When I find my window to light(ness) at the nearing end of my dark(ness) alley. When the dark(ness) begins to become lighter. When I’m able to get out of my bed with a sense of purpose to live. With the sense of purpose to get things done. Get some juice out of my life. Feel alive from the inside. Be part of something. Create something.
When I find myself want to be alive to taste my life – all phases of it. This is what success looks like to me.
When all the skins of being polite, agreeable, patient, and be goody goes off…
When all the compulsive need to be accepted, liked and acknowledged ceases to be important…
What is left behind is a live wire: Complete, striped off and raw version of yourself. A version that’s calm and independent of any attachments. A confident soul which is free of self imposed, invisible shackles. A beautiful, untouched, unexplored and hidden version of yourself. A mind filled with sense of calmness and abundance of security.
That moment, you’ll be meeting yourself for the first time. And you’ll realise, “Damn, I am hell of an amazing person!” You’ll love to be around yourself. That is the beautiful state of being a live wire.
It didn’t work out. You put yourself out there, got out of your bubble and took a chance. It still didn’t work out.
There will be a lit bit of tightness in your chest. Find it difficult to breathe when you think of it again and again: That it didn’t work out. That you’ll have to do it all over again.
“Failed”, you’ll think.
But, so what?
Feel sad for a while. That’s ok. Like John Green said, “Pain demands to be felt!”
But stay in there. Don’t do anything hasty. Feel it for a while.
Then pick yourself up, get back in control and start all over again.
Remember that small window when you put yourself out there? The window that reminded you of how beautiful life can be? Hold on to that. Fight for that.
Live for that window.
It’s not over yet.
The wait. The horrible, horrible wait…
An unanswered call
The “ignored” texts
The dreadful Mondays
The unasked questions
The ambiguous answers
The unmatched actions
Words, they are just words you say…
The forgotten callbacks
The unfollowed plans
Those unsaid words
Life. The unberableness of life.
Forehead breaks into sweat
The untamed heartbeat
The unruly mind
Panic induced adrenaline rush!
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
Remember to breathe.
She holds her hand
The touch. That comforting touch.
Heart bursts. Quivering lips.
“Don’t cry”, she says
Stillness and her breath
Some more deep breaths
And just like that, anxiety fades
It was a messy day because of a messy project at work. The work came back home with me, with its fingers intertwined in mine. It demanded my attention. It was clingy. It refused to let me leave it alone for more than 5 mins. An ideal messy day that not even a workoholic would like.
So, that evening I sat down with it right in front of me. When this little being of mine came running in. Her anklets tinkling was a dead give away of her arrival. She came squeaking my name. Climbed on my bed. Sat next to my work and started talking. Talking in a language that was clear and apparently coherent according to her. It was babble to me. It was so refreshing and tempting that I wrapped up faster than I normally would.
The kiddie, babble conversation I had with her later was the best part of the day. I had missed the most important part of my day till I narrated all the unwanted “ghory” specifs to him when he asked, “How was your day?” And he politely responded by reminding me how my little being fixed a messy day. In his perspective, I had an awesome day with the best work buddy in baby world.
She looked forward to the day. The exact time of the day, to be precise, when she would lay her eyes on him. It had almost been an year.
When he called her to announce, “I’m here!” she couldn’t hold back the bounce in her strides, as she walked towards him. And when she saw him, she hurled herself at him, and took the long pending bear hug from him.
Just the thing she needed.
He held the strings that bound her, untangled them gently so that she could slowly breathe. The first breath she took cracked the high wall of pretense she had built around her. She took another deep breath and she found herself unravel in his arms.
Her vulnerability lay bare in front of him.
They sat next to each other on the bench. Leaves crackled as they shifted their feet. The winter afternoon heat warm on their backs. His arms around her shoulder. Her hands resting on her thighs. They sat for a while. Her emotions finally found words and they flowed from her lips. The unspoken, unseen weight slowly lifting from her shoulders.
Trusting that he can take it all, she unfolded. And he did.
Though they felt stillness around them, the time kept ticking. Finally it was time to leave, with a promise to see each other soon again.
As they both walked away in the opposite directions, she walked away with strength and courage to live from him. And he, with a bit of her soul.
I guess I always knew it, but I refused to accept it. Untill I was forced to acknowledge it during a training session. It was an activity, the trainer had said. He handed out A4 sheets, a sharpie and couple of colour markers around and asked us to draw. At first it was guided. Simple drawings. When it came to combining those simple drawings to create something unique out of our imagination, everyone, including me, stopped.
He chuckled and asked, “Did you guys never draw as a child?” “No one is going to watch you. No one is going to judge you either. You do you.” He said.
It took a while, but slowly everyone got comfortable in their skin. Comfortable enough to show what came out of their mind. Merge it again with everyone else’s creative mind to create something absolute. Ok, almost absolute.
Thus, the trainer had emphasized, “Think Alone. Think Together.” Creativity isn’t dead. It still is very alive in every one of us. Just that there is a barrier that stops us from exploring our potential.
I made this with a play dough while playing with my 3 year old niece today. It was almost like getting into a meditative state and let my mind break the barrier. I knew it was ugly. But my little one found it funny enough to lift it. Look at it. Talk about it. Play with it. And then take pleasure in crushing it back in the play dough box.
I am now no longer embarrassed of whatever, in the name of art, comes out of me.
Sometimes you don’t tell, just do.
An act of love.
A decision in action, silently taken.
Maybe an impulsive one. Maybe out of deep hurt. Maybe out of kindness. Maybe because you’re biting back words, so as to not scar another human. Maybe out of a silent protest. Maybe out of passion.
So, sometimes, you don’t tell, just take actions. At times they are louder than words. If not, at times they serve better than words.
Silence at times speaks the loudest.
Anger: it corrupts the mind. The mind stops thinking. A darkness grows, slowly spreading in the small confines of the heart. It will hear nothing. It will feel nothing but spite and hatred. These feelings dominate and take over everything, leaving no room to even reach out and try to kill them.
The anger just rises. Getting bitter by the day. No explanation. Just raw bitter bile.
The intimacy of the relationship doesn’t matter. The bitterness was harbouring and festing in the body for so long, that the soul refused to acknowledge anything else. There is no stopping. It grows, the bitterness, till the mind loses sense of anything good. The body will find itself standing, filled with black bitter bile. Unforgiving. Not thinking. Not anymore.
Until one day, the mind cracks. The bile spills out. The soul will rationalize the outburst by saying it needs to cleanse, express and emote. The tongue will wag. Fingers will point. There will be explosion. Maybe minor enough to cause a small burn. Or big enough to kill.
Then comes the calm after the storm.
The whole being, shaking, will question the root of the cause. It will question is it worth going that far in the past. Maybe it matters. Maybe it will heal. Maybe it doesn’t matter. May it will do nothing at all.
Until one day, the right question will be asked, “How do I stop the rise of this bile. How do I put an end to this all?”
And finally plead, “Just make it stop. Please.”
He stood on the balcony. The twinkly lights draped on the railing of the balcony threw light on his face. He stood, lost in his thoughts. One hand in his pocket. His beautiful digits of his other hand lightly wrapped around the green beer bottle. He took a sip as he watched the city sleep under the yellow street lights.
Light drizzle. He runs his beautiful digits through his hair. Hair tousled.
At that moment, exactly that moment she felt the wind knocked out of her chest. Swollen heart. Unbearable, undefined emotions.
That was it.