"And you can't stop the tears that ain't coming"
- Iris by goo goo dolls.

I would runaway and hide. When I was in pain, I would hush myself to sleep. If I had to cry, I wouldn't show anyone. I would run away to a quiet place and cry...like the bathroom. The typical thing. And if afterwards anyone asked me if I had been crying, I would put on my mask and say "What? What the hell gave you that idea?" And they would walk away, unconvinced. If I cry, I feel weak. I feel vulnerable and I don't like it. I find it easier to sit quietly or even pretend to be cheerful to some good friend who would cheer me up without knowing it. I don't tell people if I'm in a bad mood unless I actually need help. They wouldn't know if I'm glum.

It's unfair to make my friends irritated when I snap at them, but it can't be helped. I try not to. I try to grin and laugh it all away. It's hard for me to cry. But then I have cried...no one hasn't. And I'm not talking about only the baby stages....

When my grandfather (paternal) passed away, I found out from a teacher in school. She called me over and said, "Your grandfather passed away?" and I was in the 5th standard so I replied with a, "No miss! He's just really sick." But when I went home, I found out that I was wrong. I didn't see his body. Instead, I walked to my father, threw down my bag and in front of a huge croud, cried and cried. And then I realised that my grandfather wouldn't have wanted me to be sad. He used to tell me whenever I cried that I was a real weakling with a big mustache grin. So I stopped crying. Instead, I went to the room with his body and stared at him. He looked peaceful. He wasn't suffering anymore. I smiled to myself. I was sure he was proud of me for being strong enough. I didn't shed a tear for the rest of the day. So I wasn't too depressed. No. I was. I was very depressed. But it was all inside. I refused to let it out. Not in front of him. I wouldn't let myself. It wouldn't be fair to him.

When my maternal grandfather passed away, though, it was different. I woke up in the morning by my uncle shaking me and my cousin brother saying "Get up, thatha's...gone" and I woke up. I looked at my cousin. He smiled one of his rare, genuine comforting smiles and told me to get ready to go down to see my grandpa. I nodded obediently and got ready. I didn't feel anything then. I just got ready like it was any other day and walked out of the house to the lower floor. But then I saw his body. His lifeless body. I kept begging him in my head, "Please move...move... please..." and he didn't. I knew he wouldn't. I don't know who I was fooling. I went into a room and shed a few small tears.
Later, when they were taking him to the car to take to the crimatorium (if that's the spelling), I followed. And then I saw him on a strecher being taken into a maruthi van. It hit me then that I would never see him again. Ever. And it flew out. I ran into the house and into a bathroom and cried and cried and cried. For so long...I don't remember how long though. But when I came out to go and see them off, see him off, no one was there. They had left. And I hadn't got to say goodbye. I trembled. I was never going to see him again. A family friend came behind me and smiled a warm, comforting smile and that opened the door to my flow of tears. I cried and cried. I regret it miserably that I couldn't have said goodbye to him.

This blog is dedicated to my grandfathers, whom I loved with all my heart. If I ever forget them, I'd be the craziest thing to walk this earth. I want to cry. But it's not coming. I'm just staring at the keyboard and computer. Maybe this is my way of letting it all out...