Let Go

Do you know that an eagle lives up to around 80 years, pretty much the same age as human beings? But there is something really fascinating about them. You see, a young eagle will grow up, hunt and be the king of birds for many years. But, as it approaches its 40th year - it will do something unprecedented in its life.

It will go to the highest mountain it can find, and there it will pluck out all its feathers. Then will gnaw at the harsh rocks until all its claws fell off and beat its beak against the rock until it breaks. It will put itself through this harsh pain, make itself vulnerable and stay in that harsh, cold environment with cold winds/snow for months.

Has that eagle suddenly lose its mind to let itself be that way when everything seems to be going perfectly well in its life?

No.

To the outside world, the eagle is agile, strong and swift. But the eagle knows that its claws aren't as strong as they used to be, its beak isn't as sharp it as it used to be and its wings have grown heavier, duller over the years. It has grown comfortable, it has grown old. It can continue to hunt and live that way, but it will never be the same as it once used to be. So, it has 2 choices - to accept as things are or to change things. Even if it hurts. Even if it bleeds. Even if it starve. Cold. Vulnerable. On the brink of death.

For months, it puts itself through the harshest conditions - bleeding, hungry, vulnerable, afraid, in constant pain. But it doesn't give up. It waits. Waits to be healed, renewed, reborn.

Slowly but surely, the eagle starts growing its feathers again, its claws come back, its beak healing and regrowing - fragile, weak, timid at first. Still so very vulnerable, still so very raw but getting there.

Then one day, the day finally arrives! The eagle's transformation is complete. Up stand an ever stronger eagle, with brand new magnificent wings - oh so lighter, faster, bigger, stronger. And its claws!! Look at its claws --longer, sharper, so ready for actions! And its beak - so strong now that it can easily break hard shells of any kind. One look and its preys run for cover, other birds give way to the return of the king. Its enemies hide and run. For this one has been to hell, go straight through it and come back reborn.

With its life experience and newer artilleries, the eagle then go forward to defeat once and for all and rule until the end of its life.

Strength is not the ability to resist any and all kinds of resistances. But to allow resistances to pull you down at times, hit you hard, make you fall. But to use that very energies to your advantage, to learn to control and make you stronger.

Its okay to get hurt. Cry.

Its okay to be angry. Be vulnerable. Be weak. Hit the bottom. Ignored. Humiliated. Broken. Alone.

A diamond is once just a normal rock. But under pressure, it turns into a diamond.

Not all pains are out to kill you. Not all terrible, hurtful things are meant to really hurt you.

Sometimes, they are there to remind you of who you really are, what you are made of. Sometimes they are there to replace your blunt weapon with a sharper, newer version. Upgrade you by removing your old, no longer useful tool off you.

Like stale tea in a teacup. You gotta throw out the old tea first before you can pour in the new, fresh one. Sometimes you gotta let go. So, let go of that part of you.

Even if it hurts. Remember why you're here. Remember the lesson. Let go.

My Unconventional Friend

I was a real Daddy's Girl. I thought the world of him. I loved his blond curly hairs and how his blue eyes gleamed when he looked at me. He was perfect in every way. I adored him. I was his little tail, followed him everywhere. In fact, he could never take a single photo because I always wanted to be in the same frame with him. Even if my face didn't show, one could still always see my foot or hand in the background. I had to be there - I had to be a part of him. I was the princess and he helped me make my own armies of all the boys in my areas. 

And then, just like that, I lost him. No warnings. No preparation. In the morning, he kissed me goodbye on my forehead as he dropped me to school. By evening, he was gone. Forever. 

My 6 years old heart couldn't understand or process the pain. Suddenly, everyone was sad, everyone was crying. And everyone suddenly kept patting my head. Or kept taking me away to different rooms and outside. 

Have you ever lost someone who meant the world to you? Watched as their body went down the ground, listened to that first splash of mud fell on your heart until they completely buried your whole soul? Ever walked back feeling like a zombie - your body continued to function, everything continued mechanically but you were no longer there - you were buried deep into the ground, your soul rotting where the world had forgotten. 

In one day, I changed overnight. I suddenly grew up. I had to be the strong one. 

My grades excelled. I won all awards. I was the perfect student. The perfect daughter. I was the model student. I became the pride of mom. 

But through it all - nobody saw me. 

Nobody knew what I hid in plain sight. 

I was a gravestone coated in fresh paint. I developed my lifelong obsession with cleanliness. 

But then she saw me - in the most unlikely places. 

She was caught yet again for prostitution and was behind bar. I was a kid visiting my mom at work. I strayed and walked to where they held her. I stood there watching her in her seat. She looked up from her seat and stared at me. I stared back. 

