I found you in the back of my closet. Behind some childhood books and jackets. You hadn’t seen the light of day in years and you had been smothered by wool the entire time but of course, you didn’t look it. You looked as beautiful as ever. Blonde hair, blue eyes - my favourite Barbie. Looking at you was like looking into the past. The past where I would take you everywhere because I couldn’t bear to be separated from you. The past where you were the main character of all my stories. The past where there was no me without you. After that past, how did we end up here? How did I never realise that I had lost you? I pick you up and try to smoothen out your hair. Back then I had a brush for you but I lost that too. So I just keep you beside the teddy bear that never left my bed and wonder why I don’t remember the last time I played with you. 

***

You stay on my mind for days. I’ll have montages of you playing in my head. You and all the other Barbies. Mermaid Barbie in the pool, Indian Barbie as a professor. I found them too. I tell all of this to my boyfriend, My Ken who showed me all his Hot Wheels organised in a drawer. Why didn’t I keep you the same way? My Ken laughs and says they’re just toys. He kept them as mementos. But he only played with his cars, raced them because he couldn’t drive. You were not just a toy, you were how I discovered the world. My Ken doesn’t understand this. 

Our world could not be understood by outsiders. My parents’ apartment used to be a country for you and my friends’ would be a foreign land. The mayor of that foreign land lives 3 hours ahead now but I call her anyway. She is delighted when I remind her. She sends back pictures of the maps we drew. She remembers all the stories we made; when you were a detective solving a murder, a doctor winning an award, Taylor Swift’s back-up singer. I missed making stories with you Barbie, now I do it all alone in my room. I ask the Mayor, “Do you remember when we stopped wanting to play with her?” She laughs, “I never wanted to stop. Life just got in the way, you give me one now and I’ll play,”. The stories bubble up, all the things we did, the regrets, all the times we fell and got back up. How come the past is always more fun to talk about rather than live through? “Its raining here, you know?” the mayor says, “After all these years, I still want to run down and play,”. Barbie, why did we stop? My Ken says we can go next time it rains. He’s really supportive even through my pining. 

***

I found you because I’m back home for a couple of weeks. I’m packing my things from here one last time before I make an actual home for myself. I got a job, out of all your infinite jobs I chose writer for myself. Now I’m starting at a place that feels far away from a dream. Barbie why didn’t you mention the fact that jobs can be tedious and confusing and frightening? You said I could be anything, but can I?

You were perfect in everything you did, and we wanted to be just like you. We fell short. Now some people blame you for setting the ideal so high. But you just wanted the best for us. You only wanted the possibility of everything being ours to take. That is the job of someone who raises you, to teach you to aim for the stars. 

Truth be told, I haven’t fallen short. I did well at school and then at college and now I got a job. The problem is I was afraid the whole time. I was petrified that someday soon I would fail and the curtain would fall on my last act. I miss the confidence I had Barbie. When I played with you, the world was my oyster. I was brave and adventurous, I trusted the story I was writing. Some say it's the nature of being a woman. I’ve read all the studies that say so. Women are more likely to move away on a sidewalk when a man approaches, women are more likely to be spoken over or how women always use more filler words (“If that makes sense,”/ “Do you know what I mean?”/ “Hope that helps!”). But the truth is Barbie, while one can blame the potter’s hands for moulding the clay to his liking I’ve always thought there is something to say about the malleability of the clay itself. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is I wish I had been resilient to whatever force it was that took my confidence away. Does that make sense? 

***

I think I’ve outgrown my room. For the short periods of time that I used to be back from college I never felt any different. It was still my room, mine possessive word used with no justification needed. Suddenly this summer it seems too small in every sense of the word. But I think what I’m actually tired of is remembering every version of myself that lived in this room. 

I take walks with my Ken and we tell each other all the usual stories. We grew up close to each other but didn’t meet until we were both grown-up. So strangely our stories feature the same places and occasionally the same people but never each other. We stop at a restaurant and walk in. He launches into a story about how he had come here with his friends the morning after a big party. I smile and nod along but what I don’t tell him is I had a birthday lunch here I don’t talk about. I don’t tell him about the year of fake smiles because the people I wanted weren’t there. Those stories aren’t needed Barbie, I’ll let the room fill with light as his story is told. This room can mean good things for both of us now. 

He dropped me home and I lay down in my childhood room oddly comforted. Maybe, I felt, growing up was always finding good things to cover the bad. Of course, that is when I see headlights flash in the window after which I hear a laugh that was too familiar for me to feel nothing. I get up and I only see a bag but I know that something has been set in motion. 

