So, I am back after a few months. Busy building a new nest after my previous Pinterest room left me with bittersweet memories. Some of you might have forgotten me. Can’t complain. I forgot me too.
This is the view from my new balcony. A view to die for. Or, A view to live for. The things you say to yourself make up your little moments and moments make life, isn’t it? Coming to a foreign land isn’t always a deck of flowers or a starry wreath that might look shinier from afar. My dense mouth can all say that I have been busy but I know how lost I had felt. Being busy isn’t an excuse to stop doing things you love so I am definite I could have squeezed some time to write but couldn’t. All this time I thought I was shrinking into a ball of yarn with uneven surfaces of threads and finally being sucked into nothingness. I wanted this to be a happy post. Sorry, I started off with the wrong foot. But then what’s the point of art if I couldn’t tell myself the truth? If I don’t feel okay I must admit. If I am feeling nothing I must face it. I stand there to look at this infinite beauty. Mortal and honied. All the more reasons to love life esp being in one of the most beautiful continents. So, I thought I would write this for a stranger. To whom I would not force feed to think only positive thoughts. To the one with whom I can join in the nothingness and be there through silences, to the one I can assure that you aren’t a burden and you are allowed to feel deep pride. To ascertain that when you planted grief as the wall hangings, it became an overgrown décor after years and you aren’t tortured by it anymore, that you don’t have to run away from the madness and the odor of your heart is expanding, trying to smell like the struggle of the new petals being born. The strange serendipity between you and your smile will stumble upon simple things on an ordinary day again. Your ball of yarn wasn’t turning into nothingness but into a floral sweater to keep you intact and warm. All this to a stranger and a year older ‘me’ to go down memory lane to remember. You made it through it. You can do it again.
©kanikachugh