The Brightest Star

By Juspreet Kaur

“Vincent Van Gogh cut off his ear to silence the voices in his head” was the first thought on my mind as I woke up. Some individuals, I think the majority of us, aren’t friends with the voices in our heads.

This apartment looks like a hippie commune these days. The sound of the shower running- someone’s in my bathroom. Three girls on my bed and a guy on my futon- wait, did he scratch my silk gown or was it my cat? My brain is on the verge of exploding.

I heard a stern voice behind me, “Morning coffee. I bought you some fruits. They’re on the kitchen slab.” James is here. If this is a dream, I’d rather stay asleep forever. I can’t help but stare at him, marvel at his beauty.

“Just take your coffee. I’m out of here.” He muttered. When did his voice grow hoarse? I need to say something pleasant to see whether we're all right. "Are you going to work?" "When will you be back?" His expression darkened instantaneously. "God, I'm not doing this again," he yelled, giving me his old hard gaze. “How high were you last night? I told you we’re done!” He stormed out, leaving the door wide open.

Right. It’s coming back to me in flashes- Elvis dancing with Riya and Sasha. Rishi got too drunk, played poker with my cat. James appeared to be in high spirits at first but he began throwing words at me, “You need to get over this…love yourself…You do realize this is the last time I’m seeing you, right?” Who says this after spending hours being affectionate with someone?

Everything in and around me was enveloped in an unfathomable numbness. My heart was racing too quickly, and my surroundings were foggy. Hearing vivid colors and seeing chaotic black and white lines and dots like you see on a broken television screen. He offers me a caramel latte before telling me he's leaving me for good? This makes no sense. I couldn’t utter a word after all these years. I just broke down.

Self-love and romantic love, in my judgment, are completely separate concepts. The word “love” correlates them but we humans cannot substitute one for the other. I admire myself enough. I've made excellent strides—would You believe I haven't tried suicide in over a year? Spinning back to the main concern: there are some pleasures only romance and art can provide that self-love cannot. It’s a whole different enigma and, no, I am not depressed. Jamie and I have broken up probably twenty times? He’ll come around.

Elvis stepped out of the shower looking so clean that I thought he hadn't showered in a month. "I heard that. Don't you think it's time to call it quits on this entire thing? "I mean it." He snatched my coffee and took a loud sip. I feel sick to the bone every time someone says this,” You know when it comes to Jamie, I…”

Elvis interrupted me,” Trust me, I’m more into males than you’re and I know when he doesn’t care or love you. I'm not saying he never did, but given my experience with you both, this is not love. Not anymore. I sense a karmic relationship- don’t even give me that ‘he is different, I worship him. Don’t look away. How long will you continue to deny reality? You need help and we are all running late for work. Let’s get going.”’ He ends with a sigh. I want to say something but I can’t find the words. I trust Elvis more than I have believed in anyone lately. He’s pretty upfront at times but I think he’s the only human who hasn’t abandoned me.

I arrived two hours late at work, wishing not to get fired today. Boss tolerates this because she knows I’d top the sales anyway. So what if I fall sick often? I’m like a cyborg when I recover. Just when I was about to put my phone on DND, my phone chimed. A text. “Afternoon, champ. I’ve been occupied these days so, just checking up on you. You haven’t visited in three weeks. Is everything good?”

What am I supposed to tell my doctor? I was locked in my house, eventually ended my relationship with the "love of my life," and now I'm flunking college? I gathered some courage to type that everything’s going great, at least manageable and I’ll get an appointment soon. That was enough for him to figure out I’m going crazy.

“Come by my chamber tomorrow. My housekeeper is on vacation, and you know how bad I am at cooking. "Unless you bring take-out, don't expect to have lunch here." How does he manage to live alone? Strange.

"I'll bring you some Chinese, dude. Take it or leave it."

My eyes were fixated on the laptop screen for so long that the second I raised my head and peered out the window, the sky was already painted a pastel pink hue with streaks of crimson piercing through the orange clouds. People have started decorating the localities two weeks before Christmas. Everything about these lanes reminds me how Jamie and I spent our last Christmas- bickering and growing apart.

