Caterpillar Talk

So where have I been the past 200 odd days?

I often ask myself that question. But the truth is, it has been hard for me to document every single moment, thought, emotion and action since I stopped blogging.

I felt like I needed to do more at the time, as opposed to write.

Oh, but don't think I was on a joyride. It's been a rollercoaster on fast forward. From barely staying afloat my sea of tears, to finding love and living on a cloud for those enchanting few months, to finding a job and remembering how truly brilliant I'm at my profession, to redefining core relationships, to finally sharing my original compositions with the world, to gaining and losing weight, to gaining perspective but losing at love, again, to moving all my things back home, to finally identifying a 'home' space, to nesting, to longing for a companion, to wanting NO ONE to enter the space of my ever-covetted Underbelly, to discovering the magic of eating apples. Yes, it's been quite a wild ride.

All in all, I'm happy I made it to Day 315 alive, in one piece. The curveballs threw me around for a while, but so far, I'm still winning. I'm tattooed but not scarred, hurting but not destroyed, tired but not vanquished, ready to live another day in this busy transit we call 'Life'.
Now that the cocoon is breaking, I'll finally be able to stretch my long, cramped legs. And wings.

Upward and onward... Please?

Day 19: Clarinet Concerto in A Major

Today was a giant leap. Today I told my mother it was okay to leave me to heal on my own -- that it is essential for me to go through this part of my journey alone, and to release my past in a safe manner, withoit any residues staining what we have right nowu

This has been a hard decision to make. Not just because she is my mother and mothers want to help (it's in their DNA to feel protective). Not just because my inner demons were in conflict with my outer reality with her, which I had to face everyday. But also because I had become accustomed to that unconditional love I crave so much and I didn't want to let it go. I wanted to feel it just a little longer, like a warm bath you know is going to cool down, so you lay absolutely still so that your body doesn't feel the change in temperature right away. But the bath cools down, and one way or another, you have to get out of the tub or you'll freeze and shrivel up like a prune.

This was hard to communicate and overwhelming for us both. But I'm glad to say our relationship is strong and we can weather through the period apart as well, even though we will both struggle with the change of temperature in the bathtub. I really do love bathtubs. Time to Step. Away. From. The. Ruddy. Bathtub.

As I massaged her feet before she fell asleep, I began to feel scared, uncomfortable and filled with another kind of incapacitating sadness. (I think we've established by now I struggle with depression and anxiety, so any residual "oohs" and "aahs" can squat elsewhere.)

I was recounting earlier today, the great things I've accomplished in my life time, despite struggling with depression or having anxiety attacks. I've been independent financially, lived on my own, had several jobs I excelled at, have educated myself, loved and lost, loved and won, helped others and sought help for myself, created pieces of art, music and literature and... Well, this is enough to get to my point.

In those moments of accomplishing things, of making that first move, the first decision to become all those things, I went back to the source of motivation. It was fear, more often than not. Fear or pain can be great motivators. Ever feel that burn in your stomach? The fire in your belly that launched a thousand bitter poems, some of which sold and made it to some hall of fame? Maybe that's not the best example. But it sounded cool in my head. Heh, I'm beginning to amuse myself.

I thought of major life changing events that made me who I am. The post on Strong Suits makes these more clear. I went back to that thought. Fear of abandonment? Be independent. Fear of poverty? Earn your own money. Fear of being kicked out of the house? Move out and create your own space. Fear of heartbreak? Don't let them in all the way, and leave first. Fear of not being good enough? Be brilliant. Be excellent. Be talented and skilled. Be proud of who you are.

Okay, the results haven't been all too bad, and I'm not complaining about them at all. And there have been some happy decisions too. I'm pretty happy with my achievements and aware of the decisions that limit me. But what I'm realising now is how I motivated myself to get there. I operated out of some great life-changing traumatic experience that pushed me to create a happier and more secure life. Have I been subconsciously seeking despair to move forward? Has it become a nasty habit like popping blackheads on your nose? (Totally unnecessary, by the way, for those who do this ghastly thing)

Now I am faced with something quite extraordinary. My relationship with my family is harmonious. I'm fairly financially secure. I am independent and on the verge of setting out again on my own. I'm on a dating website where I am appreciated, intrigued and entertained. I'm still talented, brilliant, excellent, beautiful etc. But the next step is hard to take. The step to move on. Move forward. There is no burn in my stomach. No fear of abandonment. No traumatic experience that launched a million song (seriously, that ex-boyfriend has had his quota of break up songs, and I'm over it now). There is The Past. And I'll get past it, in time. But right now, there is no hate. No fire. No calamity for me to need to be a superhero.

