Rabbit Holes Atputha Rahavan

It seems that every once in a while, I still look for rabbit holes to fall into. As I walked to the library today, I saw a white rabbit disappear into a thick bush of Lilly Pilly. A small part of me wished to follow him through those hedges, to fall and enter someplace else. But I didn’t follow, I just kept on walking – that’s the important thing you see, and I’ll tell you why.

First, let me explain why I look for them, the rabbit holes. I have been doing it for a while now since I was very young. But it wasn’t always that way. In the beginning, I was only my mother’s dark hair and my father’s brown skin (it was never just brown though, it changed all the time. With the weather and the wind. With the turn of tides and bright summer skies). You see, I was born in a land far far away, a land my parents loved. The loved-land was a place where they meant something and where everyone had dark lovely hair and never-just-brown skin. In the loved-land, I never looked for rabbit holes. There was no use for them there.

But one day, someone somewhere decided to cut the loved land in two because now, it was not enough that everyone had the same dark lovely hair and never-just-brown skin. It did not mean that everyone was the same. So, my parents left the loved-land and whisked us all away to someplace new. I don’t really remember the journey. As I said, I was very little. But I remember small, cramped boats and anxious hugs and rough, roaring seas. The journey ended, as all journeys do. Some made it all the way through, some did not (I never thought about them then, those who did not make it. I think about them now, sometimes). But you see, the new-land where the journey led was very, very different. Not everyone had dark lovely hair and never-just-brown skin here. Some new-land people had questions for those who washed up unannounced on their shore. Some said it was not right and that we should be sent back to where we came from. I wished they knew that we would never have left if we didn’t need to. We came from the loved-land after all and it was loved for a reason. But staying in a burning country will only burn you. It will tear you limb from limb as it tore some mothers from fathers and brothers from sisters. Leaving will save your life and only tear your heart apart. A heart can be repaired (or so I’m told) but a life cannot.

The people with questions put us in a box for a while. They thought we were looking to harm, but how can hurt people seek to harm? My parents struggled in the box. I think they felt that they didn’t mean anything anymore. I am glad I was little then; I think I would have struggled a lot more if I had fully understood all they went through.

Art by George Hogg

Art by George Hogg

Now, back to the rabbit holes, finally. You see, it was in the box that I first started looking for rabbit holes. When you are little and trapped in a box with a sad-eyed mother and a still-sitting father, you must make do on your own for entertainment. There were only so many times one could do laps around a box; there were only so many edges and corners to explore. So, knowing no better, I decided to seek entertainment in between the pages of books I found. I fell into them and I fell quite deep. I found worlds within words, and I lived in those worlds for a long time. A little too long, I’d say. Once you find solace in words, the outside world does little to compare.

We left the box some time ago. It was hard, but my parents worked harder. We made a home in the new-land and now, the new-land is my brother’s and I’s loved-land. But I know that it will never be my parents’ loved-land; part of their heart will always belong someplace else. Now my mother’s lovely dark hair hides small slivers of silver (never say this to my mother, she will deny it, and you will receive a hard look if you are lucky and a hard smack if you are not), and my father’s neverjust-brown skin carries creases it never did before. Though we left the box, I stayed in my rabbit holes a little longer. When I wished I could replace my never-just-brown skin with something paler and my lovely dark hair with something lighter, my rabbit holes gave me consolation. But I grew up as you do and learnt to love what I previously wished away about myself.

I am 19 now and haven’t dwelled in rabbit holes for a while. Sometimes though, on certain days, like today, when the sky gets awfully cloudy, and life feels dreadfully bleak, I seek them out again. You see, a rabbit hole is something that one escapes into to hide from the harshness of reality. Rabbit holes can be anything really. For me, it was books at first and then it became my own head. For you, a rabbit hole might mean something else entirely, and that’s fine too. But I have learnt that it isn’t good to spend too much time in them, you can get lost quite quickly. Don’t retreat into yourself; know that there will always be people around who will worry and want for you. Clouds will always disappear, and life never stays bleak for too long. I say so because my family is a testament to those words.

So, when I saw that white rabbit today, I was tempted to follow, I’ll admit, but figured that for now, I was happy enough above ground and kept on walking. I’ll conclude by saying this; I hope, dear reader, that whatever might plague you, you decide to keep on walking too.

Syrup Annie Little

It is slow, the creep. An intentional admission of infection, Snuck in through cancerous carbs. Maltose, dextrose, glucose; Not fructose or starch; A spread of maltodextrin. These treasonous vital venoms Fester in fat deposits

Twisting my cells till they’re Filled with the illness Caused by my indulgence. I know I won’t live long Even without my Willful immolation.

My body has a Predisposition To self-destruction. So why not enjoy My simple addiction While I’m here Letting sweet, Saccharine syrup Poison me from within

Art by Jasmin Small