I have noticed something.
I rarely mean it as much as I do when I’m asking you,
“How are you doing?”
And I usually mean to ask you –
- Tell me about the darkest night and how you lived through it, since we last spoke.
- Tell me if you have had any nightmares, and what they are about.
- Tell me, are your limbs in order? Do your jaws work alright? Can you blink at regular intervals?
- How are your parents? Have they showed you recently, how much you mean to them?
- What about your friends? Do they check on you, when you’re deeply hurt and immersed in sorrow?
- What’s the most fun you have had recently?
- What rules have you broken? How did you like that?
- Tell me about that time when you dealt with your inner demons like the warrior your soul is. You thought this moment would never arrive! – yet, here you are.
- Tell me, have you kissed any girls recently? How did they taste? Did they use their tongue?
- Have you bared your soul to anybody lately? Did they understand you?
- Show me your skills, your hacks, your latest tricks! What sort of jokes do you tell lately? Can you still make me laugh? Can I make you?
- How are you doing at work?
- At night, a while before you fall asleep, what keeps you awake?
- How have you been nurturing your body? Have you discovered anything new about how it works for you?
- How have you been destroying your body? Tell me about what drives you to do that. While you are it, show me where it feels like a mortal wound. I swear I’d take away your pain if I could.
And lastly, I mean to ask you –
- Do you ever think of me? Why? When? For how long? And what does your heart say when such a thought flickers, even momentarily. I daresay that a thought of me could stand a barrage of ones that are about life mundane, but for how long I wonder, does it manage to sustain? Or rather, do YOU manage to sustain it?
Don’t just tell me you’re fine. That breaks my heart. I want to know. I care.
Until next time, old friend.
I can’t really put a finger on it, but I have changed since the last time I posted on here.
I have become very comfortably whole, but in a rather porous way. What I mean is, I am not whole in the sense that I have no holes, and no space to accommodate the ebbs and flow of life. My earlier definition of whole used to be akin to that of a SOLVED Rubik’s cube. No need or space for change. Thoroughly well-defined, and really no scope for anymore human interaction to be involved in anymore. And then, somewhere along the way, I didn’t really feel like I wanted that anymore. I like my periodic ‘struggles’… they have helped me unearth aspects about myself that I never expected to learn. It has put me in positions that I hadn’t ever really fathomed, and it gave me a renewed sense of wonder. Sometimes, it did nothing for me, and I discovered that ‘nothing’ is not bad either!
‘Trust your struggle’ is a maxim I have come to accept over the past few years, sometimes grudgingly so. It’s become quite integral to my being now, and in the process, I have finally gotten a peek at the reality of ‘holding space’. Sometimes, life isn’t a project. Sometimes, even the most well-intentioned advice can be ill-timed. Sometimes, what you have to offer is not what the other needs, and other times it is not what they want. And that’s ok! It’s fine to step back and move forward with those connections that are felt strongly, and it is fine to loosen your grip on those connections that seem like they are slipping through your fingers.
I recently did something for someone with absolutely no expectations, and with genuine, uninhibited affection. It was liberating! It still is. I am in awe and curious, but I think I’ll just let this be this one time. I’m letting a flower be a flower; no need to pluck it. It’s already working its magic by just being. 🙂
She was beautiful.
Gracious host, warm of heart.
Too gentle to be envied, and loved in return.
She nurtured her kind and tended to them tenderly.
Her support is what brought out in him his purpose and its pursuit.
She spun a world of her own around her, shrouded in love and clouded by tranquillity-
Clouds that were caught in a tempest so severe and steady and unrelenting.
Such a fight was put up; a wall of hope on the nimble shoulders of affection.
It was a sight to behold, and took all those who watched in a wave of inspiration.
She was beautiful, and it could be seen cradled beneath her wrinkles and blemishes.
She was beautiful, and it could be seen in their eyes that brimmed with fondness.
But her silent courage, even as she carped, it shone through.
Her fight against living hell, for life itself.
For this, she is beauty.