There is love. Compassion. Happiness. Security. Support. Space. And I realised I hadn't really ever made a decision or big move out of those things. Not nearly enough times to get used to it anyway.

I'm not looking for sympathy. This isn't my sad, mopey story of suffering and I want flowers and adulation. I'm in awe of this process of evolution, through the trials and the triumphs. I'm in wonder of how these thoughts pass through me at different stages of my life.

Coming back to the point, I am afraid to leave the nest I have left so many times before, because this time I don't have to. Nobody is kicking me out or saying I don't belong here or making me feel like I'm a burden. I'm actually leaving with the desire to pursue greatness with strong, healed, brilliantly coloured wings. I'm seeking to flap them with confidence, with pride, with security and with self worth. And I'm at the edge, from where I get lift off, with my loved ones supporting me, standing behind me, even silently smiling and cheering me on, with glowing pride and faith that I can do this. They will miss me but they will always, always be with me, in my heart.

To jump when I don't have to, but can if I want to, knowing I'll either fly or freefall, but I will be loved either way.

That's a big one.

I'm letting the idea sink in, while I listen to Mozart's Clarinet Concerto in A Major (something my doctor prescribed for me today). I must say, this piece does have some magic in it. And it makes me feel like I can glide over hills and mountains, survey the land with the wind in my face and blessings in my feathers. I'm going to hear this piece every night before I sleep. Doc also said I need to stop taking apart every thought I feel and looking beyond myself. Seems to be the order of the week. Ha ha.

To my family, my close friends and well-wishers, thank you for getting me to the edge and being patient with me, till I start to flap my wings again.

Day 18: Shelled

Today's been a busy and challenging day. I managed to step out and be in crowded areas with people. Yes, this does sound silly and you're probably thinking, What? She has trouble being around people now? I mean, she could sing on stage in front of a 100 or more people and roar with laughter in a pub. So what's this new agoraphobic behaviour?

I don't know what to tell you, except it's new and likely to be temporary. I haven't exposed myself so much to even my loved ones and it's very exhausting -- talking about my feelings, emoting, crying, feeling conflicted in what to share and what to censor, who to confide in and who to smile at. It's extremely tiring. And now that I've gotten used to this with a small handful of people, an entire crowd feels like being caught inside a cave with no air. Worse still, I feel so exposed it's like I'm a tortoise whose shell has been ripped off. I've nowhere to hide, take shelter in, I can't scurry away into a corner and I have to wait until the scars heal, bleeding for all the world to see. This would be one of my worst night mares, being seen, being heard, being watched while I bleed my heart out.

But here we are. So I made an effort to visit my sister's today, without my mother. I was nervous and almost turned around when I was on my way, but I gave myself the option to leave if I was self-conscious and uncomfortable. I knew that my sisters would understand and that gave me courage. So I went and met them. And I had a good time. We laughed at each other, at ourselves, at being women in our thirties with tired ovaries,  at being human. It felt good. I'm glad I was bold enough to break away from my cocoon today. I also feel fortified in knowing I am protected and sheltered by my loved ones. They may never replace the home that shell had been, but they've created something special that makes me feel safe.

The climb is harder, as layers peel away, and my resolve gets stronger. My skin and heart are raw, but I'm beginning to believe they will heal and be thicker and stronger soon. Sometimes I long for companionship. For a fellow seeker to climb with me and tell me what his view is like from where he's standing. At other times, I want to be still and quiet, and not exchange a single word or sound with anyone.

I pray for balance. I pray for forgiveness, from the Universe and from myself. This is hard. But I'll keep trying. Making an effort is all we can really do.

May not have a shell anymore,
but by God,
I shall have this mask. 

Now listening to: "Orange Sky" by Alexi Murdoch
https://youtu.be/4FL7c7zcpvA

Day 14: See-Saw

I know when times are hard, it's easy to focus on the hard stuff, the suffering, the woes and pain.

