Hope comes not from words;
it’s in our walks, and coffees,
and silences, dear.
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December: Freewriting #12
A year is coming to an end, yet oddly, I feel no sadness in letting go. Maybe I’ve just been ready already. Ready to move, ready to be accountable.
But first, I must finish this. In peace, with friends in an unfamiliar land with the unfamiliar breeze. The trees remind me of home, but the sea smells like nothing. This is not home. Not yet.
I carry complicated feelings with me everywhere I go. My heart breaks with each day, but I must raise the strength to keep moving on my own. I cannot sit or sleep or cry or complain without feeling like a stranger in my own home. Is this what life is supposed to be like? It’s poetically tragic, these moments that come and go. The life I dreamed of as a child seems farther and farther away from reach, but maybe I’m closer to the truth now.
Where did all my enthusiasm go? Bring it back and make a charm of it for me, so that I may look at it and remember the world is mine. So that I might stop feeling so empty and like I’m embodying paucity itself.
That dream frightened me. I wish you were not in it. I think of the other way of life often, yearning for a little normalcy. But I realize this isn’t in the cards for me, but oh, what wonderful dreams. And oh, how it hurts me to let them all go.
The year ends on the bitter note of sickness. But at least I am warm and somewhat surrounded by love. What is somewhat? Just not what I am used to, or what I think I need. I see why people often look for things they once felt with their family. Those invisible things feel like home. It is familiar and easy. A glass of leftover homemade wine, maybe, and silent prayers as the fireworks begin.
Happy New Year.
Freewriting in this online space for the past one year has been immensely liberating. It has helped me see that I can write for myself and not worry about creating something perfect. It is me as I am, whether or not it makes sense and whether or not I am speaking fact or fiction.
I haven’t decided if I’ll continue this practice this year. Stay tuned.
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It Hurts To Talk To People
It hurts to talk to people.
Just saying this makes me swell with emotion, and I’m not sure why. It hasn’t always been like this, but right now, it hurts. It hurts when someone doesn’t understand. It hurts when someone doesn’t recognise the pain with which I open up. It hurts when I realize that people don’t always want to listen, and would rather just give me advice. It hurts. But I’m really trying to be okay.
I wish I could move into some safe space where I could just be and not feel such dread, but the world is hardly ever that accommodating. It doesn’t let me get too comfortable. It keeps me on my toes, afraid and always sorry.
I realize how depressing this sounds, and I don’t mean to worry anyone. But I suppose I’ve had this problem for a while now. I have been too stubborn to admit it. I’ve always wanted to be that person who is always there for everyone, and I have tried. I wanted to be that person who anyone could reach out to, and I wanted to ensure I bore no ill will with anyone. I really did try.
But I’ve had this problem for a while now. It just really hurts when I talk to people.
Perhaps the problem was in all that trying. I’ve always wanted to be useful, to be needed, to be wanted. I have never really jumped into anything with what I wanted, or even needed, in mind. I would be more concerned with making a safe space for the other person. I would forget that I was human too, and that I too would have my own problems to consider. It just never occurred to me that my own real feelings would ever become a cause for concern.
Come to think of it, even when I comb through memories, I don’t remember myself as being a real part of anything (save for one or two life-altering experiences). At most, I see myself as an observer, a passer-by come for a night’s stay, or like a foreign student on a peculiar exchange trip.
Of course, this does not mean I’ve never dealt with problems or that I have never opened up. It was more that I saw the act of opening up as part of the give and take of social protocol. It felt like I was detached from my feelings and surroundings; things would come and go.
But I suppose I’ve grown more miserable in the past few years. I’ve grown a lot more attached to the world around me, finding meaning, love and subsequently, pain in these attachments. It’s left me with an odd conundrum—do I risk pain and vulnerability, that eternal struggle, for the odd chance that I might be understood and loved, or do I consider the safer option and stay more detached form the people and experiences in my life? It might seem like a no-brainer to choose love and companionship, but I don’t think it’s that easy. When you feel as bad as I have been, when you’re overstimulated and constantly misunderstood, it actually helps to let go of things a little and focus on what is in our control. Obviously these two options are not mutually exclusive, but my point is that sometimes, especially when you’ve hit rock bottom, it can feel like it.
