I decided to go to the graveyard in December. The last time I came here, it was summer, and I was in higher spirits. I was happier and with more possibilities in front of my ignorant eyes. This time I am cold, evasive with all the possibilities in the world and the sun shining brightly down on me.
It’s an old graveyard. Old enough that some of the older graves that no one comes to visit are being replaced by the dead for who there are people willing to cry. People who want the best land for them to be buried in, and who will come back to visit them. The place is old, and for the older ones buried is a waiting place until they are finally forgotten and no one comes to see them.
We try hard to deny the reality of death, and we try hard to keep the dead alive, and if not alive we try to honour their memory, as much as we can. It’s just not easy.
Outside my university, is a memorial that I came across that day. It was for a girl who died in an accident. It said that twenty-four trees were planted in her memory for the twenty four years she lived on this earth. Have we not forgotten this girl who I will not name? There are no trees at that place anymore, and the memorial is vandalized. On that lovely stone that is left and forgotten with her reminder is unjust fully spray painted with an advertisement. Is this not disrespect?
Must we disrespect the dead? And if we must, what is there for us to do to offend them with? How are they supposed to respond to us? And when everything is done how are we supposed to ask them to forgive us?
Were so suspicious about death, and we are afraid of it. Rightfully so, even if it is as natural as birth and life. Our existence is always in question, life feels so timeless, stretched out and often in the time of sleep unreal. Death is only thing that lets us know we are alive, and that one day we will cease to be.
And perhaps that is the center and the finish line to all our fears.
They say girls aren’t supposed to visit the graveyard. I go any way. I’m not trying to offend anyone and I’m not trying to prove anything.
But there is nothing to be afraid of. Of all the harm the living inflict on you and all the danger that follows people around, why be suspicious of something that isn’t there.
There’s nothing there. Nothing but the fading memories of the dead.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Maybe a sign or a reminder.
Why does everything I love have to become a target for you?
It’s ironic. When I was at the graveyard, my father was at a funeral. He came there to pick me up, and in his voice was a nervous laughter. Yesterday was the day all those kids were killed.
And we are driving away and lighting candles for them.
That funeral was for a boy. He was 26. Died of a heroin overdose. He was only son. Went to a good school. Had the world and everything ahead of him. He’s gone now.
When is it the right time to let go?
I keep thinking of Ramiz from time to time. Since what happened a few weeks ago, I had to change things about what I said.
It means more than it should to me.
I had a fight again last night. I said things I should never have. Don’t know why I did.
I hope God doesn’t take it seriously, I didn’t mean any of it.
I still need to apologize for everything.
I can go to any grave.
Except the one where my family members are.
Maheen's Muse 