So… I see you decided to leave.
You came one glorious sunny day and gave me a certain orange mark on my blog, and even WordPress proudly announced “You have a new follower!” I was overjoyed of course! And I must have sent you a Note of Thanks, as I always do without fail, because I believe in it that much.
You read my posts for a while, and I smiled to see your Likes. You led me on, made me believe you were enjoying what I wrote.
But then BAM! Without reason, without notice, you left me stranded, you left me without a word, and no goodbye! You never let me know the real feelings you went by, did you think I won’t notice and you could simply slip by?
Well you were wrong.
I noticed. And it hurt. So what that I don’t remember your name, I do feel having lost your presence!
Why would you do it? Why would you never say that you were losing the feel in my posts? Why would you hold your grudging even when I say I welcome all comments? Why would you Slander, Mutinise? On my ship, under my command, you chose to sneak out? WHY?
I know it’s your choice.
And I accept you had all right.
But no goodbye?
That seems dry.
Sorry, I get poetic when I am charged. But you didn’t even like my poetry! You never spoke about my work, never made a sound. But with what a loud bang you left!
From a perfect 40 you left me and made it 39. So incomplete, so raw! But I can’t really blame you… you left because you didn’t like me anymore. Makes me think… what set you off?
Oh I’m doing it again! Did you leave because of posts like this? Where I whine and whine and cry out insanely and maybe you got fed up! Because we aren’t even married, and you still get a regular dose of my complaints?! Or was it because of jokes like this? That I play too much with the sanctity of marriage?!
Oh then, you must hate me for all the things I say against the government, you law-abiding citizen! If I promised I never broke any law, and swear to never be an iota seditious would you come back?
Oh please come back!
Or tell me what went wrong!
Wait! I know it! You just hated my writing!
So… not even my pics would reel you back in?
Nope? No chance?
Maybe I could….
All right… but if you MUST leave… maybe you’ll write a Sayonara Comment? ONE comment? That would mean…
Hey! You walked out on me! You owe me that much!
No? Whatever you say, you’re the boss.
You’re in charge. Since you chose to act up, mister and leave without telling! Huh!
Post Script: Yes, someone just unfollowed me. But all the rest is just made up. 🙂 I am giving him none of this ramble, and I don’t think anyone will ever get it. So feel free to follow or unfollow! 😀 See ya!
Dear Secret Hater,
I am grateful for your letter in Math Class today. I never knew I had a secret hater, but you made me feel very special. Specially when Ma’am caught hold of that letter while I was reading it, and was cordial enough to read it out aloud, so I don’t have to repeat it myself. She’s such a gem.
I was exceptionally surprised by your mentioning that I wear my House T-shirt out of my skirt, I would never have thought anyone would notice it since rarely anyone has it inside. Great observation skills! We’ll make you Sherlock Holmes one day.
Of course, that little fact makes all the difference. You know correct, and mentioned as much, that I don’t get time in the morning to tuck it in, which in turn shows I am a lazy bum who rushes who gets up late. I probably trouble my mom too, since I persistently choose to be untidy in my dressing. Yes, even constant scolding by teachers to put the shirts in doesn’t get to me, I am just incorrigible. And certainly also thick. I am amazed by how much you got to know about me through that simple shirt sticking out. Of course, everyone else in the school must do it because it looks convincingly heinous inside, but me, yes, I do it because I ma all the vile things you mentioned. So apt. Thank you for understanding me correctly.
I almost forgot! You mentioned volleyball. I see you noticed. Again. Sometimes I think even the coach doesn’t. Speaks volumes about you! Do I have a dedicated follower? I don’t know why the whole class laughed when ma’am read aloud your letter- when you said- “my suggestion to you is, Abandon. You play god knows what and are a huge burden to your team. At least save your own face, you’re doing no one no good. ” That’s so well-wishing of you! Seriously, why would they laugh?! Maybe because I’m Captain of the Senior team? Maybe because my team only recently got humiliated publicly for skipping practice while they awarded me Best Player. Maybe because I am the best Attacker in the school right now? I don’t know.
And the photograph! I, am so touched!
Where did you take that snap of me pushing that little kid? I thought no one was looking. But apparently, a very special person was! Did you happen to notice also the bus that was coming and that the kid was standing in it’s way? Only the visor was visible in your picture. But no sweat! I am so glad someone appreciates my efforts, even outside school!