Recently, I’ve been feeling deeply the regret and shame that follows after mishandled vulnerability. I’ll confess, my choices of friends or confidantes have sometimes been poor. But how do I find the right people? I always feel this heaviness in the heart that makes me feel so out of place, like a black wilting rose in a field of fresh white roses. Right now I find comfort in silence, in a kind of passivity that consumes and numbs everything. I do not try to explain, because being misunderstood has been suffocating me far beyond one can imagine.
And I suppose anyone stuck in bubble like this might lose hope (that someone who actually gets it will come along) and just stop caring. This looks like being unnaturally reclusive or avoiding putting in effort to cultivate relationships. It all becomes a matter of feeling safe, and protected, even without someone to rely on. For me, this behaviour comes from having constantly tried to test social waters, while feeling pathetic for the way I choose to do things (even though I am just trying to take care of myself). I have tried revealing brief moments of vulnerability to see what would happen, how people will react. Will they be kind? Will they become hostile or upset or angry? Will they understand? Will they see me as I am? I am often so afraid of being hurt in that vulnerability that I convince myself that pain is inevitable when one opens up. I see now that I’ve created a self-fulfilling prophesy. I know that no matter who I have spoken to, there have been very few moments, if any, where I had not eventually come to feeling regret for reaching out at all.
To make matters worse, I guess, with the pandemic and online life I’ve now reached a more pathetic and awkward space in my social life: I find that more often now than ever before, I put myself in situations where I neither know how to communicate with people in the way I used to once long ago, nor do I know how to let myself feel safe or comfortable anywhere but in the company of my own solitude.
Old friends find me in the hopes of rekindling old dynamics I created for them from that period of time in my life when people pleasing was deeply ingrained in me; they often become disillusioned and even irritable when they realize I am not who I once was. Maybe you see why this can be disconcerting. My new friends… well, it feels like it is only a matter of time before I lose them too. Nobody to blame here. But sometimes I suspect I am a bad friend: with my circumstances, as well as the pandemic, I am not regular in maintaining social conventions these days (or in general) and I am generally very reserved even on good days.
I assure you this is not what I want. This is a temporary phase until I figure out a way out of all this. I know I will. I write this down because writing is my only real friend right now. When I write, there is nothing expected of me. I know I will not be forsaken for feeling what I feel at any given time, or for being who I am. I am just heard, every one of my words acknowledged as closely as I can pay attention.
To be honest, though recovery seems difficult in the moment I know it is possible. Ideally, I’d like to return to my old self; the girl who loved having deep conversations about anything and everything with anyone and everyone. I want to feel the magic and mystery of things once more, I want to find the glimmers of hope in people’s eyes, I want to feel the depth of people’s love in their voices. I miss being exciting talking about the beauty of life, I miss learning about things systematically, and I most definitely miss loving and being loved in silence, without expectations, without much friction, but with just deep, deep understanding.
But it is with regret I tell you that, at least right now in my life, it hurts, and it really truly does, to talk to people.
But it’s okay. I have faith.
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The Promises of Solitude
I am not sure how qualified I am to write about solitude, because I’ve been surrounded by people almost all my life. Whether it be the presence of friends or family, I’ve never had a time where I was truly left on my own; I am quite convinced that I’ve never experienced real solitude in the first 18 years of my life. As a result, I feel like I’ve been unwittingly looking for it everywhere I go, looking for ways to fill the void that comes from not spending quality time with myself.
