Of tragic beauty and humour to combat the blues

I thought all this new-found grief in my life had made me thin with pining and given me smouldering, mysterious, tragic-stricken beauty. At least that's what I think when I when I see myself in the mirror. Yeah, don't ask. I think I look really sad and beautiful. But I was just looking at some recent photos of mine and damn, I have a baby face. I look like a freaking kid with my round face. So much for tragic beauty.

Read the above. I've become pretty funny, eh? Where does this humour come from? Where is the comedy in my life after all the shit that's happened to me? After the universe has just shat on me. I guess that's what they mean by comedy.

But jokes aside, seriously, I've become very funny. I'm always on fire, zing, zing with jokes, poking fun at myself and the situations I find myself in. I even found moments of humour when I was in the midst of funeral arrangements, scratching my head trying to figure out how to get my boyfriend's body released from the hospital to be able to finally put him to rest, going through one hurdle after another. I also found humour in how homeless and poor I had become, enjoying the fact that everyone was always paying for dinner for me. I found humour in the fact that the dragon lady - me - took over the company and staff which Wesley so lovingly managed with patience. I have found humour in how I am a damsel in distress and men are chasing after me.

Nope, I'm not cynical. I just see the funny side of it. Perhaps it's a mechanism my brain has come up with it to deal with what happened.

But if you really want to know, I am sad inside. I have a universe of pain inside me. It constantly hurts. I miss my Wesley so much, every single moment of every day. There's not a day which goes by when I don't curse myself and the decisions I took. I wish I could sell my soul to the devil to get him back. I wish I had died instead of him, at least his family really really loved him while I have too many issues with mine, who still hold it against me that I loved someone who wasn't from the freak cult sect we belong to (Don't ask, we come from a random sect in Islam which none of the other Muslims recognise even. It's so random, so off tangent. Religion does my head in.) I wish I could die now so I could find out where he is. I close my eyes and wish I was holding him. I wish I had loved him even more and not even bothered to share him with my friends and kept him all to myself. But how do I go on? Why do I go on?

I don't really believe it's anyone's but my pain. I have to bear this on my own and forge ahead with the decision I have taken. I am a morose type but not a suicidal type. I have always been a 'strong' person and there's just no other way I know how to be. I have just accepted what life has dealt me and, like how one mentally prepares oneself for an uncomfortable card ride or flight in economy, I have mentally adjusted myself to a life without Wesley. I am just going to carry on the business, make a shit load of money, sit tight and wait until I die. It's as simple as that. I now know he and I weren't meant to be together in this life and I have to be alone. I now know the time with the love of my life was just that long. I am pretty positive I'll never go as crazy in love again. I loved him too much, with too much passion, and all all all I ever wanted was for us to be together. I might grow fond of someone again but that love, nope.

So, I have to sit tight and just live the rest of this life with as much dignity as possible. I will reach my goals - yes - but it's for the heck of it more than anything else. I can't let anything get to me either. Everything's a joke after all.

I used to take life very seriously but also very secure in the belief, in the faith that everything would be okay as long as Wesley was by my side. I feel utterly alone now on this planet. My partner has been taken from me.

I am very sad inside despite appearances. I am also bitter too, yes, I am. What are you supposed to think about life when you are separated from your love for a year, you are hounded by your own family, living far away in a depressing cold land, growing sadder and sadder by each day but desperately trying to be brave, and then you hear the news your love was brutally murdered where you left them? Ah, you just feel defeated. Like the universe defeated you. Punished you. (And that's what your family tells you, too, that you deserve something like that to happen to you. Don't ask.)

I finally understand why comedians are some of the saddest people there are.

I sometimes feel like there is now an eternity of grief inside me. I feel like I am carrying inside me two graves, one of my friend, Kavita, and now Wesley.

But I shall carry on. For the memory of my Wesley. I shall not give up and hide or run away.