***

Barbie it was so easy for me to admit I missed you. It was so simple to think, ah, I didn’t mean to lose you, my bad. It's not easy for people. I cannot comprehend why but if you lose a person getting them back is never a simple ordeal. Even if you miss them constantly. Even if you regret every moment that leads to the bond breaking. First, you catch an ego much like one would catch a cold but there is no known anti-biotic cure. Second, you build a wall of  “I never needed her anyway,” and “She was always kinda weird,”. And so a friendship is over and you swear that it made no difference to you. Until you hear a laugh and the laugh is wearing a bag that graced your room every day once. The wall crumbles but the ego perseveres. 

***

Now that I think about it the reason I don’t remember losing you might be because too many things were happening at the time. It must have been when I entered my pre-teen years, the age of wanting to “be cool” but never really knowing what that means. Around this time Barbie, I made a friend, she was like your Nikki and I was enthralled. We sat next to each other in every class, talking rapidly. And I folded like a house of cards, twisted like clay until I was an identical pot standing next to her. 

It seems obvious now, how one-sided the relationship was. Except for the times when it felt like it was not. When I think of her, a million anecdotes come to mind. She was the kind of friend with who the conversations felt endless. We spent hour after hour together but it never felt enough. Every thought I had, she knew. But I suppose I never knew all her thoughts.

When you’re 13, you can’t wait to be older and start living life. When you imagine your life as an adult, you picture the same people who you are with then. I obsessively pictured my future and I always make sure to ask my Nikki, to confirm that she’ll be there too. “When I get married, you’ll be there right?” She would never miss it. “When I write a book, I’ll dedicate it to you,” I better. “We’ll buy houses next to each other on the beach,” Well, of course. Even now years later, I wonder if she ever meant those things. Life goes on Barbie, what kind of functioning adult would I be if I harped on things that happened when I was a teen? But I see her through the window, wearing a mirrored tote bag that resembled the one she had back then and the tears still come. I’m just a kid Barbie, my bones grew but I still cry like a petulant child for all the things I wanted but I couldn’t have. 

***

I spent the next few days trying to hide in my room because when I stepped out I was afraid to run into her. I went to the supermarket with my mom like a coward, I felt like a criminal, as if I had to justify my existence if I saw her. I was ashamed of my fear but I couldn’t dissolve it. I walked around with my eyes on the ground, I was hiding, I wanted to disappear. The feeling was familiar but I was ashamed to admit that too. Barbie, I don’t want to be weak. I do not want to let the same person make me feel the same way four years apart. My Ken would say, “Then don’t think about it,” He always has the most simple, but infuriating advice, which is why I don’t tell him. 

I’m also afraid of revealing this side of myself to him. Between you and me, I know this is my weakest, ugliest, most un-lovable side. “Sweetheart,” mom calls out, “Why don’t you call Anant over for dinner today?” I blink as if I had just woken up, “Yeah sure, mom,” At least I knew, with those three people, I’d feel loved if nothing else. 

***

We were laughing. My Ken could brighten up any room. He’s just like your Ken that way. He can get me laughing and forget all the rain. He rubs his hand over my back and suddenly I feel undefeated, brand new. 

The room is light-hearted, the lights are dancing. With love like this surrounding me, how could I worry about a mirrored Tote-Bag Wearing ex-Friend? “Oh, we don’t have good memories with that restaurant right sweety?” There’s a record screeching silence. My Ken looks at me confused. “We just went the other day. You didn’t mention anything?” I was wrong Barbie, you cannot cover-up bad memories and expect it to never return. “There was that horrid birthday she had. That girl Darshini ruined her mood by never showing up,” My Ken nods at my parents before looking at me questioningly. The room darkened, the lights are in mourning. 

***

“It’s not a big deal, I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me,” my Ken is confused. “If its not a big deal why do we have to talk about it?” He looks at me hurt, and goes silent. I don’t know why I won’t tell him, I don’t want to look weak I suppose. He reaches us for me and I physically recoil, I don’t know why Barbie. I’m pushing him away, but why? Barbie, why is it in life we want everything pink and sparkly but sometimes we do everything to invite the rain? Is self-sabotaging a human flaw or just mine? 

He walks away. I let him. I get to my room and complain that your Ken would’ve never acted this way. Deep inside I wanted him to stay and melt my anger for longer, and now I’m angry that he didn’t. Your Ken would’ve stayed, and this is the molehill I build my mountain on. 

It's 2 AM when you whisper back. But I, you said looking straight at me, I would’ve never pushed him away the way you did. 

***

And so the regrets roll in. I remember every mistake I made because I hate appearing weak. No one is a perfect person but I suppose all of us believe we’re more perfect than anyone else. I hate fighting with my Ken, and anyone else. It leaves a bitter taste, and I spend my time feeling as if the world is not on its axis. I walk to his house. 

