Alaska
Hrishikesh Lamichhane
It was gloomier than usual. Alaska was on her table, facing the open window. I entered the room, lurking to see what she was doing. Very quietly, I approached her. Her room had that eerie vibe when I entered. It felt void and empty. It isn't new to me to see her room empty physically, but this time it felt empty. Seeing it empty didn’t bother me before, but now... It felt as though the books on her table had been moved. The wall looks empty like someone shredded her 'The Lumineers' tapestry. All pictures attached to her wall, including the one of John Green graphic posters with "Reading is AWESOME," are gone.
But one thing was the same. Alaska’s grandfather’s vintage record player and Taylor Swift’s pink vinyl from Lover. The music playing was similar to what I always hear her listening to, the same genre at least. Fourth track; cannot tell if she’s lost in imagination or sinking in reminiscence. There is one thing standing-by, as always though. A stack of tissue paper. There is no fourth track without a stack of tissue paper. There are no tears yet whatsoever. If I could recall correctly, the song was playing, it was slow, volume very low, very serene; and the lines were something like
“I've been the archer
I've been the prey"
"Alaska," I said
No answer.
I paused.
This time with a slightly higher decibel and an intonation, I repeated, "Alaska?"
She turned around. She smiled, faintly.
I came in to see what she was doing. It's the evening before her mother’s twelve years death anniversary. I came in to remind her how strong she is, how her mother must be so proud of her. But to be completely honest, I don’t think I will do justice to this act of niceness. I do not understand what it's like to lose a parent. And I can’t certainly imagine how it must feel to blame oneself for their death. I have had a rough path too but I am nothing compared to how strong she is. She is Alaska. She really is Alaska.
“Alaska?” I said, silently.
No answer.
I paused.
“I know;
I know you still remember the drive home;
when the blind hope turned to crying and screaming "Why?";
I know you remember that day, the day flowers piled up in the worst way, no one knew what to say;
I’m sorry. Alaska” I said to myself. Just to myself.
“Alaska?” I said, quietly. “How are you feeling?”
She smiled, faintly.
“Alaska had it rough. Poor soul. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know what to say.” I thought to myself.
"How will we ever escape the labyrinth of suffering?"
She turned around and asked, softly.
“Huh?”
"How will we ever escape the labyrinth of suffering?" The labyrinth…. Of suffering. Like there is so much suffering in the world. So much suffering within. And in between you and the world. It is all suffering. The people are suffering. The rivers, seas and the mountains are suffering. The women, the girls, the grandmas are suffering. The minorities are suffering, the majorities are suffering differently. The democrats and the republican are suffering; the economy is suffering. People who draft the policy are suffering; people who the policy impacts are suffering, the policies are suffering. The materialists suffer one way, the minimalists suffer the other. Do you not feel it; this feeling; this sinking feeling. Like sinking slowly. Breathlessly. This labyrinth. Filled with suffering. The past is filled with the wallows of suffering, and the present is wrapped with lamenting and the future is filled with fears of suffering. This labyrinth. How can I escape it, how can you escape it, how can we all?” She said–
“I was catching my breath
Staring out an open window
Catching my death
And I couldn't be sure
I had a feeling so peculiar
That this pain would be for
Evermore”
“Forgiveness” The single most powerful word. I said.
Do you really believe it when Taylor Swift says, “you don’t have to forgive and you don’t have to forget to move on. You can move on without any of those things happening”? That’s bullshit.
Alaska, it's like your jigsaw puzzle, everything is solved except that last piece is missing.
That last piece is forgiveness. You are perfect but without that last piece, you are merely “almost perfect”. Keep aside perfect, you’re complete. With that last piece, you’re complete. Bury those regrets, bury that remorse, never scratch that band aid covering your guilt. Accept it Alaska. Accept your flaws, accept the mere flaws a five year old possessed that night when she failed to save her mother’s life. Accept that the five years old Alaska would have done, if she could have done. Forgiveness it is, Alaska. Like I once did too, forgiveness. I said–
“Cold was the steel of my axe to grind
For the girl who broke my heart
Now I send their babies presents”
Forgive yourself, forgive others, forgive mother Earth. Alaska, that is how you get out of the labyrinth.
She looked at me, she paused. With no hint of expression on her face, she kept looking at me and she said–
“And I was catching my breath
Floors of a cabin creaking under my step
And I couldn't be sure
I had a feeling so peculiar
This pain wouldn't be for
Evermore”
She looked at me; she smiled.
She continued gazing into my eyes, gazing through my eyes.
“So does that mean you forgive Noora too, Natalie?” She added.
I –
I act as if I didn’t hear her.
I turn around and pretend to look outside the open window.
At the exact moment, we hear a knock at the door. Once. And there enters nonchalantly, Miles.
Alaska rolls her eyes, walks by her grandfather’s record player. She lowers the needle onto the Lover vinyl and lets Taylor Swift finish her fourth track. She passes a cigarette and a lighter to Miles. She passes me the stack of tissue paper.
