Rabbani Batra
“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” -Ralph Emerson
I credit the storm in my mind to the whispers of the sequoia trees. I hear them as I walk slowly back to my house. I take the path everyone does: the one lined with fences and warning signs to not wander off. I try to talk to myself. I have heard it’s beneficial. Something about helping you deal with grief and find closure. Besides the fact that my inner monologue sounds like a thirteen-year-old’s trying-hard-to-sound-all-mysterious-and-cool diary, I think this is going great.
You know, I still think of you. Often.
And I come back to the sequoia trees to remind myself of you. As if I could ever forget you. Yet I take the same path, the one everyone takes all the time. Even though you told me to leave a path for others to find. The idea seems romantic; create your own path, lead, not follow. The idea seems ridiculous, especially for someone like me. How do you create something when you have no idea how to?
In light of trying to find closure, I break off from the main path and jump over the fence. The bark looks like painted strokes; the landscape, a scene on an artist’s canvas. The sequoia trees are louder now. They sound like you. This is definitely not helping me. Yet I carry on, for fear of missing something important. I travel between the trees until the whispers are jarring. My ears hurt. All I hear again and again is to leave a path for others to follow. Please, understand how hard that is for me to do. Especially without you.
I stay there until it is nightfall. The place is comfortable and warm and welcoming. Now it’s hard to leave, even harder than trying to get here. The trees feel like home, my heart and my mind all in one. I know I will be back tomorrow. It is too hard to stay away from you.
I contemplate more. I think of the path that led me here. If I had done something differently, would you be here, sitting beside me? If I had done something differently, would I be here, on the brink of acceptance? This trail I take, and the trail I leave behind, seems distant, but it feels like mine. There is comfort in that thought as well.
When the wind will rustle the leaves again and cause them to whisper soft and harsh thoughts, I will think of the trail I leave between them for the next sequoia whisperer to find. Who knew the one in anguish would find a home in this angst?
I credit the storm in my mind to the whispers of the sequoia trees. I hear them as I walk slowly back to my house. A battered place, barely alive. Sounds an awful lot like someone I know.
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Rabbani Batra is a sixteen-year-old from BC, Canada. In her free time, she can be found painting, listening to music, and reading. Her art and writing often reflect her experience as a first-generation immigrant, and she takes inspiration from her surroundings. Rabbani also actively volunteers and participates in advocacy.
Diamond Gazette 