Lost/Affirmations

I don’t know who I am anymore. Who I once thought I was has been dead for years, who I want to be is nowhere to be found, and I seem to falter at every step I take towards that elusive self. Projects fail. Hours of toil amount to nothingness. The last remaining egg fails to hatch. The world breaks your heart. And meanwhile the past you want to leave behind keeps intruding.
Photo by Dan Grinwis via Unsplash

This blog isn’t going anywhere, is it? I know all the advice. Have read them all a hundred times. I know I don’t offer a service here, nothing that a reader may gain for spending their precious minutes reading through my ramblings. But that’s not why I started. I started because I needed to hear out my thoughts before they imploded inside my head. I write here because I can’t speak my madness and my fury and my melancholy out in person, and I don’t know who to talk to. Oh I have friends. Perhaps you are one of them. And I know you would listen. But what do I tell you?
Should I tell you how I forget how to push the air out of my lungs every-time the phone rings? How I spend hours and minutes counting moments of unproductive inertia because I am too frightened of failing at life? Do I tell you of the desolation of my heart? And will you ask me why? There is no answer to that. There is no reason, no rationale behind this sickness. Not any I can justify anyway.
And so I go on, rambling and rambling and pouring my words out to unburden a heart I am afraid to look into in case I find it a shallow, stilted space. I do not want to lose the solipsistic luxury of this whining. And yet, I am sad this blog isn’t going places. And yet, I am glad it allows me to speak out loud without being really heard.
A part of me wants to block the whole world out. A part of me wants to belong to the world. Yet perhaps, it is not such a great contradiction as it seems to be. They are different worlds, you know? I spent my whole life preparing for one, believing in it, and now that I am in it- I don’t care anymore. The fairytales never say what happens in forever. Is there heartache in forever? Is there disillusionment? Anxiety? Despair? Rumpelstiltskin, can you make me some happiness out of hay? I wouldn’t know what to do with the gold anyway.
I am so tired and I keep sending laughing emojis and I want to hide from everything that I hate that keep breaking down my boundaries, screeching for attention. And I am just being dramatic over little details because here at least, I have the luxury of not being heard.

I quit. Right now. From everything that puts a leaden weight on my heart. From everything that is not joyful and impassioned and glorious and beautiful. From everything that is just pointless details. From everything that is not meaningful, I quit right now. I go chasing the harmony of the golden deer. Starting now. Right now. Life without joy isn’t worth the effort and the toil. I go searching for my joy. Now.
Phot by Kaylee Brayne via Unplash

(I’m only thinking aloud. If you like it here, please do share and subscribe.)


And if it's more convenient for you, I also host this blog on Wordpress. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Perfumes and Lipsticks -friday fiction flash

In most parts of the world, Halloween is celebrated – in some form or another – this weekend. Your challenge this week is to write a horror scene ( or something horrific) using a wet noodle, a styrofoam cup and a feather. So here's my first go at Fiction Friday - hope its not complete rubbish. ________________________________________________ Perfumes and Lipsticks I ignore the rusty letterbox and grope in my pocket for the keys. As the key is about to turn, my hand falters. Someone’s dropped an empty white cup in front of my door. Rage and buried melancholy fights within me, the rage wins. I crush the cup under my feet and kick it away. I turn the key. Click. In the kitchen I open the hidden pocket inside my bag and take the knife wrapped in cellophane to the sink. When the last drop of red is gone, I turn off the tap, replace the knife and open the window. It is getting cold. The wind from the North is dry, slightly chilling, and it brings a strange scent with it- almost
Read more

Meera

-Why are you here? -Why am I here? Is that all you can say? After all these years? -I do not wish to remember. -But you haven’t really forgotten, have you? - -Meera, please- -Don’t call me Meera. I don’t have a name. - … I’ve looked for you for so long—believe me, when you disappeared- -You didn’t look for me . -Oh yes I did. Listen, Meera- -I’m not Meera. The girl called Meera died years and years ago- that wasn’t me. I didn’t disappear, I just wasn’t ever there. You searched for the wrong person- she’s dead, you hear me? -I searched for you. You aren’t dead. -I’m not her. -Of course not. You are you. And it’s you I’ve been looking for, it’s you I want. -Yes, as a replacement. -No, as a sister. -Sorry to disappoint. I’m nobody’s sister. I’m not the daughter of anybody’s parents. You , of all people should know that. -You are my sister. That-that house you left, it’s as much your house as it’s mine. Let’s go home, Meera. -You did so well till the last word. -What do
Read more

New Connections: Social Networking and Writers’ Groups

This time last year, I was used to logging into Twitter only to check the tweets of a handful of celebrities that I was following at that time, and to occasionally tweet about my bouts of fever or exam anxieties to no one in particular. My blog was in coma, I spent most of my Facebook time playing Zynga games (Yoville, Farmville, CafeWorld, Petville, Fishville- you name them, I’ve played them all, with the probable exception of Mafia) and in short my social (networking) life was near about non-existent. Then there were last minute revisions, then the exams, then post-exam trips to the shopping mall and to the movie theatre- and I disappeared from the Internet. When I returned in the 2nd half of the year, I went back to playing games. It would have probably gone on like this if I did not receive that message out of nowhere from the 100 Stories for Haiti Facebook group, asking for submissions for yet another charity anthology, this time for the victims of the Pakistan flood. Before thi
Read more