He seems surprised to see me, as if  I could never have been the first reach out. Well, Barbie I don’t do it often. He walks over and gives me a hug, “I’m sorry I pushed. I just wanted to know what happened that was so terrible,” Just like that all is forgiven, some people make it easier to smoothen your mistakes. I’m confused about many things but I know you keep such people around. “I just don’t like talking about it because it seems silly,” He nods and guides me inside. “She was my best friend,” I start while praying I don’t start to cry. “It was my last birthday before college and I was low because I was nervous to leave,” He starts making coffee the way I like. “She had this boyfriend at the time, and she wanted to spend all her time with him before college,” He comes down to sit with me. “Which was fine, obviously. But she didn’t show up to my party. And I just didn’t understand what could be so fascinating about him that she couldn’t give me a few hours.” He nods, and holds my hand, and says, “People need to be selfish sometimes, and thats okay for them. And it's okay that you were hurt and didn’t want to see her anymore too.” I laugh, “It wasn’t a break-up, not like high-school friendships last forever anyway.” He nudges my hair out of my face, “Break-ups are whenever two people stop speaking. And they hurt when you never expect it to happen.” I nod, I have this odd feeling that something bigger than me is unfolding. 

“Lucky for you, maybe you won’t have to feel that way again.” He kneels down. Barbie, he’s on one knee. Barbie, did this ever happen to you? 

***

When we were younger, we would always waste time together. We would spend hours doing nothing at all. Our dates consisted of laying around, walking, occasionally playing games. At the beginning, this confused me, at the beginning this scared me. I had this idea of how love was supposed to be, all-consuming, magical, a punch to the gut. Our dates were none of this. Slowly, I realised there was security in this. There was serenity in doing nothing at all. And then, we both fell. 

Loving him was easy. Choosing him was easy. But the easiest thing Barbie, was trusting him. We got together the first year of college, and things between us were always calm. Even during our worst fights, our rough patches, I never felt like leaving. It felt surreal to think of a life without him in my periphery. So we both stayed, we reached a balance, and when we graduated, 4 years later, it felt like no time at all. 

And so, because of all these reasons, and many more, I said, “Yes,”. He gleamed at me like he had no doubt at all, but we were both crying. It seemed like a finale, an epilogue. A brilliant, fairy-tale ending. It was one of the best nights of my life. 

He took me back to my parents’ where there was a party. I was surrounded by so many people who were delighted my our engagement. Our engagement, Barbie can you believe it? I was surrounded by love and happiness. I was surrounded by so many who wanted the best for me. In this halo, I celebrated another milestone of my life. I felt at ease, knowing that in a week when I leave for my job, I’ll have someone who has vowed to by my side forever. I didn’t know Barbie, that I needed that security. He knew, he always knew what I wanted a minute before anyone else. 

In the middle of this spectacle of a party, she walks out, and I see the mirrored-bag, and then I look at her. Mom reaches out to me, “Don’t let her ruin another night. He was going to propose the night we had dinner until I ruined your mood by bringing her up,” I nodded, letting the information sink in, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” And then I walk out. 

***

“A party?” She asks as if we hadn’t maintained silence for years. “Yes,” I reply, “I got engaged,” She blinks for a second too long, “Oh, that’s great,” Another pause, “That’s really, really awesome actually. Congrats,” I wanted to tie loose ends, that’s what I thought when I walked out, but now that I’m here I’m not sure how. She hesitates and then says, “I’m glad you’re doing well. I always wanted the best for you,” I smile, genuinely touched that she said that, “Thank you for saying that. What about you? All good?” She nods and smiles graciously. 

We stand at an awkward distance apart, a distance that can only exist between two people who used to be close but aren’t anymore. “We grew up, didn’t we?” I say, “I mean seems strange that we’re old enough to be engaged,” She laughs in a familiar way, “Yeah, crazy. Really puts things into perspective.” She steps forward, “Honestly, why did we stop being friends? I don’t even remember when we stopped talking,” I take a breath, “It was just one of those things, I suppose.” Between you and me Barbie, I’ve practiced multiple speeches in my head of what I would say to her, about why our friendship fell apart, but none of those words seem important anymore. I smile and step in to hug her, “Come, join us for a while,” She hugs me close, “I would love to,” 

We walk in hand in hand, like younger girls, and I introduce her to my Ken. He asks her questions about me in high school and I let them laugh about my fashion choices of the past. I was wrong before Barbie, this is not the epilogue. I’m only in my 20s, nothing I do right now is the finale. Everything up to this moment was the prologue, everything was the very beginning of the learning curve.