I really must go now, Dearest Hater. Even though I realise I am being rude, not thanking you for all the things you said, I am SURE you won’t mind one bit. I really got to go write my blog (which you also happened to mention!) I have a party at my place later, in lieu of it being my birthday today. So thoughtful of you to send me that letter today- my first present of the day!
I’ll get back to your faithful reviews of all my activities every minute of the day,
With great respect for your time management skills, as you sent me that 14 page letter even when the exams are coming this Friday!
Most most sincerely,
I shouldn’t probably have said ‘FPed’. Yeah. That’s not a very cool phonetic sound. Uhh! Now I got to rate this post A (for adult)… or at least PG (Parental Guidance). ‘Peed’… uh-oh.
What I really mean was ‘Freshly Pressed’. Getting Freshly Pressed. Dearies who won’t catch WordPress Jargon, Freshly Pressed is that WordPress window where the top blogs of the day get their own box and that’s what every blogger aims for. It’s like our own personal hall of fame, only you can check it out by going to WordPress’ homepage. But do stick to this one too.
Now to the story behind the title- ‘Getting FPed’. (Or should it be Being FPed? Totally need practice for that IELTS Test!)
A reader dropped by this site recently. I can’t give you his name but he goes by ‘Lightning Pen’. And you should realise that I’m deducing he’s a he, by the words he used and all, I don’t know for sure. If you are reading Lightning Pen, who won’t also put up a picture for the mystery of it which is so fun by the way, please come to our rescue, eh?
So, with this reader what happened, I sent, as usual, a message being thankful for the follow and asking how he had found my blog. Yeah, that’s what I do. I like to know.
And this is what he said-
Freshly Pressed is where I saw and enjoyed your blog, just so you know! They post all the top blog’s there continuously all day long! Didn’t mean to bother you, just thought you were talented…
I swear I read the entire comment. AND I replied. But wait a second! Wait a holy hour! FRESHLY PRESSED!!! Are you freaking serious?! Already? I got it! I did?! I am the queen of the wor- No wait, scratch that. That’s too common…. umm… yes. I’m the blogmaster of the blogs!!!
Don’t worry, the delusions don’t last very long. And this one was particularly fast to burst. The higher you go, the harder you fall, wasn’t it?
Because this was the trouble. I never saw myself at FP. And I am a diligent checker. I am, because I always hoped to be surprised by seeing Address Isn’t Available! on FP before the surprise of the messages and likes on the blog.
So yes, like a mad dog, I checked through the past archives of FP, HOPING that I was wrong. But WordPress put up with the rave only through three pages and then astutely stopped me from going back through the reel any more.
But the harm was done. The idea was in. And the dreams had begun.
To be Freshly Pressed… already… just now… as yet… wowww…
And this is what I have in mind, to do when I am Freshly Pressed. Notice there is no if … my ego gets larger every day, and I blame it on the blogging. It’s just so mystical. Anyway, What I’d Do-
- OVERKILL: I’m sure you already know how much I can get carried away, specially with saying saying- Thanks. So this is what I’ll do. I’ll write a blog with a Youtube video of Queen’s We Are The Champions with a triumphant picture of mine which, as I found on Google, would be strikingly similar to this-
We are the champions my friends! We’ll keep on fighting till the end! ….Cause we are the champions! No time for losers!
- And then, I would click dozens and dozens of pictures of the window that has my blog on Freshly Pressed. And I’ll frame some and I’ll email some, to my friends and specially to my rivals. “Oh, you got that mail? That’s weird. I didn’t send it to you… a glitch probably. Yeah… that was my blog. No, no big deal! I knew I was going to be Freshly Pressed anyway…”
- Then I’ll send nice long letter praising the hair, the eyes, the wisdom and the beautiful beautiful taste of the person who put me there.
- Then I’ll casually drop the word in at school, and have everyone rave and o awe-eyed at me. That would settle the viewership tally from then on.
- Then I’ll throw a party and drink a lot of apple juice pretending that it’s champagne and dance and dance and dance.
- AND THEN, I would log back in. And sit at the computer for HOURS just watching the blog slowly tick lower and lower on the Freshly Pressed page as new blogs made it there, until I would have to go back in the archives to see it. And then I’ll go back in the archives and see…
Alas, sweet alas. For all of that though, I would first HAVE to be Freshly Pressed.
