The Patient Sikh: Part Twenty-Four--Fairytales

This an excerpt from a novel in progress and a work of fiction.

I really don’t know what to think anymore. I mean I thought I was in love with Sonny, but now I feel used and cheap. I don’t know what to do with this life, I feel like without him I have no life. He has come to mean so much to me, and now I feel betrayed.

“You need to forget about him,” Sarita said as we studied for our classes in her dorm room. She was rooming with a Korean Born Again Christian, she was a little off. Her roommate was singing what sounded like a Biblical tune while she sat on her twin bed reading a book. Me and Sarita rolled our eyes at each other as we tried to study at her desk.

“I can’t just forget about him,” I said and moved my Biology book over the wooden table.

“You can, it’s actually humanly possible to do that,” she said and wisped her hand through her curly hair. “You don’t want to, that’s the problem.”

“Maybe I don’t,” I said and stared at her blue and yellow Michigan sweatshirt. “He’s kind of like my first love.”

“Ewww, don’t be gross,” she whined.

A couple of her Korean roommate’s friends walked in, two Korean girls who were smiling a little too fiercely. I wanted to slap them for smiling so hard. Were they so happy because they found Jesus? I’m not sure because they all started to speak in Korean. Sarita would tell me she was sickened by the fact that the girl at Kimchi for breakfast, which was like fermented cabbage or something. I love it, but maybe not for breakfast.

“Love is not a bad word,” I said to Sarita as we tried to ignore the girls giggling.

“It should be, it is a four letter word.”

“Love Is A Four Letter Word! That would make a great title of a book,” I said and smiled at her.

“You don’t love Sonny, you love some romantic idea about a prince charming,” Sarita sighed. “This is not a Bollywood movie.”

“Maybe it’s a romantic comedy, I mean the funny part is that I fell in love with a douche bag.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Sarita said and stuck a blue pen in her mouth.

“What if he’s the one, and I let him go?” I asked and licked my lips.

“He’s not the one. There is no one. Stop living on Fantasy Island, join the rest of us on Earth,” Sarita responded and shook her head.

“You really think there is no one person for everyone?” I asked, my eyes widening.

“No, Princess Yasmine, I don’t think there is a prince charming waiting at the end of the rainbow with a pot of gold. You get what you get if you get anything at all.”

“I feel like you have a very nasty view of romantic relationships,” I said and watched as the three girls left the room with their backpacks.

“There is nothing romantic about the relationship you have with Sonny. He’s using you to hook up and that’s all it is to him. You are making up the rest in your head,” Sarit said.

“Jeez, way to rain on my parade!”

“Someone has to talk you off the ledge, or you will continue thinking and talking and talking about him and I have to listen to it,” she smiled coyly.

“Sorry,” I proclaimed.

“I’m just saying, I don’t like to see you wasting your time and getting hurt over some asshole.”

I thought about what she said as I tried to study evolution, and wondered what love really is. I feel like sometimes romantic love itself is something I am making up. It’s just this feeling, this rush, maybe it’s infatuation really. Maybe I don’t know anything about love at all.

My parents love each other and they have been together for more than twenty years. That is not the kind of love that I want though. My dad is a drunk, my mom stays with him no matter what, they are both miserable. But it’s weird, you can tell they actually love each other. I have no idea why, but they do.

I want true love, but is there such a thing? What is it anyways? Most of the poets and love songs make it sound miserable as well. Why do I want something that will probably make me sad in the end? Sometimes I wonder if I’m just a drama queen and I enjoy this play I call my life.

But I’m not enjoying it. It sucks.

There is a part of me that knows I deserve better than Sonny. But then there is that part of me that thinks I’m in love with him. Then I wonder, would I even know love if it came to me? This thing, this feeling I have for him, can we give it another name? It’s sort of hate and love both at the same time. It’s also indifference, sometimes I could care less about him.

I don’t know how I feel or how I’m supposed to feel.

What is this?

nina

f you would like to read the beginning of this novel in progress, The Patient Sikh, visit the following links in chronological order:

The Patient Sikh: Part One

The Patient Sikh: Part Two–The Wonder Years

The Patient Sikh: Part Three–Sonny

The Patient Sikh: Part Four–Song Lyrics

The Patient Sikh: Part Five–Your Song

The Patient Sikh: Part Six–Coffee Talk

The Patient Sikh: Part Seven–Chocolate Covered Love

The Patient Sikh: Part Eight–Kiss And Tell