We just watched each other in silence for a long time. Then, without a word, I went closer and held out my hand to her. She didn't move immediately. And then, she gave me her hand and we shook/held(?) hands. 

She was everything the world warned me about. She was an alcoholic and had too many men abusing her for their pleasure. She was in too deep, she could never get out. Every time she tried to get out, she failed. Over and over. Again and Again. 

She got herself beaten so many times she lost her teeth, her nose broken so many times, she had problem breathing. She was so desperate for drinks that she couldn't even be discreet in her trade. She got herself arrested so many times, I lost count. Had her head shaved, shamed, ridiculed. She got men used her in all sorts of ways. 

She always chose the wrong men for her, always going for the bad boys. It was like she had a magnet to pick up the shittiest douchebags in the room who would treat her worse than her last lovers. It was like she was addicted to getting her heart broken. It was like she enjoyed starving herself, changing herself to please the men who never treasured nor respected her. 

And through these all - I was there. I was her witness. As she was mine. 

Through it all, she would tell me the same thing over and over again, "I make these mistakes for the both of us. Watch me carefully. I am never going to get out. I am going to die in here. But you are never to going to get in here. You are going to succeed for the both of us. I am the black. You are the white. I am the failure. You are the success. Go and fulfil your destiny."

In the end, she drank herself to death. She was hospitalised and the doctor warned her that if she had even a drop of alcohol, she would die. She headed straight for the liquor store after the hospital and drank alcohol until she coughed up blood, fell unconscious and died few days later. 

I couldn't save her and it wasn't because of my lack of trying. In the end, she only wanted me to watch her. To witness her life. So, I learn the cause, action and result. 

She was hellbent on killing herself and making sure I never follow suit. She did all the bad things and let me sit on the passenger seat as she drove herself to death. 

Now that I am adult, why did she pick me? Why did I pick her? Why did I gave her my hand, stretch it out to her as she sat in the prison cell? Why did I have to touch her? And why did she have to touch me?

Women!

A friend's call woke me up this early.

Just before I woke up, I had this dream of an evil snake-woman had swallowed up all the men in town and proudly declared that there was just one man left. She thought she had won. Then we all found ourselves at this election campaign filled with men in Delhi. She gave me the funniest look ever - hordes of thousands of men, who'd want to eat all that up? And how?

I couldn't help laughing as I opened my eyes. Poor snake-woman. Evil aside. That's gonna take her a long, long time.

"Hey, morning!" I half-laughed into the phone, "Why so early?"

And then I heard her. Same story. "So, what should I do?" she asked as she did a hundred times before. "Get out. Fast." I replied, as I've always replied. But we both knew that she was never going to listen. It was just going to go over her head as always. She was in love. And that just meant trouble.

As I went into the taxi, I couldn't help but wonder - why are we women so stupid? Why do we fall for someone who we can see from a mile away, is nothing but trouble? This must be the one flaw that God has given us, so we never reach our true potential. We are such a sucker for the wrong kind of love.

Is it the drama? Is it the challenge? Is it the excitement? Why do we always want to do the exact same thing we forbidden to do?

Most of my body scars are caused exactly by that - doing exactly something I was forbidden to do. Be it climbing the cliff I was told not to, standing too close to our gardener while he cut the grasses, throwing stones at the large beehive I was told to avoid, plucking flowers behind the barbed wires although we had the same flowers at home. The forbidden. The untouchables. The out-of-bounds.

Were my actions some sort of rebellion against authority? Was it because I hate taking orders?

And then, there's the matter of hearts. Aah, the mother of stupidity.

We all think that we could control our hearts. Theoretically, we should, right?

But the dang whispers and whining are always just there below the surface. We make up our minds to close our hearts, to not let them get through. And we walk out the door feeling powerful and strong. As if we have locked our hearts away inside a metre thick iron wall.

And then they smile at you, or say something nice or do something as simple as looking at you in the eye. Just like that, all the walls melt away. Back to square one.

We're just so useless. Of all the things in the world, we only want that single thing we shouldn't. The very thing we knew, is just going to create chaos and pain. Yet, we still go for it. It always start with a simple, "I wish he acknowledge me" and then when he does, we want more. "I wish he smiles at me."

And then he smiles. For a few hours or a day, our hearts soar up. We float on air, walking on clouds. Then we come back wanting more. "I wish he talks to me" and then when he does it all, we even want more, "I wish he loves me".

That's the trouble isn't it? Wishing for someone to love you. Love you enough to give up everything for you. Want you enough to risk it all for you.  Wishing for him to want you as much as you do. Because by then, you know in your heart, that you will walk to the ends of the earth for this man. If only he asks you to. If only he gives you half as much.

But he won't. You see, men drew their line sharp right at the beginning of the marathon. They have told you what they would do and won't. And you, you still went ahead because you so desperately wanted him to be a part of you. You settled. You convinced yourself that even if you got a piece of him, you'd be satisfied. It would do.

