I see the world through different eyes. Colors are brighter, sounds are louder, and movements are slower. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, but my body struggles to keep up.
I try to speak, but words get tangled in my throat. My parents look at me with sad eyes, wishing they could understand me. They think I'm trapped inside this body, but I'm not. I'm free in my mind.
Scooby, our labrador, is my best friend. He doesn't care that I'm different. He wags his tail and licks my face, and I feel happy. My parents smile when they see us together, and for a moment, their worries fade away.
But the world can be overwhelming. The sounds of the city are like a never-ending storm in my ears. I cover them with my hands, trying to block out the noise. My parents think I'm being stubborn, but they don't understand. It's too much for me.
At night, when the house is quiet, I lie in bed and think about all the things I want to say. I want to tell my parents that I love them, that I'm sorry I'm not like other kids. I want to tell Scooby that he's the best dog in the whole world.
As I think about my life, I wonder if it's indeed a poetry. My name, Kabita, means "poetry" in Bengali. My parents chose it carefully, hoping I would grow up to be a creative and expressive person.
But life had other plans. I was born with autism, and my words got trapped inside my mind. Yet, as I think about it, I realize that poetry is not just about words; it's about rhythm, melody, and harmony.
My life may not have words, but it has its own rhythm. The way Scooby wags his tail to greet me every morning is a symphony of joy. The way my parents' faces light up when they see me smile is a melody of love.
But like any poetry, my life also has its discordant notes. The sounds of the city are a cacophony that hurts my ears. The struggles of my parents to understand me are a harmony that's often out of tune.
As I drift off to sleep, I realize that my life is indeed a poetry – a complex, messy, beautiful poetry. It's a poetry that's still being written, with every moment, every breath, and every beat of my heart.
As I sleep, I dream of a world where everyone understands me. A world where words aren't necessary, and love is the only language. In my dream, Scooby is by my side, and we're running through a field of flowers, laughing and playing.
But when I wake up, reality sets in. My parents are struggling to understand me, and the world outside is still overwhelming. I feel trapped, like I'm living in a cage with no key.
That's when I remember the poetry of my life. I think about the rhythm of Scooby's wagging tail, the melody of my parents' smiles, and the harmony of our love. I realize that even in the midst of chaos, there is beauty.
I try to communicate with my parents, to tell them about the poetry of my life. I use my hands, my eyes, and my smile to convey the emotions that words can't express. And slowly, they start to understand.
They see the world through my eyes, and they realize that it's not just a place of darkness and silence. It's a world of color, sound, and beauty. They start to appreciate the little things, like the way Scooby snuggles up next to me, or the way the sunlight filters through the windows.
As they understand me better, our relationship changes. We start to connect on a deeper level, and our love becomes stronger. We become a symphony of three, with Scooby as the conductor.
And I realize that my life, though imperfect, is a masterpiece. It's a poem that's still being written, with every moment, every breath, and every beat of my heart.
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