something you did or said, how many of them feels great when you are around because you are always making them laugh with your silly antics and dances and how they will always love you for this.

I hope, when you are my age, or even before that, you will realize that all this flawless beauty is fake. What is really beautiful is scars and wounds. What is really real is being human with flaws, who is not afraid to make mistakes. What is really perfect is being imperfect.

Love,
Me.

 

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An open letter to Bipul Chettri

Dear Bipul,

I have a confession to make – I am not your biggest fan. Not compared to few of my friends or other people, who know each word of your song. Not compared to many who waited in line or tried every way to get your CD first. But I am still your big fan.

I don’t listen to your songs every day. I do when I need someone the most. When I cannot write a single word to express what I am feeling. When I am feeling almost nothing – the emptiness taking me with it. These are the moments, when I need to listen to someone, take my mind off the stupidest things I could ever think. These are the moments, when I listen to you because you bring these emotions out of me, even when I feel nothing.

I remember listening to you for the first time. Few years ago, a friend from States send me the no-longer-available YouTube link of Wildfire. I got immediately hooked because of the lyrics and the tone of the song. The song is a sad one but you have written it in such a fun way that it doesn’t sound like a sad song at all. While Asaar is full of nostalgia because of the way you sang it. But that’s not the point here. The point is how I feel about your songs and that’s what this letter is all about.

I have no idea why but your song has such an intimate touch. That every time I hear it, I forget about everything else. I want to immediately sit with a pen and a notebook and start scribbling whatever I can think of. That every time I hear it, I feel this urge of wanting something so bad – a good book, a good movie or just a good friend to spend a day with. Every time I listen to your songs, I feel my heart go heavier not with sadness but with your story.

I don’t know how you write all these songs. I don’t know where you get your inspirations from. But for the last few months, you’ve been my go to guy in case I can’t write a poem or a story. Because you remind me that I need to share my stories to the world. Because you bring all of my stories alive.

Dear Bipul,

Thank you for deciding to release your music to the world. Your songs make my life beautiful. Thank you for coming to Kathmandu the second time. Because yes, I missed your concert for the first time because of other priorities. But mainly, thank you for writing these songs. I hope one day, I can write as good as you if not better. I hope one day, someone will be able to read my story and get inspired to write their own in the middle of it. I hope one day, someone will write a letter like this one to me.

Thank you.

Love.

P.S. I have written letters to only 5 people till now (if the New Yorker was a person) and you are one of them.

A phone call.

I am sitting at my desk,
staring at my computer screen
trying to figure out the word I need
to complete my essay about family
when my phone rings.

It’s your number
and I wonder
what’s going on.
this is not the usual time for you to call
(it’s 2 pm and you wouldn’t call me till it’s 6
to check why I haven’t yet
reached home).

I panic.

Anything might have happened
it might be some freaking kind of emergency
to you, her.
So I take the call
you are freaking out
your voice shaking.

“What’s wrong?” I ask slowly,
taking long breath.

“Did you know?” you’d ask me instead
and I would say “Yes.”

And then you’d start swearing,
cursing for not telling
you all this time.

You are crying
because you have just one month
You have just fell in love with her.
With her eyes
and her smile
and her voice that isn’t perfect
but she likes to sing anyway.
And the worst is you don’t know
if she feels the same.

I tell you to calm down
but tears are running down from my eyes
“Write a love letter”
I suggest and
I wait.

“I can’t believe
that I broke her heart
and now I am trying to mend
right when it’s damn too late.”
You say
before cutting off the phone.

 

I am here to understand.

Write to me about what hurts. Write to me every time you feel sad or you just want to cry. Write everything, every little details. Write me long letters or emails or just posts. You can also write when you’re happy or you discovered something exciting or you found what you were looking for. Write to me when you are excited or inspired or just full of smiles.

If you can’t write then send me your doodles. Tiny sketches and pattern on the side of your notebook when you were bored. Squares, circle or just scribbles when you were angry. Tiny figures with tears stains or coffee.

You can also send me the music you’d just recorded. The notes and tunes you just played. I will move with it. I will sway. I will close my eyes and listen to it with all my heart trying to understand.

You.

Because that’s the only thing I want to do. I am here to understand. To know. What you are going through. All the places you’ve been through, all the roads you’ve taken. All the nooks and the darkest corners of your mind. I want to know them all. So that I can know You. Because I am here to understand – what it feels like to live with a burning soul, a broken dream, a shattered heart.

Because I want to know all your thoughts. I am not obsessed about it but I always believed I am here to listen, to read, to learn and to understand what you feel. Because I just want to know. Because I am here to understand.

Dear you,
Let me take this opportunity to invite myself to your place (or anywhere in the world) this Friday because we have lot to share ;). And I am not sure how’s your phone acting on and I feel lazy to email so I am writing this post (I planned on this before trying your phone :P)

Dear you,
I bumped into this tumblr. I discovered something recently and I loved what I saw. Learnt something about my love and couldn’t be happier.

Dear you,
It takes me immense pleasure to say that you are reaching there wherever you wanted to reach. Few more steps away. Few more paths and ways. Your poems are cuter and amazing, better than before.

Dear you,
I miss you very much. I miss you so bad that I am re-listening to all the John Mayer’s songs I have in my playlist for I know only you would understand.

Dear you,
I am in love with you again. Again and again. And I know you are in love with me too.

Yours,
Blank State
(for you can write your name on me anytime you want to)