When you fracture your finger, I don't know how many of you will notice the pretty bird singing in the tree outside your window. Chances are you're eyes are closed so tight, with yelps of pain leaving your mouth. I admit, I did not notice any such thing when I fractured my finger a couple of years ago. I did, however, have a beautiful dream the night before about a giant old sea turtle who came to meet me and hold my hand (the one with the unbeknownst-to-me soon-to-be fractured finger). It was magical. I digress.

My point is, we often forget to look beyond the trigger, the immediate cause of pain, the injury, wound, open cut - what have you. I'm aware this happens to me too. The interesting thing is, sometimes I'm able to catch this during moments of pain. And in that moment of awareness, I find I'm left with a choice. Do I want to continue to focussing on this pain or do I want to let other things into my peripheral vision as well? Can I possibly appreciate or even acknowledge the presence of other existences, happenstances, possibly good things around me at the same time I feel this pain? I confess, lately, I have chosen to feel the pain more often than not.

This brings me to the question: "Why?"

I think I want to wallow sometimes. Just cry like a child and not have to think about anything or anyone around me but myself. Babies are pros at it. Unfortunately (or fortunately), I'm no longer one. And there are a world of people around me I have to be mindful of.

Also, when it comes to work, or doing something functional, I'm strangely able to put the pain aside and focus on the task at hand. The same thing happens if someone I care about is in pain or in need of help. Yeah, it might sound like I'm a good samaritan or thorough professional. But I've come to realize I use both those things as a coping mechanism for when I'm hurting or stressed.  I immerse myself in some discipline or the other that has a definite outcome which is proportionate to the effort I put in. Or I help someone in need and in somewhat fixing their lives I feel uplifted. This, in turn, helps me to feel in control and secure, when my emotions are the opposite. Sure, work gets done and people are helped - but what happens when I don't have work, and people don't need my help, but I'm still hurting?

I collapse.

I think what I need to find is balance. Knowing when to focus on myself and not run away from it. To be in the moment and be still. And when to focus on what's around me and pull myself out of the Well of Woes, when I slip in. To make small mental and physical movements and unfreeze. Finding that sweet spot when I am riding the See-saw with my emotions and not being higher or lower than them. Just at eye-level, feeling grounded and knowing that we've got each other. 

Most of all, I need to believe that I can do this myself, for myself, without the aid of work or human distraction.

Tough one, but I'm going give it a shot.

Day 7: Letting Go

Why is 'letting go' such a battle? By 'letting go', I mean letting go of everything: hurt, betrayal, anger, pride, insecurity, past words, past relationships, anything and everything that no longer serves a purpose in my life and yet plays a front-and-center role in it. I think it goes deeper than just letting go of these things.

Letting go means letting go of familiarity. Even if they're yesterday's jeans, I've worn them enough times to know what they feel like and whether I consciously choose it or not, I'll be more comfortable wearing them than throwing them away and getting a new pair. I've already adjusted to their shape, to the torn pockets, to the tight buttoning and faulty zipper. I've found a way around them all, and have been able to coexist with the familiarity of old jeans. But the truth is, I've outgrown them and they no longer keep me warm or fit my body. Hard to part with old jeans. Now, imagine parting with old stories, old love, bitterness, unfinished romances, unsaid words, scars that have almost begun to define you, and so on. I mean, without these, I'm a blank slate. I have no beginning and no end. I have no story. And I'm left with now and here, and what I want to do with it. It's terrifying, letting go. Even though it is the ultimate goal. It's terrifying.

Who would I be then? The girl who met those people? The fighter who fought those battles? The woman who fell in love or out of it? The worker who never gave up? The body that did, when I pushed it over the edge? The heartbroken crumple who aches to be loved? The child who constantly wants to go home, but doesn't know where that is?

Letting go would mean I'm no longer any of these. I'd be me, plain and simple. And whatever I choose to be, henceforth. I think the stories that have accompanied us so far, become like companions, familiar shoes that we walk with every day, our favorite blanket to sleep with, our poison of choice, and our best friend. Remember, we also take pride in the things we've conquered/ accomplished/vanquished/rejected, however brutal the struggle was. Pride is a tough one to check and let go of. Oftentimes, we aren't even aware of how governed we are by our pride.