No, the heart is never satisfied with just a piece. No matter what, if you really, really love someone, you want it all. Every bit of the man. The good, the bad, the ugly. All of him.

But, he won't give you that. Coz he's not as stupid as you are - wearing your entire heart on your sleeves. Is it really his fault? He did warn you, didn't he not? So, why should you cry? Why should your heart break now?

So you want to get out. But by then, you have invested so much of yourself, you don't know who you'll be without him. You've already learnt seeing yourself through his eyes that you feel like you're not good enough. You're afraid to put yourself out there again, risk it once more with a stranger who could be worse than this man you love but only knows how to break your heart.

You're filled with insecurities. Filled with guilt. You don't want to give up because you've fought so hard for this. You don't want that energy to go to waste. What if you could salvage just a bit of it? What if you could rebuild this? You know it in your head that there only leads to one destination. But you refuse to accept. You are afraid to jump out of this train because everything else looks alien to you from the inside. Maybe you could convince the driver. Maybe the track might change ahead.

Women and wishful thinking. We are the masters of it, aren't we?

Insomnia Thoughts

I keep waking up in the night.

For some strange unknown reason, my body decides to wake me up in this ungodly hour. Hour when even the street dogs no longer care what goes around, curse whatever spirits loom large and shut their eyes and ears. That weird hour when it almost feel like daylight is approaching yet darkness still stay put like a stubborn, drunk party reveller. Where characters from the dream and reality blend in together, fluid like inks of different colours on a white, clean paper.

And, it is in this hour, that you always come to me. So quiet at first that I never notice your arrival. For your arrival is always at the exact same time as when I find myself confused in this half-dream world, filled with thousand voices, sounds, characters and faces, as if I were on a peak-hour train platform in Delhi.

You always observe me first from a distance. Follow me out until I go to a quieter place. Wait until I catch my breath. Let my heartbeat returns to normal at rest. Let me feel comfortable enough to be. And look around me. At this point, you're already at my side. Watching the world with me. Lying beside me as if we've done this together our whole lives. As if you were always a part of me. Even before I knew you.

It is in this hour that I dare look into your eyes. And let you look into mine. I let you face me. Put my hand in front of your face. Run my fingers down from your forehead to your nose, always holding my breath a bit too long as I go down your lips and to your chin. I let my palm feels you before I let it glide through your hairs. Always gentle, always slow. Remembering every curve, every shape. Reliving every single step, every single movement. Over. And Over.

Sometimes I talk to you. Tell you things I wish to say. Of so many stories. Of so many songs. But most times, I just stay in the silence with you. In this hour that nobody knows.

Here, we make our garden. Filled with beautiful things that will never see the light of the day. Hand-in-hand. Laughing at times. Maybe crying occasionally too. But most times, just oblivious to the world turning to end this hour. And bring us back to the world where you and I could never be.

Here, I leave my guard by the gate. And meet you as I wish you to see me. My heart is laid bare and my eyes are only on you. Here, there are no whispers, no gossip-mongers and no rules that bind me with no room to stray.

Here, I can love you like you deserve to be loved. Take care of you like I wish I could. And explore you like a hidden jewel meant only for me. Let you discover me. The sights I keep only for you.

The Road to Recovery

Imagine living on top of the mountain. Every day, you wake with the purest of air kissing your skin. The birds singing all around you as the clouds underneath you gleam like purest soft cottons as the sun rays fall on them. You open the window and breathe in unbridled joy and hope, of thousand possibilities. And your heart is full. Your body's strong. And your mind is clear.

And then one day, you stand a little too close to the edge. So you fall down. Deep down into the bottom of the valley and into the place that the world has forgotten its existence. At first, it doesn't hit you. After all, you've never been here before.

So you expect things to be the same. That your heart is still warm and full of songs. But as you try to get up, you realise, for the first time, how broken your body is. And just how far the top of the mountain is from where you are.

You look around you. There is nobody here. No one has been here for thousand of years. This is the valley that nobody even want to acknowledge of its existence. A valley nobody understands. Nobody has told you how to navigate through this. Nobody has ever written a book or leave a guide map.
Imagine being in that valley, walking with a broken body and an empty soul, roaming for days, unable to find a way out.

You're used to live on top of the mountains. You're used to the light. Colours. Sounds.
But down here, there is nothing but darkness, shadows and silence so deep that even your beating heart sounds alien to you.

You miss home. You miss everything that made you, you. But all of those seems so far away --high up the mountains that now appear as if they touch the sky.
How far is the distance from this valley to the sky??
How does one go from here to there?????....what if I tell you that your soul is trapped here for eternity, alone in this darkness, somewhere feebly trying but with no headway?

