Day 29: The Pack

I went over to my sisters' house again. It's a comfort to know they live nearby and I can access them anytime I want, in any state I am.

We laughed a lot. Even in my daze, I felt alive again. We are all going through our own personal struggles but that we could laugh at ourselves and eachother despite that is special. I cherish the relationship I share with my siblings, my brother included. After all the hurdles we have overcome, we are finally a 'pack'. We are unbreakable, unshakeable and irreplaceable. We look out for each other, lean on one another and share ourselves fully. I took my time to join the pack: being a loner. But I'm happy and grateful to say that my attempt to trust and lean on this pack has proven successful and has made feel safe and loved.

And what more does one need, anyway, more than love?

To my 'pack'. I'm always with you, for you and by your side.

Day 25: Busybee

I want to write ONLY positive things today, because I got a lot of work done and I'm fairly proud of myself.

I completed two big steps that take me forward in my visa application.

I'm flirting and chatting with a man who's funny, intelligent, adventurous and light-hearted. And he makes me laugh. Totally what I need. I think we might just become very good friends, if nothing else. I can't wait to meet his dog. 

I snagged a writing assignment for a content publishing company. 400 words per article. As many as I can dish out. It only took me 20 to write one. Guess what's going to keep me busy for the next few days? Oh, I do get paid, but I'm not doing it for that (it's just about enough for cab fare). The work is reactivating my brain, especially because for some reason writing is my art of expression in this phase of life. 

I managed to brainstorm with my sister about her projects and get some insight into my own.

I did 30 mid-air squats today. It could have been yesterday, but I think it was today. Or yesterday. But it happened. 

I released my ex-boyfriend from the hurt inside me. He's human and he did and said only what he knew best. I wish him karma. 

I have begun to love dried figs. Sugar craving re-conditioning achievement unlocked.

This project that I helped my sister with involves me 'acting' in front of a camera for a Web Series. A few years ago, I wouldn't have dreamt of it. Now, it feels natural and I'm being appreciated more than I expected. I've been bitten by the drama bug and am liking the attention and praise.

I also feel blank in my head. Not too many thoughts. It could be the medication. It could be that my mind is just occupied elsewhere - somewhere productive. I like being employed. I feel a sizzle in my batteries. 

Sizzle, sizzle. 🔥

*pat on back*

Day 24: Full Moon

Full moon tonight. I really wished I could go far, far away to a secluded hilltop and howl into the night. Not just because I'm sad, but moreso because it is freeing. Belting out the inner me into the cosmos, the universe, as the moon calls out to me.

Instead, I got extremely agitated with the residual poisonous pesticide smell in my house, which wasn't being pest-controlled in the first place, the wild goose chase I embarked upon in search of medication, which nobody seemed to have or want to give without having it all appropriately accounted for, me getting territorial and aggressive with men who were staring at me from behind in an ATM booth. I mean, it's an ATM booth! Get your own! And stop WATCHING me. I don't think they were creeps. But today just wasn't the day for me. Not to mention slipping and falling in the rain, in front of what seemed like mannequins at the entrance of a building near yet another pharmacy. Good to know you guys had my back, in your heads, at least. Or maybe you didn't see me fall in front of you, struggle to get up, fall again, and eventually crawl to a pole for support. 

I'm grateful that I moved to my cousin's house for the night, was fed warm, simple food, breathed clean air and finally did get a hold of my meds. As I calm down into a zen-like stupor, I look back at the high-octane agitation and realise there really is something about that full moon. Anything that could go wrong, doesn't just go wrong, but horribly wrong in my head. Negativity can be on an amplified high. 

To the men who were in my space at the ATM, you didn't know better, or don't understand the concept of space. I know you weren't creeping on me. If you were, I guess you had a good look and I know if you touched me you would regret it. It's okay.

To the people who couldn't help me with the medication, you looked as much as you could, and it's a hard drug to source. You did your jobs well. Thank you for listening to me, especially during peak time. 

To the drivers who took me all over town, helping me find pharmacies, I'm ever grateful for your patience. 

To the people who could not contain the poisonous pesticide fumes and prevent them from entering our house, I understand now that your olfactory nerves are dead from experiencing this on a regular basis, not knowing that these fumes are harmful. You did not sense the danger and were oblivious. Still, you made an effort to comfort me. Thank you for that, despite not knowing what it was that agitated me. 

To the people who watched me slip and fall and didn't even flinch or show enough concern or help me get up, I guess you didn't want to risk falling, too. I get it. Floors get super slippery in the rain. Save yourself, first. I understand. 

