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How to let go of resentment?

Really, this is what my first book, my very first full-length venture in the real, daunting world of literature and story writing deals with?

How to let go of resentment? What’s that even mean? I’ve heard about letting of of a toxic friend, letting go of a loved one, letting go of the past memories. But resentment?

What might be resented so strongly and so grandly that it specifically needs letting go of?

Moreover, how do I deal with this topic in a book called 79?

Do you know about some ideas you get when you’re younger or little and then you sleep ages on them just so you can develop them to the fullest? The writers must get me.

This isn’t one of those ideas. I didn’t sleep on this idea, okay, maybe I did, for one night. But then the next morning when I had a dozen other unfinished works and undefined storylines and had to write so many other things, I picked up this thought. I chose this as what my first novel would be about.

An old man…should he be a war veteran, you know, just to give the feels? He carries a long-lasting resentment in his heart, for whom, no one really knew. I doubted he did either. He just knew that he was privileged, as many people would call it, and he had everything someone would ever want. Money. House. Children. What else? At least, what more can an old man want than these few simple treasures, as the world likes to ask. If he wants anything more, he’s probably selfish and mean.

Life seems perfect, right, in old age when you’re living in the wealthiest town of the country, in a huge mansion with no one to burst the bubble of your self-contained, carefully-sculpted peace?

But, did I stress enough on no one?

Oh, right, guess one thing sucks. Loneliness. Okay, maybe not just loneliness, also some kind of grudges that you seem to hold against everyone who’s young and well and taking it for granted.

I guess that brings us back here. Resentmnet.

How to Let Go of Resentment?

Romaldo Ennith is often perceived to resent everything: his family, his dead wife, his neighbours, his wealth, his house, the happy poeple out there, the delivery guy, the newspaper man, this whole freaking town…even the neighbour’s cat.

But out of all, above all, he conveniently, satisfyingly, arrogantly, resents time, the pace of it, more accurately.

He resents how time has passed and his wife has gone and his children have left and everyone seems to be in step with the fast-moving world and here he is, in this traditional town that’s famous for two things: sporting the world’s most unreliable weather department, and also having the world’s largest graveyard. The first one’s humorous, a mock at the helpless people who can’t seem to get the weather right, but the second one’s just sad.

World’s largest graveyard? What do you even do with that?

Romaldo Ennith is spending whatever is still left of his life away, awaiting his time to be buried next to his wife in that famous graveyard, when all of the tranquility of his world suddenly goes awry. Time visits him.

It’s a handsome young man, man, so good-looking, charming, devilish, but he rarely seems to be showing any emotions on his face. All the times, it’s either him staring at Rom like a ghost, or playing a sort of practical joke on him.

You’ll die after twelve days.

Twelve days to live…

Ten days to li—

What nonsense.

Rom scoffs, shakes it off, curses time for playing such a cruel, practical joke on an old man who already seems to be dying slowly as it is. Why would he do this, say that he’s just got twelve days to live and he better correct all his mistakes before he runs out of time?

Worst of all, Rom’s eightieth birthday is arriving. His children are coming home back to the place from where it all began. And no one seems to see this stranger in the house who’s constantly troubling Rom.

He’s afraid of asking them about it. He’s afraid he’s down with schizophrenia. How would that suck!

The celebrations are on. Banners being held up. Children happy. If Rom just bottles this in for a few more days, he’d be fine. This man will go away. It’s just a ghost, it’d just an illusion. Right? Stupid, freaky hallucinations. Trying to scare him, bend him before the storms.

He can battle this.

Until his granddaughter comes to him, a six-year-old angel (metaphorically, not literally), and asks him about death, and Rom can’t help but look at the man standing in the corner, invading his privacy, staring at him with unreadable expression.

Why do people die, Grandpa?

Guess that question begins it all.

Time heals everything, they say.

But time is something that Romaldo Ennith is running out of. He’s got everything…but time.