When I think of solitude, the image that usually comes to mind is that of a middle-aged person living all alone in an empty house in the middle of somewhere remote, away from all the din of the city. This would be someone everyone knew about but did not approach. Self-sufficient, this person always keeps society at arm’s length, guarding their treasured solitude, venturing out only once in a while to meet their loved ones or close friends.
This kind of solitude is something I’ve always wanted to explore. To be away from society and its insipid expectations and people with their gossip and overbearing opinions. Every time I feel like doing something adventurous, my social environment finds ways to discourage me, to bore holes into my head and fill it with anxiety and fear. And I don’t speak of random acquaintances or distant relatives, though they play a part in all of this too. I’m mostly talking about family and the friends I like to think of as close; it is their words usually hurt the most. I know it is still possible to go against the great flow of culture, tradition, and family, but I don’t want to have to do that all the time. I feel like we’re all going against the grain already, trying to combat generational cycles of trauma and toxicity. But I don’t want to have to fight to do what I like or be who I am. It gets tiring.
So, do I just give up? It’s not likely that my current social environment will change to accommodate me. But what I can do is maybe try and surround myself with like-minded people, as well as those who might care enough about my growth and happiness to support me and my endeavours. It is difficult to find such people, but it is not impossible. I suppose this step starts with some self-love, whether that looks like setting boundaries or taking some time to figure things out. This move out of our comfort zone allows us to eventually seek the spaces in which we might belong. I like to think it is only a matter of time after this before we find our people, but really, it is also a combination of luck, resources, and patience. So if you haven’t found your people or your spaces, don’t give up. I myself have only recently begun to think about these things, but I can tell you that even the journey, though difficult, has been interesting.
Seeking solitude in itself has been a step outside my comfort zone. I’ve always been reserved, but looking for spaces to accommodate the kind of solitude I am looking for has always been difficult. That’s why travel has always been so close to my heart. Travelling, whether it be a short walk or a long journey, allows one to enter new spaces; it is something that opens one up to the subtleties of life and allows the mind to wander as far as one can dream. The search for solitude often reveals the gift of travel, and travel in turn helps us find solitude in some of its spaces. When I say solitude, I don’t mean the debilitating kind of loneliness that most of us wish to escape. I mean that secure space that only you occupy, a room of your own so to speak, where you are allowed to rest or play or create as you like. It is in this safe space that most of us find our footing, where we learn to rely on ourselves, and more importantly, where we figure out a little bit about who we are as individuals.
Now, could anyone blame me for running away sometimes in search of solitude? I know that running away from problems or people isn’t always the best solution. But sometimes, we all just need a break to catch our breath, to restabilize, to find our balance. Solitude can offer a neutral, safe environment that feels familiar and even encouraging, if we choose to cultivate it this way. It is a place where I know won’t be attacked, a place that will not offer me unsolicited advice. It is a space that can give me room to rejuvenate, reflect, and eventually respond to my external world.
Though I’ve already said so much in favour of finding solitude, one of the best things solitude always promises me is the joy of being amongst the people you love after taking that much-needed break. I always feel gratitude and a renewed sense of kindness and love for those who accept me when I come back from my little pockets of solitude. I understand when some get a little angry or upset when I step away, but I cherish every time somebody decides to love and support me anyway. So really, there’s so much to gain from solitude, both while we’re enjoying it as well as afterwards.
I’ve spoken so much about solitude that all I can think about now is travel. I hope we all find our own spaces and people, and of course, the all-too-important thing that is solitude.
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Graduating, From High School
My school and the life I derived as a student were my most prized possessions all throughout my childhood and my teenage years. I went to an international school in my city, first joining as a 6 year old in the second year of kindergarten, and remained an active member of that family until the very last year of high school. 13 years of schooling passed me by like a slow and endless river that I inevitably took for granted. It was a constant stream of days that proved to be a permutations of tears, laughter and sweat; a demanding yet carefree world.