Nevertheless, I still love the wintry breeze that’s hitting my face every now and again. I adore the city lights and everything about this city. Jamie and I had delightful memories too. Those days when I felt alive and more in love with myself than I had ever been. Strolling down the boulevard, going on long drives after work, hitting the closest café nearby, and how can I forget the carnival! Oh, how much fun we had! You should have seen the look on his face the whole time we were on the Ferris wheel. He loathed it so deeply that it was hilarious! Reminiscing the old days never fails to put a smile on my face but the smile didn’t last long.

Across the street, barely two buildings away, I saw them- holding hands while browsing the same book store where I used to take him on Sundays. The same numbness crept in again- a searing agony in my chest, stomach tied in knots, my lungs failing me, and my legs giving way. It’s getting too dark again. I struggled to get to the phone and dialed the number I had been avoiding for three weeks,” I need to see you. Now.”

My therapist has been both a friend and a doctor to me. That, I believe, is why he frequently agrees to visit me on such short notice. I used to spend hours in his house. One could view the beautiful palm trees through the glass windows in the living room. He designed his chamber in Victorian style, on his own- dark ebony wood furniture, walls with a black-gray-sanguine color scheme, and an abundance of books. The 14th-century British dramas in hardwood copies always catch my eye. Everything about him is dark, except his spirit and you’d know it when he greets you with the warmest grin. I’ll just get straight to the point. “I saw them. The new girl is lovely...” He interrupted at once, “…and you called me. Where do you want to go with this? I can’t convince myself to keep reassuring you for another four months just to end up watching you go on another self-destructive spree and wreck your life. Do you intend to fix this? You decide today. Right here.”

I think I should take my last encounter with James as my only source of closure. “The girl isn’t new. I don’t think I can compromise with my self-esteem over again and try to fix him or our relationship, whatever it used to be. But, you know what happens, don’t you? I’m okay for four days then I start hearing his voice, seeing his face on every other human I meet, and I look for him when I observe myself in the mirror. Do you think I’m suffering because I sold my soul to the devil in exchange for obsession and ethereal aesthetics? Why do I feel this melancholy? I glance up at the sky and remember how his face lit up every time he looked at the clouds drifting over the full moon. Once, I told him proudly enough that he is the brightest star, and there’s only one of so many of them. You could stand anywhere on Earth and that star will be the most noticeable- you’d catch a glimpse of it every time you gaze above. I might never discover another passion like this again. Oh God, I’m going to collapse.”

He shoved a glass of water towards me and there was a high-pitched deafening silence for five minutes. I’m sure that even his dog could hear the pounding of my heart. When he finally spoke, a strange sense of calm engulfed me. “My child, there is no quick fix to this but there’s something that binds the two of us at this moment- a sense of loss and longing. We have lost so much, and as humans, we yearn for things we aren't even sure to exist. People like us grieve our dead memories each day but, tell me, is remembering someone who’s no longer a part of our existence too remorseful??

You’ll meet more people and get infatuated with them, perhaps they'll fall in love with you as well. What did these books and movies teach you? Don't you realize that love is nothing but dumb luck? You’re just twenty-three years old. No, don’t shrug your shoulders like that- hear me out:

No matter where you stand on this planet, the brightest star in the sky can be seen from anywhere. There’s no denying its presence but do you have any idea how many stars you’ll witness when you move to another planet? Brighter stars, bigger stars. God, you romanticize stars so much. I envy the youth. Yes, you can laugh but you get my point, smarty.” His voice became more exhilarated and full of energy and his eyes began to sparkle at this point as he added, “If you can’t replace the brightest star, just move to another planet. We all know you'd discover more stars if you stood on Mars or Venus and looked up at the sky. Yes? When you marvel at the Milky Way and the galaxies of life, the Earth will appear as a minor yet significant phase. There will be fewer regrets, more tranquility. Till then, I’m here, your friends are here too. What do you have to lose? Perhaps it's time to rediscover yourself.”