Yup. Yet another one of those times when I only just hear about a competition/ project/ etc and start dreaming having won it. Like that time when I sent my entries for a tagline to Delhi. Sigh. If dreams were true, I would now be some thousand rupees rich and a small celebrity.
Won’t it be ironical if I got Freshly Pressed for THIS post, say?! Are you listening, apostles-who-answer-prayers from the WordPress offices? That would be something right? Remember the long letter! I’ll make it public! I’ll send it to the press!
It’s raining outside. It’s breezy. Just how I like it. Just how she likes it. It’s sweaty inside. Or maybe it’s just me. I am fidgety. I am nervous. She turns, and she asks for a pen. Yeah, yeah sure, I mumble. I give her one and smile so quick as if there’s bonus points for saving time. She returns the smile and turns back away. I breathe out. I realise I gave her the pen that had stopped working. Shit! Why am I so bloody nervous around her? How hard is it to say- I like you, would you consider me? Ok… it’s freaking hard. Flowers would make it easier. A rose? But no… I can’t do it…. I don’t know why.
It’s so hot. It’s like the Middle East! I’m at the field trip. I came because everyone else did. She did. She’s sitting all alone a few rocks ahead of me. I’m sitting all alone a few rocks behind her. I should just go for it. What am I so scared of? The worst that can happen is she’ll laugh and tell the whole school what a jerk I am. But that’s not new. And she seems a nice girl. A very nice girl… God, I’m such a typical fool. And the typical fools always just sit at the back of the hall and see their love walk away with the football captain. I wish I didn’t hate football. Maybe I should take some flowers. Maybe I should take these wild flowers. I wish i knew their name. They are as blue as her eyes. But.. no… I shouldn’t do it. I don’t know why.
It’s cold. She did walk away with the football captain. That makes it colder. What makes it even worse is today’s their wedding. It’s freezing inside the church. I wonder if she’ll wear a gown. She has. God… she looks like sunshine. She has brought the summer inside. She’s bright as the flowers I’ve brought her. I don’t know their names either but they are fragnant…like her. They are warm… like her. They are beautiful… like her. Of course, I can’t say it now. Maybe I’ll give her the flowers this time. I should have said it, but I didn’t. I don’t know why.
It’s never been as dry as today. There is no wind. I’s dead silent. The sun hasn’t shown at all. It’s the perfect setting. It’s her funeral. She died in an accident, saving a little girl from being run over by a bus. In fact, from the bus her little girl was in. There she is. Standing with her daddy. The football captain. I’ve got them flowers again. But I won’t keep them on her grave. Flowers never did reach her. On her wedding too I had had to leave. I couldn’t… I don’t know why. I’ll give the tuberoses to her daughter. I’ll make a start with her. I will give her all the flowers I didn’t give her mom. All the flowers I should have. But I didn’t. I don’t know why.
I cry. For the first time in twenty years I cry. If only I had tried. If I had just tried it once. But I chose to watch as she slipped away. As the girl I loved, and who loved me, slipped away.
The post arrived as usual today. But not quite as usual, this time I had a real letter. A letter, not just bills. A letter from her. Her daughter posted it, with a note that she found it in her mom’s old stuff and saw it was for me.
I sit here all alone, and I cry.
Because this is what it said.
I’m going to be married next Tuesday. And though this isn’t the best time to say this, I must tell you before I take the vows.It’s been too late already but I must not stop now.
I wish I had had the courage in school. I wish I hadn’t asked for a pen when I really wanted to ask you to come to the movies with me. I wish I hadn’t spent the entire hour sitting on the rocks pretending my feelings weren’t real, but told you I liked you. I wish I hadn’t fallen in love with another guy because I had never had the courage to fall in love with the person I actually liked. I wish I had done all of these things. But I did nothing. I don’t know why.
I can’t expect you to understand. You’re probably not even coming to the wedding. But I just had to do this one true thing before I went back to my life of being scared into doing other things.
Please keep in touch. I don’t want to forget you. I really don’t know what else to say.
I wish things had been different.
I cry so long and so hard I can hardly breathe. Why didn’t I just try. The letter is creased in so many folds I know she had crumpled it up. But she had kept it.
Something flutters out of the envelope. It’s a dried rose.
I wish I had just tried. I wish I had given flowers a chance.