You find yourself in a strange place. You blinked and the moment you opened your eyes, you found a firefly resting on the bridge of your nose and flinched. As the firefly flies away, you see this bizarre world as you follow its tail. In front of you is a yellow bridge over a pond to what you suspect to be a shrine of some sort with a man wearing a black tee and black pants standing in front of it. Before you contemplate approaching the stranger, you notice that you’re standing in what you assume is a garden with “flowers”. On closer inspection, you notice that these flowers are amethysts sprouting from the ground in different sizes. It then comes to your mind that it is night time and looking at the sky, you see the Moon in its full, golden glory with stars taking different shapes. This pleasant view infatuates you. You walk towards this man, thinking he is the architect of such a design. He turns around as soon as you stand behind him. He smiles and greets you.

I welcome you, to my Amethyst Garden.

I once asked a friend of mine what her “inner world” looks like. She told me it’s an ocean. Being quick-witted, I asked if the waves were shallow or deep. She laughed and responded that the waters were deep enough to drown you in its humble embrace. 

Inner worlds exist in us all. I believe that deep in our souls, there is a world we construct that fits with what we think is an abstraction of ourselves. When I asked that question to my friend, my world was a starry void. Of course, it changed since then as a year later I thought my world was a city that would infinitely break and rebuild itself to what now is the conclusive world I have created where you stand. I always had trouble figuring out my thoughts and by extension, the substratum known as my soul. Or call it an act of sheer pretentiousness to have something that can be considered “abstract”.

The world you see now is not what I consider to be my soul itself. Rather, this is a resting ground for a part of me that has passed away. In front of me is his grave. This may seem bizarre to you, as a part of me would mean a division of my soul, which conceptually is impossible to consider. But what you may not understand is that your soul changes, a statement that would make ancient philosophers try me in a court of nonsense (which would be entertaining if the penalty revoked me of talking about whatever’s on my mind as that would be relieving for a lot of people). Your soul changes by what you and I consider to be pivotal events in our lives. “Canon” is the slang most appropriate for most to understand. The first such event for me would be the time I rambled about being a failure with no worth to the world, something all of us have done. I, however, season a bit of grandiose to my platter of poignancy. 

I have not invited you to lament over the past, but I must go back and forth a bit longer before we go back to the present. A part of my soul faded away for good at the height of cherry blossoms. As his body collapsed so did the city, except it did not rebuild itself as it did infinitely. It was never close to completion, but it sustained itself for a great deal before the blaze burned away. You may have noticed an asymptotic relationship here and yes, the city always kept approaching, but never approached, the worlds beyond our skies. 

I found him lying on his back under rubble. Carrying him on my back, I took him to a forest far from civilization. After walking for a few hours, I found a land full of amethyst beside a pond blessed by the eternal night. I took an axe and after two months of unwavering resilience, I built this garden. I buried my friend and hoped for a slumber that, if possible, soothe his soul. By now I believe you may have gotten an idea of what my rhetorics entailed. I shall leave that to your interpretation.

The problem I face now, however, is rebuilding whatever he has left unresolved. A big heart is often the root of all regrets as my emotional friend’s regrets have left burns all over my body. I am apathetic to attachment of any sort as I find myself rationalizing even a fickle disorder to be manageable. What I mean, in a much simpler jargon, is I like to control all possible actions to prevent any consequences later. Naturally, my role is best suited to minimizing the damage my friend has left. But the damage I’m afraid is far more powerful than what I could hope to sprinkle some of my absent optimism to navigate through. The damage left is a labyrinth of such constructs that even Daedalus would foam in awe. 

You must be wondering, why amethysts? There is a funny story to this so bear with me. My mother once asked a fortune teller to read my fortune. 

“He will be a very influential man. However, he must be wary of cars. I believe giving him an amethyst to hold will protect him”, he said as he swallowed a spoonful of pudding.

What idiocy. I will never amount to anything major in my life, and that is an objective truth. 

These amethysts are mesmerizing to look at sometimes. They do not protect me or grant me any sort of power. I kept them because these stones are ones I find to not invoke any kind of disregard for my fallibility as a human being.

I have started to practice this habit of refusing to trade my sentiments for someone else’s. I simply do not waste a minute of my day tending to my friend’s final abode by grieving the scars another soul has sustained. The people I recognize to exist can handle their battles so there is no reason for me to contribute to their wellbeing any more than a listener.  It may surprise you if you’re familiar with me on a first-name basis to hear such audacity, but it’s true. As I told you, I am not my late friend who you may have showered praise for. 

Of course, I maintain humility from my end just like any other person, but I am burdened by a strife that I cannot complain about. Complaining is the soul’s flaw in design and silence is its armor. The human course of action to do right now would be for me to let my imprisoned tears escape from the hatches of my eyes and let my mind sink into despair. Unfortunately, while I do sense despair in the deepest corner of my soul, it is simply a feeling that shall pass. If not today, then it will pass tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then someday. All forms of despair disappear eventually and you could very well accelerate that by simply doing what you must. It is pointless as you and I both know, I will make the same mistake eventually.

Do you find my lack of confidence repulsive? You better. I have nothing to deliver to the world but words and promises. I once told someone they would find me on billboards someday. Isn’t that comical? Right now, whatever mess I have created in my life is a result of my fears getting the best of me. Loneliness and struggle are two such fears that, ironically enough, pushed me to them. Now I stay far from the sight of anyone who could catch a glimpse of the verminous apparition of my being that has taken. I was afraid to struggle then and here I am, tormented by problems a version of myself has left. What’s worse is my lack of any sort of emotion to matters that concern the mundane world and rather seeing them as a role I must fulfill. If I were to tell the world what led me here, no one would be concerned about the root of it all but rather lounge their biases towards my inability to make my promises come true. I am not fazed in the slightest. I know very well that all I can do is get this job over with.

My form of optimism may sound grim, but this is the best I could ever conjure. Had I fulfilled my duties, we would be talking about moths and streetlights now. Instead, I have brought you to a much more intimate place where I have hidden myself away. My friend was very pathetic, but I hope you can forgive him for failing to fulfill his role as the one who had to always be at his best for everyone else. I have been very lonely ever since he passed away. Now, all I can do is bask under the moonlight as the world slowly but surely gets back in order. Once all my duties are fulfilled, I hope I get to rest too. If that time ever comes, promise me you will leave a lavender for me.

It is time for you to return to your realm. I must have wasted a lot of precious time, so I apologize. But thank you for slipping into the cracks of the fast world to find yourself in my beautiful garden. Although I do not recommend it, visit whenever you want. If there are burdens deep in your soul, please remember that you have a role to play in the grand scheme of time, even if it’s minuscule. 

Here lies Tahir Ahsan Soumen, the sleeping dreamer, who had no worth in this world. Here stands Tahir Ahsan Soumen, the sleepless dreamer, who also has no worth in this world. As I can still breathe, I shall carry on till the day my vessel breaks for good.