If you look closely, maybe you might catch a glimpse. Of her. Stuck in a world she doesn't understand. Stuck in a body she has no control over. In a city of aliens and strangers. Trying to be strong yet so miserably failing. There are thousand things running through her mind, and it doesn't help that she has no enough strength.

The world expects her to smile and questions why she isn't paying attention. They chastise her for losing the shine in her eyes, for looking away too quickly. They ask her why she is lost and cold. The world is a show and she's dressed and combed to perfection. So, yes, there isn't a visible scar to the public. No cut to show. No bruise to hide.

She doesn't pay attention because every minute hurts. She's lost down here in a world she's never been before. Away from her loved ones. Away from her friends and family. Away from all the support and comfort that she's used to. She has a lot to worry but none to share with. She has a lot of pain but none to understand. So, she keeps to herself as she hurts even more.

For the mountain top is still so very far away. And so many miles ahead.

Maybe she will reach there again one day. But even then, nothing will ever be the same again.

The Visitors

I comb and pull back my hairs

As I adjust my clothes once again

"Its a sin to look so unkempt 

when visitors come by your house"

Mother's voice still ringing in my head

I feel weak and want nothing but sleep

Yet as I catch my reflection in the mirror

I look as hale and hearty as always

My skin's smooth and supple 

And my smile still as bright 

Its no wonder I fool everyone so easily

Of how I really hurt inside

I am trained to be a perfect host

Equipped with enough anecdotes, jokes & stories

And so one by one they come

Each with their quirks and comments

All playing expert doctors and healing shamans

On pains they've never experienced before

Some blame my poor old Buddha statute 

That welcomes them to my home

As harbinger of my poor fate

And some prays so loud for my recovery

I secretly believe that their gods must be deaf 

I nod, smile and pretend to agree

Just so they leave quicker and I sleep

Although 'sleep' means more of myself

Curl up in a ball and wishing for the pain 

To stop and the medicines to work.

Imprisoned

In my mind, I'm free.

I can see myself run as the wind kisses my skin, laugh until I cry and dance the night away. I walk with my usual light step, always half-hopping and half dancing as I listen to the peppy music with a wide smile on my face.

And then I open my eyes.

I find myself imprisoned inside my own, hurt body, barely able to move a muscle without wincing or screaming in pain. I need someone to help me up, someone to sit me down. Each time I move, my hands automatically hold my lower abdomen, for each step burns my insides as like hundred knives cutting me all over again.

I can't laugh. I can't eat. I can't sneeze. Or cough. Or go to loo without tearing up in pain.

For someone who has always been proudly independent and strong, do you know how that feels?

I've lost 4 kgs in 2 weeks. My hairs fall so much I expect to be bald soon at this rate. I still can't breathe in fully because of the air trapped inside me burns my lungs. And I walk like those old people, breathing heavily with each step.

I've never had a major operation before. So, save for my fear of death, I didn't know what to expect. I find out now, recovery sucks.

My brain is fogged easily. I lost quite some blood and my medications are just too strong. I hate it.

Today is the first time I get out of my home in 2 weeks. Its a fairly quick visit to the hospital. A car waits for me downstairs and its a straight 20 minutes drive, get out of the car, meet a doctor and come back.

I never knew that getting down and climbing up 2 flight of stairs could hurt as much. By the time we came home, I couldn't even reach the bedroom. Instead, I laid down on the couch and stayed in the same curled-up position for 5 straight hours. I just couldn't do it.

The doctor told me that I need to at least 1 month to be at home and recover. I can work should I choose to, but I can't get out of the house. And she removed my bandage to reveal a 10 inch horizontal healing scar on my stomach. Hours later, I ran my hand on it.

I cried quietly.

In place of a smooth skin, there was now an ugly cut line. It looked angry, red and bumpy.

My stomach still feels bloated. The doctor says that its normal, I'm still healing and that its because of my high-dosed antibiotics. I feel useless, just staying here. Mom's doing everything for me. It sucks.

I've been living independently since I was 15 years old. I've been used to doing things my way. Now I can't even wear my own underwear!!I absolutely hate it.

My friends have been coming to visit. Honestly, its such a drain. I feel obliged to entertain and talk. But, I'm just so tired afterwards.

I have way too many flower bouquets in the house, I feel like this is some sort of a funeral house. Diwali is approaching and I absolutely hate Delhi during that time. For years on end, I always travel away because I hate the sounds and pollution. That's my time for either a mountain or a seaside.

This year, am just going to sit and bear it out like the street dogs. No escape.

I detest that I can't even laugh. Or sing. Or dance. Or walk.

All the things I've loved to do, I can't do any of them now. This sucks.

I hate how weak my body has become. And I hate that I have no energy.