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Sneak Peak into Chapter One

“Why do people die?”

Unfaltering gaze.

Unafraid voice.

Someone would think that a six-year-old child asking a question about something as tragic as death would be a little wary, at least, wary of not remaining naive anymore.

Then what was this six-year-old girl doing, asking this inexplicable question from me? And what was I supposed to answer her?

“Grandpa, why do people die?” Elindine repeated, more forcefully. Her voice was faint and small, no matter how hard she tried to make it sound tougher. The words that left her mouth presented a different picture entirely.

I had to think. Why did people die? What answer do I give? What do I say without ruining the innocent ignorance of a sheltered child? My thoughts would’ve gone on endlessly had the urgency in her eyes not gotten the better hold of me.

I blurted out at last, “Maybe because they’re too worn out…to live anymore?” It was a blind throw, I just hoped she’d stop talking like she was an adult already.

“They’re tired?” She wondered out loud, creasing her forehead, as if ready to ask another question that’d be harder to answer.

“How can someone get tired of living?”

As I expected. I was afraid I didn’t know the answer to that age-long process. Even if I did, though, I wouldn’t have been able to present the answer in the form of simple words that could be understood by a young mind. Elindine was simply too new for this world, and I had been around for just so bloody long.

Instead of answering her question, I looked out towards the man who had been silently standing in the corner of the room all this time, watching us with probing eyes as my granddaughter interrogated me. Elindine looked like she didn’t see him, as if he wasn’t there at all.

But I could.

And it bugged me that he was in my room and hadn’t moved at all even when I had shooed him away. He hadn’t even reacted. He aggravated me. He picked me apart with his gaze.

As a result, I, on the other hand, resorted to just looking at him, wondering and marvelling.

He was handsome, not at all boyish. He looked like someone who could make the world fall at his feet, and that was why I had begun to feel a little sceptical of him.

Maybe he knew it.

And he enjoyed it.

He was always visiting my room, and then staying there for hours straight. We’d sit silently, not making a sound or even moving. In fact, it’d always be so quiet and discouraging that he would always end up leaving and I’d always end up wondering if I had missed the opportunity I had been given.

If I ever told anyone in my family about this, they’d think I was going crazy. They’d laugh it off. Or worse, they’d give me these concerned looks and then share secret glances with each other that I wouldn’t be able to decipher.

Either way, I’d always be left out of any discussion regarding myself.

Maybe they would be right, though. Who knew, maybe I was actually going crazy day-by-day, having been around for such a long time.

Perhaps, I was drained now. I was done.

Still, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the timeless man—whose age I couldn’t determine and I was afraid of guessing wrong—looked a little out of place in our house.

He just didn’t fit in. Day in and day out, he always left me feeling unsettled, being so close nearby, dressed immaculately in his ironed black shirt and jeans, staring as if waiting for something to happen.

Maybe waiting for me to approach him first.

How could I? I was sure I was coming down with schizophrenia, and it was a sad knowledge to have because schizophrenia seemed scary. Old people were already lonely as they were. No one needed some eerie illness to top it off.

…and a bizarre stranger.

One day this man walked towards me. Kept coming closer. And closer.

He looked magnificent from up this close.

He introduced himself to me.

I am—

I found myself scoffing. As if. I was sure he was doing this to get some fun out of an old man. This was so, at least, until he gave me the news. Then it was just plain disrespectful.

You’re going to die in twelve days.

That’s why schizophrenia was frightening. When I was out of my stupor, I realised that Elindine was still waiting for me to answer.

I kept staring into her huge pretty eyes for some time, scared for her because wouldn’t the knowledge destroy her completely?

How can someone get tired of living?

I guess time did that to people.

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Hey, thank you for coming this far. It means you have finished reading the first scene of my debut novel 79, and hopefully, you liked it!

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Book launch in July ’24. The book will be available for readers to buy on Amazon Kindle, or to read for free as Kindle Unlimited Members.

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