But as I neared the end of my schooling, I grew anxious of leaving my cocoon. I had grown comfortable with the web of life that sustained my growth; the interconnected relationships with friends, teachers and family, my studies that opened me up to the infinite possibilities of life, and finally, the extracurriculars that helped me discover myself. It was impossible to imagine a world without these gifts and comforts, but my graduation loomed large.
Graduation? What was the big deal? What was I even graduating from? Although everyone talked about physically graduating high school, they obviously also implied a metaphorical graduation. As though I would transform into an adult when the last moment of my schooling lapses, almost every passing adult warned me to enjoy my school life as much as I could because I would never get it back. I respected their concern, but it was becoming almost stressful. Perhaps even stressful enough for me to dread the day I would graduate.
I knew the day would finally come, to hit me in the face like an unwelcome epiphany. I began marking the days and looked for a sign to show me that I had in fact graduated, not just officially but also in my mind. Many weeks passed with me guessing and stressing. Clearly, it wasn’t the day they lauded us on stage, or the day our teachers gave us a farewell dinner. It wasn’t the last day of our board examinations, and it surely wasn’t the last official day of classes. Exhausted with all this waiting, I expected the day I graduated to be the final day I spent in school as a student; the day I ran around school premises with my friends, saying goodbye and taking pictures with all my loved friends and teachers. That day when I wore my uniform for the last time, that bittersweet day when I took my last school bus ride home.
I came back home and laid on my bed, a deep and empty feeling brewing in my chest. I still hadn’t felt like I had graduated.
So then as a last-ditch effort I eagerly awaited my results, hoping at least that would make me feel like I had qualified to finally move on. When the exam results were announced, I took my mixed feelings of disappointment, release and relief as the closure I needed. But it turned out that, barely a few hours after the results were published, everything in my life would come to a devastating halt: my childhood buddy, a classmate of 12 years and my partner in crime for every crazy thing I did, had taken his own life. Inevitably, I forgot all about graduating school, and I cared very little about much else. The next few months were a painful reminder of everything I had lost, and an emptiness crept into every crevice of my life. I had settled well in to college, but it didn’t mean anything. Everything weighed down on me, until a very confusing and cathartic day during my Christmas break in December 2020.
My sibling had told me that the annual school drama production was to be staged soon, and vaguely implied that I should be there. She wouldn’t ask me to come directly for two simple reasons: first, she knew how important theatre and this particular extracurricular was to me in my school days, and second, she knew it was something I worked on closely for several years with my friend who was no longer with us. It would be cruel to insist on me being there, everyone knew this. Nevertheless, my teachers and juniors began texting me to be there, to see our legacy be carried forward. But I just couldn’t. I told most everyone I wouldn’t make it in time, and I decidedly told my family I did not want to go. It was decided and all set in stone.
Until it was not. I had to – which only means that I was forced by my family – drop my sibling at the theatre early so she could get dressed and ready for her performance. I was dressed in a bright yellow kurta, trying to hide the dark feelings within. Her team, known as Prithvi was one of the four houses in our school. Being one of the earlier acts, I planned to drop her at the theatre a little after lunch time, and leave without being noticed. But to my surprise when I reached there, I was welcomed by my teachers and juniors like I had never left. Even the stage tech staff had remembered me, and asked me how I was doing. Suddenly, I couldn’t help feeling confused and I couldn’t stop the memories and the feelings rushing in. I initially really did not want to be a part of this show without my friend beside me, but having shown up I realized that I would regret not being there.
So, I ended up going after all, albeit under the guise of supporting my little sibling.
But I suppose it was clear to everyone from my fiery red churidar – which symbolised the fire and passion of my house, Agni – I changed into that my sympathies were elsewhere. I was feeling very confident, especially when people remarked on the redness of my appearance, and this confidence carried me all the way backstage where I was welcomed with cheer by my juniors. I could not stay long without tearing up, so I gave them a quick pep talk, and reminded them of the times we held it together in the past when my dear friend and I were still a part of the production. Everyone was fired up, and so was I as I left them to be seated on the balcony.
