It doesn't feel like a long hiatus from writing. In my mind I'm constantly stringing words together, and scripting too many parallel universes, hoping to finally pen them down on a day that doesn't feel shorter than its sunset.
I have sat down on several occasions to write, most commonly to vent and given up on every single chance owing to the in-cohesiveness of my thoughts. My mind hadn't been idle for a single moment as far as I can trace back into the last year, and given a chance with no questions asked, I could have screamed into an abyss my frustration and hoped it never found its way back. About patriarchy, about war, about loss of childhoods during war, of relationships, my fear of bereavement and most of all, about the pangs of never making enough of this short stint in earth.
So much has changed for me in the past one year. Ever since granny died, every single day has been spent in her contemplation, in contemplation of death and life in general. In understanding a God that took her away against my will, to whom I prayed, and prayed, and prayed till my nerves numbed and cried, and cried and cried till I could no longer breathe. Fast forward a year, on some days, I'm still broken bones waiting to be glued back together with the adhesive of her presence. The only remnants of her life in mine are the regrets I have of not having been there for her. For feigning ignorance and playing the fool, who survives final-stage cancer?
I started this journey to myself on the day I knew she was suffering from cancer. I needed an oasis, I needed a muse to detour from my depression. I lived with my father who had mastered the art of masking emotions- I had to be his saviour and my own.
As a result I indulged myself in books- mostly Rumi, in yoga, in writing, design and art, in finding the best cafes in town- spending hours there all by myself, trying to find myself and hoping never to be found the world. I questioned pretty much everything that was put before me. I was unemployed, I had seen my grandmother slowly slipping away into her heaven, and I did not have many to share this sadness with.
My inward journey began through all of this- a journey for which in two years time I would thank myself. Everything seemed well at times, but on days everything seemed unsatisfying. It took me months of crying to sunsets, but at the end of it I finally found a peace like never before.
My friend told me a few months back that deep within him was a lake undeterred by the outside world. By people's opinions, inhibitions, judgements and expectations.. Looking back, I had realized the existence of this space within myself. I had begun to be undeterred, to the point of scary undeterred.
My grandmother was a fighter. A lady who did things only her way. She lived alone, travelled alone, and battled with life (and death) alone. Her loss reiterated to me how short this life is, to hold every passing moment and make it mine, to love people that deserve to be loved with a love like no other, to be fiercely passionate and above all- not to wait for a tomorrow. I started meeting new people, making friends out of my social circles, sharing our lives and stories, building dreams for each other. I started travelling. I started enriching my soul with people and experiences.
This moment in life, this is the happiest I have ever been. This is the most peaceful and content I have been. On some days, I'm smiling only within myself and that's the only way I want to be seen- with nothing to prove to the world.