It's heartbreaking saying goodbye to the past. But that's exactly what will set us free from it. It is the eternal struggle we humans face in this limited period of time called life. We're moving uphill and our journey can  be either tougher or easier, depending on the amount of baggage we choose to accumulate along the way.

Operative word: "Choose"

Letting go also means no control. This is a big one. I can guarantee that 90% of whoever reads this post is terrified of losing control. No, I don't mean getting drunk at a party and dancing on the counter. Not that kind of losing control. I mean letting go of this idea that we have everything under control in the first place. That our lives will turn out the way we planned because of a series of actions we undertake in a calculated manner. Ha! The only thing that is guaranteed is that plans don't necessarily turn out the way they were meant to. That anything that can go wrong, just might. That you may find happiness where you least expect it. That your dreams may  cometrue but in the most horrific way possible. Change is constant and inevitable and if you don't catch that train, you'll be stuck on an empty station, until the station itself disappears and you have no ground underneath your feet. Nothing is in your control. Except the choice you make to cling to an illusion of control.

I'm afraid to let go. But I have moments when I can surrender myself to Nature and the Universe and I feel protected and secure, knowing they have my back. A year ago, I met someone special in a very unexpected place. We hit it off and there was a special energy between us. But in that time, we were both struggling with our own histories. And we couldn't get past them. I remember going to the beach one afternoon and going straight in to the Ocean and closing my eyes. I surrendered my heart, my fears, my desires, my everything, my whole being to Her. I prayed for support if he was someone who's meant to be in my life. And if he wasn't, I prayed to be released from the desire of him. And it helped me to cope with the changing situation at the time. It helped me to understand that nothing is in my control, so when I gave up the 'illusion of control' or my tendency to 'overthink' or 'micromanage' my feelings, I was a happier, freer person. I had all the space, time and freedom to love unconditionally, without desire, without expectation, without judgment. I still think fondly of him, grateful that we met, hoping he is happy wherever he is, irrespective of whether we see each other ever again.

But this hasn't been easy for me to practice regularly. I have had the opportunity to experience total surrender and its rewards, but it takes a lot out of me to actually do it all the time.

I guess it starts with asking myself: what is it that I want? Really?

I haven't thought of an answer yet. Not fully. There are words and ideas, but a full sentence, a full list of what I really want - I'm afraid to consider it. I'm afraid to manifest it, only to lose it.

I guess my fear is losing what matters to me most. Everything ends, doesn't it?

Haha!
As I write this, I'm reminded of a conversation with that same person I mentioned earlier.
We were discussing relationships and he said something along the lines of, "What's the point? Because all these relationships go away in the end."

And I said to him, "What's the point in living, then? We're all going to die anyway."
I also said (and I think this answers my question to myself), "... a month or so ago, I was dealing with unbearable pain caused by heartbreak. But even in that pain I knew that one day I will love again. Feeling love for someone is worth every trial and heartache. Love is the point of everything."

I don't have a conclusive end to this post, except that in remembering what I said to this person, I am reminded about what I seek and why I want to let go of all that baggage.

To make space for love, love, and more love.

Quando a mare baixar
Vai lhe-visitar
Vai fazer devocao
Vai lhe-presentiar
No mar
Mora Iemanja,
No Mar
Mora Iemanja
('Rainha do Mar' - Carolina Soares)

Day 1: Bake a cake

Is it possible to feel opposing sensations at the same time?

I woke up feeling rested, but depressed. It was as though the 9-hour slumber had given me 9 hours of respite from the chaos in my mind, and while my body felt calm, the chaotic chatter switched back on, promptly as I woke up.  It was a beautiful, breezy, monsoon morning in the South of Goa. And I was raining tears in bed, going over every last detail of the fight that ended my last relationship. I couldn't stop the fighting voices in my head. His. Mine. It's painful just thinking about it.

The first half of the day involved the Bed, Netflix (That 70's Show), a couple of trips to the restroom, a banana, and crying. I managed to snooze in the afternoon, just by willing my mind to shut off for a couple of hours.