That evening, I didn’t go home. I asked Elvis and my friends not to wait for me because I’d be out late. The crisp wind had new, distinct energy to it. The moon had already begun to share her light with those who had waited patiently to see her, and she gleamed so magnificently, throwing a lovely dream-like enchantment everywhere.

On a whim, I decided to go to the same bookstore. By that time, James and the girl had left. I asked a stranger nearby to take a picture of me with this store in the background. Then, I went to every single place Jamie and I used to go, strolled down every single lane, and took photographs by myself in every nook we used to hang out. The heaviness in my heart was still present but I felt something unique, something I had been aching to experience for the previous five years. A mild taste of emancipation, perhaps. It was nearly 11 p.m. when I arrived at the last destination: a lonely bench at the slopes of a cliff. The entire city is visible from here; it's like hiding in a mini-forest and observing the city-dwellers. This is where we met and spent our late evenings stargazing together.

I should have yelled at him for leaving too early. Over the last year, specifically, I had my doubts about him. Shrill voices screeching into my ears, “You’re not meant to be together.” “He is not the one anymore.” Although these voices never seemed to make sense back then, they do now.

People claim that the greatest approach to avoid relapse is to never go back to the same areas or hang out with the same people you used to. When you're attempting to recuperate, a decent doctor will tell you the same thing. What exactly am I doing here? Trying to prove myself that I am no longer spineless. I choose to not be weak-willed. The same aggression is resurfacing. It’s either this wrath or the panic attacks, and I’d rather live with rage and utilize it as fuel for life than die every single day.

The sound of foxes howling somewhere near me did not frighten me. I felt better, more at ease. And then, it hit me. A part of me would call this a narcissistic moment and another would term it as a deep juncture of the ultimate realization. Everything I felt was entirely my own creation. I am always on the lookout for beauty in things and people. I look at something from a different angle. An enchanting point of view, in my opinion. The person I lost, who refused to be with me no matter how hard I tried, was just a part of it- a tiny piece of a bigger picture. It was uncomplicated- Person A didn't want to stay with person B.

I gave life to love. I let love in.

We have nothing in common, but I keep seeing his face when I look in the mirror. I associated the notion of beauty with him since I admired him a lot during my school days when I was deeply traumatized and despised every single human being. I mirrored him and he mirrored me. I had an irrational fear of dying without him but, parts of us are born and they die every day. My devotion and obsession for him ran too deep. I kept trying to show him I’d become a better person but it didn't matter to him- why couldn’t he see it? Not my concern anymore. He needed closure so I'm left with no choice but to accept this as my closure.

Even if the tiny piece doesn't stay in my life, I would view the things in the same beautiful manner. I'm the same person who recognizes art in the most mundane things. Even though I'm alone, I still feel the moon is gorgeous, and I enjoy gazing at the stars. The things I am passionate about are inside me and I have always been whole, never broken.

This way, I found God within me, within every person and everything that surrounds us. Whether people want to connect to their higher selves and heal is up to them. I can't save everyone but I can surely try to show them the way and share my light. In the end, it's all about my subjective experiences. I am destined for better things in life. There's still a lot to discover. So, I release all toxicity. I release all inhibitions. I let go of all my fear, anxiety, sadness, and guilt.

I reached home around 2 a.m. and made sure to slide in smoothly without waking up anyone. The disco lights were still on in the hall, Elvis and all my other companions were sound asleep. I wrapped a couple of blankets around them since it was getting too cold and windy. My cat walked over to me and brushed her head on my leg. "Let's snuggle up close tonight, Dori, I don't want any nightmares," I said as I took her up in my arms. “You're going to protect me, right?" Dori meowed softly, we dozed off gradually with the windows open. The soothing melody of wind chimes lulled us to a peaceful slumber, the type of sleep I'd been yearning for years.

By Juspreet Kaur