Angel of Guilt

In the moment given, when I look back, with little disdain, I find I was always to be like this. And maybe will always be like this. A boy turned man, tad too early. A boy turned man, who comes from a lineage in which men have always been the sufferers. In this family heritage a permanent residence is taken up by guilt. This guilt resides, albeit in different manner, in all the men of the home. As for my case, the angel of guilt had to find me sooner only. This angel of guilt found my GrandPa when he was sixty. This angel of guilt found my Dad when he was thirty nine. And it found me when I was twelve. It was inexplicable yet predestined –a chain of successive decreasing ages where all men in the family were taken under the wings of guilt.

There is no escape. Had there been one, I would have known. After all, I am not the only one who suffers day in and day out. Luckily I am the only one who has been able to look at the angel of guilt and stare back right in its musky eyes. Staring has been eventful but only I have lost because of my daring. To face this angel of guilt, countless nights with wet pillows have gone by. No respite still, countless nights with wet pillows are still to come by.

With every affirmation that life teases me, it strips me naked in from of this angel of guilt. A shame lingers on. What could have I done? Could I have done any different? Both when I was twelve and now too whenever the affirmation teases me. Every move, every emotion, every flick of eye; all is dictated by those moments of early historical childhood, moments which never turn vague, when the angel of guilt visited me.

All the people who have left me and will leave me, have never and will never see me alone. Behind me, with hands on my shoulders stands the angel of guilt. Not time, but the angel dictates me.

For every love which brushes my heart, the angel shouts, “Don’t worry I’m by your side.” And it makes all the difference. If only I am left alone without this angel. And this angel makes sure that I am in the end, left alone. Alone, devoid of any caress, any wink, any smile. Alone, but with one companion –the angel of guilt.

Once, in a while when a micro moment in me experiences bliss, the angel too wants to join in with the celebration. And then there is no celebration. Only two entities are left, willing to rejoice in each other’s drunkenness. Me and my friend – the angel of guilt. When no other people are willing to share my plight, it becomes the partner in my vice.

Confused, I am left. For better I am without this angel or better I am in its refuge.

All the forts of my life, the angel ruins. All the foundations of ideals, the angel builds. What is its purpose? What is my purpose? Am I too strong friends with it? Should I have left its wings when I still had time in my childhood? Could that have been even possible? No way of knowing now, no consolation there is. For childhood has elapsed. For childhood has eloped. And I am stuck. With my confidante – the angel of guilt. Its wings have lurked their shadow upon me with an intensity that shines bright in my eyes.

It is not me who is to be accepted by the people. But my angel of guilt. People accept me and yet fear the angel. Understood it is, unmistakably so, I fear the angel too. For it has made me distant from normalcy.

Yet I know, it is not me alone who is burdened by this very angel. All of us have one. Only mine has taken over my life. Only mine has an ego which I can’t subdue. And so I suffer from the wings of my angel of guilt. And suffer I must, for it runs in the blood. How can one escape what runs in the blood? One is born to it. One is born with it.