Post 5pm, my mother came into my room and let me cry with her (I'm so grateful for the space my family is giving me to feel everything). A cup of warm water later, my brain cells felt activated, in a good way. I wanted to eat something sweet, but for over a month have been off any sweets from outside, and off sugar unless its jaggery or fruits. I wanted something tangy and lemony.

So I decided to bake Lemon (or Lime) Bars. The idea itself woke me up more, and I decided to do it right away, before the zeal escaped me. I quickly changed out of my PJs, into jeans and a tee-shirt, and went out to buy ingredients. I was proud to use home-grown limes (five stars for my folks, who grow almost everything they need in their backyard). My father helped me make the base with butter and digestive biscuits, while my mother helped with the lime filling. We decided to use demerara sugar, so the end result was a brownish cake (Lime Bar masquerading as chocolate? Nobody had a problem with that!). Verdict? Delicious and totally worth the effort.

In case you ever want to make it, here's a quick recipe (not Masterchef quality, but damn it's delicious):

Ingredients:
Base (Mix together until evenly brittle):
1 cup cold butter (cut into small pieces)
1/2 cup sugar (I used demerara sugar, but you can use regular or even cane sugar)
2 cups flour (I used 1 1/2  packs of Nutri-Choice high-fiber digestive crackers instead, like Graham Crackers)

Filling (Whisk together):
1 1/2 cups sugar (Again, I used demerara. Also, you might want less or more, so trust your instincts)
5 Tbsp flour
4 Eggs
Lime Zest (I scraped about 2 1/2 to 3 limes for this)
Lime Juice (I used 5 limes. If you are using lemons instead, halve the amount I've used)

Directions:
Preheat the oven at 350 degrees F for about 15-20 minutes.

Prepare the base and press evenly into the bottom of a greased baking pan/tray. If you have butter paper, then lined the tray with that before you add the base.

Pour the filling onto the base, and put the tray in the oven for about 20-25 minutes. I kept checking every 10 minutes or so, with a knife, to see if it was done (it's been a while, since I baked anything). Normally, it doesn't take too long to bake. You could wait up to 30 minutes and get that crusty texture along the edges and the caramelised filling. I prefer it to be a little gooey on the inside.

Once you remove the tray (after checking with a knife, to see if it's done), let it just sit outside and cool for 15-20 minutes (or as long as you can keep your hands off of it).

(You could top it off with whipped cream, icing sugar or fruits. I had it neat. But I think I'm going to try fresh mango slices on top tomorrow.)

EAT!!

Ground Zero

Here goes. I'm 32 years old. I just got of out a long, serious relationship. My heart is broken. My mind is frayed. And as it were, my body isn't in good shape either. Turns out, being a woman in her 30s has its own complications. I've always been 'on-the-go' and highly functional in my professional life but circumstances have made me pause. To make things more interesting, I'm currently in a transition period I can best describe as: 'Don't-know-where-my-life-is-headed'. I'm scared, lonely, low on self-confidence and a bit dejected.

Let's put aside all the gasps of shock, judgmental raised eyebrows and holier-than-thou faces for now. I am certain this is relatable to a lot of you. This wasn't the picture we had in our minds, when we were kids and time was infinite. We had stars in our eyes, a bright future planned ahead of us and a bag full of hope. Sure, a few small curveballs came our way but we didn't let them deter us. We marched on, hand in hand, songs galore. Then the big curve-bludgeons came. 

Long story short, I've been through this cycle of emotional sludgery before and I know these curveballs are going to keep coming my way, mocking my idea of a 'planned'  (or even 'somewhat structured') life. What's changed for me? I keep getting stronger (and, hopefully, wiser). While I haven't reached the WonderWoman Stage yet this time, today I felt a glimmer of hope. I will reach that stage some day. It's inevitable. 

Until that day, I want to spend every day loving myself a little more. Even if it means appreciating my achievements of the day, however small. E.g. anything ranging from "I got out of bed today" to "I invented a new-something" to "I baked a cake" to "I made someone laugh, and it felt good." I'm up for anything that makes me remember why I deserve nothing but the best life has to offer me. 

So I'm going to commit to posting every day until I heal (or the curveballs win - I'll keep you posted either way).

I'm starting right now with this thought:

"I'm ready to heal."