Crap. I began to feel uneasy being on the other side as an audience member instead of as a performer. But I somehow consoled myself and watched the plays in silence. I watched every other house perform and I did not bat an eyelid. However, when my own house’s play was on, I could not hold back my tears. All that confidence came shattering down, and all I wanted to do was curl up on my bed back home and cry. I somehow held on until the end of the show, silently thinking back to better times. But once again things took a turn when I was invited on stage to speak a few words while the judges finalized the results. I vehemently refused to go at first, but then I thought about what my friend would have done. He wasn’t one to miss an opportunity like this. Like that everything changed. Suddenly, I was neither confident nor insecure. I was content to be there, to speak on behalf of myself and on behalf of my buddy. I was grateful that I was on stage once more, and although teary-eyed, I spoke my mind with a conviction I hadn’t felt in ages about anything else.
As I wrapped up my speech and looked into the bright light of people clapping and cheering, I felt free at last: I had finally graduated.
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Memories of the Streets of Trivandrum | Travel Journal
There are many charming things in the princely city of erstwhile Travancore; some of my personal favourites include the beautiful Kanakakunnu Palace grounds, the refreshing Shangumugham beach, and the breathtaking Wildlife Sanctuary near the Neyyar Dam. But perhaps my most favourite thing of all time would simply be… walking inside the 4 or 5 kilometre perimeter around the Kowdiar Palace (I like to include Kowdiar and Kuravankonam in this area).
It has become one of my most treasured hobbies, over the past few years, to take long walks in the evening along these streets. The place itself has nothing fascinating to show for it, but it has become a special part of my identity. Walking on these streets, I’ve talked things big and small with my beloved family and friends. There’s a walk for all kinds of weather and for all kinds of moods: some days I’d be on errands, on others just feeling blue, some days it’d be raining, on others there’d be a warm evening hue.
It was here that I’ve walked with my best friends, discussing the craziest ideas and plans, vowing to make it all happen. It was here that I’ve laughed like a crazy mad-man, cried some really good tears, and perhaps bonded with some of the most important people in my life.
These were also the pathway that led me to making new friends as I grew up into a young lady. This allowed me to explore a completely new side of me that I didn’t know existed. Learning how to strike up conversation, and to interact with a whole different circle of people outside my school life was a big deal for me. This gave me a new sense of freedom, allowing me to widen my horizons, and look beyond what is comfortable. I am truly grateful for this.
Most of my walks would be towards one of the many chai shops in the vicinity of my home where I would usually down a couple of glasses of piping hot mint lemon tea, more popularly known as the Sulaimani. Perhaps the most fascinating thing here is not the fact that tea, which I previously had no affection for, grew on me, but it was all the new friends I made, all the lovely conversations I’ve had, and the crazy stories I’ve heard. Each day, I’d learn something new about someone, or have fun discussing philosophy with semi-strangers. The thrill is in finding that level of trust and connection in other people which lets you comfortable have a meaningful conversation. Most everyone is looking for someone to confide in, someone to connect with, even if they do not say it out loud. The moment they find it, you can see the spark, a moment’s glow on their face, a new sense of familiarity that actually builds on their identity. I’m no stranger to this myself, because I have found a new kind of joy in running into someone you ‘kind of know’ in friendly settings. It is an opportunity to share and express yourself, and maybe make a friend.
This is one of the biggest reasons why I love taking walks now. Although it is not as easy to do this in unfamiliar places, it has given me the courage to put myself out there. I like this, and I know it is the way forward. The best part is that I don’t know where the path will lead—only that I’ll make friends on the way.
So when will you begin this simple exercise in spontaneity? A walk to explore the world around you, and a walk to explore yourself.
aquarius, blog, chai, depression, explore, friends, friendship, happiness, identity, life, lifestyle, love, personal, Spirituality, sulaimani, taking walks, talking, tears, travancore, travel, trivandrum, walking, walks, Writing