Kiki's Daffy Little Life

Just Two Thoughts For This Time

Sat cross-legged in the middle of the mess, in a sloppy t-shirt that almost swallowed the pair of soft cotton shorts was Kalki Indrajith—endearingly known as Kiki by her friends, and devotedly known as amma by her best dog Badusha—with her full fringe almost covering up her bespectacled eyes—just as messy as the room and her mind, at the moment.

A deep mahogany colored hardbound book was wide open on her lap, the free end of the pages and her wavy, purple balayage bob fluttering whenever the black table fan opposite to her swung from Badusha to her with its laborious low grumble.

Kalki sniffed her nose, as she pressed her palm to the flapping page-ends, while she brushed her other palm rushed to brush off the tear drop that slipped down her pudgy cheeks. At a useless attempt to restrain a hogshead of tears, Kalki's chin and dry lips started quivering, as her throat tightened as if the sorrow had had its snag around her neck, in an inescapable clench.

Another hot tear rolled down from her other cheek, prompting her to swipe it away with the back of her hand, as the letters—the string of words they created, printed on the book on her lap blurred more as she blankly stared at them through a sheen of hot tears.

Kalki urgently pulled out her square framed glasses, and roughly brushed her face on her sloppy sleeve, just like that and thrust her glasses back on.

As her eyes fell back on the page, Kalki's throat tightened again in a paralyzing clench as she blew a whale of breath out of her mouth, in order to loosen her throat, and rolled her eyes to stop them from getting watered again, in an ineffective attempt.

He did not deserve to die. Every time she came to this part of the book, it hit her—like always, it hurt her in ways she found dissimilar to the last time she'd read the part. With every re-read, the grief and the repressed, bleak emotions of the warrior prince in the book haunted her more.

Like the quicksand it was, the morass of raw emotions and helplessness that he had gone through in the story helplessly sucked Kalki into the story and anchored her into it.

If she were in the story, she'd hoped she could have helped him by gently steering him to therapy. No, she did not have romantic feelings for the prince.

What she had was a very human feeling!

The repentance, self-shaming, guilt and the repressed love he'd had within himself was so ginormously heavy that it had crushed his soul and life in the story—her favorite story.

It was the way she'd felt when she'd read the book for the first time when she was twelve, several years ago.

Now, at twenty nine, the feeling was still the same—if not even more.

Oftentimes, Kalki felt things deeply. No matter if it was happening to a fellow human, or a wonderful, little animal, or a non-existent fictional character—who was very existent to her—she felt their emotions a little too deeply. She'd always wanted to listen to them, be affirmative to them, hold a safe space for them to share their lived experiences—which might—she believed—embolden them to come back to that space.

And, as she grew up she started learning what mental health support might mean to someone struggling with it. She also discovered that by listening to them without judgements, empathizing with them, and co-creating a space for it with them, she would be present with them—with a little gentle prodding and unmatched support from her side—as they tried to understand themselves better, nurtured their health and hope to lead their lives.

What she'd wanted to do for the warrior prince whenever she read the book, she was now doing it for humans who sought help from her.

Despite sitting amidst such a mayhem of a half-packed, half-scattered living room, and despite having to complete packing the whole house before tonight—because she was moving to a different place tomorrow morning, Kalki couldn't move on from the prince's death or halt herself from reading the book further, though she knew by heart what was about to happen in it.