To the last pharmacist who made me wait in the cold air-conditioned shop, agitated and tired, soaked from the rain, thank you for not waiting on me first, and finishing up with the other people, who were there before me. You did sense my urgency, but held your integrity by not breaking the queue. You made the poor man next to me, who had come first,  feel important and special. That made me warm inside.

To the full moon, thank you for letting me howl my eyes out in the safety of my sister's room. I imagine a hill would be cold, isolated and less comfortable to sleep in right now. I recognise your wisdom and salute you for bringing out awareness in me.

🙏

Day 22: Too Many Mind

Today my brain feels like scattered pieces of mosaic tiles, strewn across an already uneven ground. Where to look first? What to pick up, what to leave behind? Which colors are brighter? How would I even look at each piece mindfully in one day? And even if I did manage to collect, clean and organise all the pieces, don't I need to level the ground first?

Mottled brain soup, that's what I feel like.

I am, in sooth, over-stimulated right now. Too many events. Too many people. Too many goals. Too many doubts. Too many voices. Too many thoughts. All darting back, forth and every other possible way like busy super-trains.

I'm reminded of this scene in The Last Samurai (one of my favorite films of all time), where Capt. Algren is trying to learn the art of fencing from a senior samurai (and failing miserably at it).

Nobutada, who is watching , as Algren gets beaten down turn after turn, tells him, "....Too many mind."

Algren: "Too many mind?"

Nobutada: "Hai... Mind the sword, mind the people watch, mind the enemy. Too many mind.
(pause) No mind."

This is very powerful. "No mind", is the ultimate state of being, isn't it? To just 'be' in the moment and let the present take over, however it may, knowing you are ready for anything. It's quite relaxing, just thinking about it. To be One with yourself. To be One with Now.

I'm going to let the mosaic pieces stay where they are. I'm going to let everything be. If my mind is scattered and unsettled then so it is. Even unlevelled ground is still Earth I can sleep on.

No mind. No mind.

Day 20: Taste

The smell of buckwheat flour crackling over butter. The cheese that melted as I pressed the fork and knife down to cut a piece. How the white cheese oozed out of small holes in the buckwheat crepe. The velvety touch of aubergine in the ratatoiulle, and dance of herbs on my tongue. The sweetness of caramelized onions. The fields where everything grew, ripe and fresh. The cows that produced the dairy that made the incredible cheese. The love and compassion of creating a wholesome meal for strangers. The smiles of the chefs as my mother watched them cook our meal. The attentiveness of the ladies who waited on us, with a smile, at the end of a long day on their feet. The intimacy between my lips and the cutlery. The tasteful art and the artful tastes. Gentle music caressing me in the background. The creaminess of everything. The food coma. The generosity and care of those who served us. Their large hearts. Dessert on the house. Sweetness to ride home with. The experience shared.

Bliss. Gratitude. Nourishment. Fulfilment. Happiness.

Day 16: Indulgence

Today was a day of total indulgence. After a reassuring session of therapy, I took my mother out for lunch to a little French creperie in the neighborhood -- one of the best that I've ever been to in Mumbai. We have so diligently been eating healthy, home food, that today's treat was precious and delectable. Feta cheese, buckwheat crepes, ratatouille, more cheese, salads (okay, it wasn't junk food, but it was more than we normally eat).  It was a sumptuous meal, and I felt grateful for the food, the exceptional service, the breezy outdoor weather and closeness my mother and I shared.

After 'the shift' within me yesterday, I have been pensive, concerned about how to manage different relationship dynamics especially with loved ones as I move forward in my journey in healing.

So today, my mother and I indulged each other. We ate, we shopped (she got me four pairs of shoes, for all of my eight feet), and we walked around the city like two girls in wonder of all the colors and shapes that shifted and glittered around us. We walked hand in hand, being constantly physically connected and exchanging warmth, as we moved forward through the day, knowing things will change soon and we may not get to spend as much time together.

I feel full. Not just in my stomach, but in my heart, arms, legs, shoulders, knees, toes and everywhere in between. There are mixed emotions. I feel somewhat stronger and hopeful. I also feel reluctant to grow up from being a 4-year-old who needs to hold my mother's hand tightly. I'm a little scared to take that leap, despite having done it so many times before. Maybe this leap is longer and higher. I feel overwhelmed with love and attachment to everyone who has shown me compassion. This is particularly hard to contain. And does it even need containment? I'm not sure yet. I suppose a few days of processing is likely and necessary.

But I got four pairs of shoes to wear, while I think it over. Not too shabby.

Day 10: Taking the Suit Off

It's getting harder and harder to post something every day. I'm very raw and emotional and it takes a lot out of me to pen down my thoughts. Thinking them is tiresome enough; writing them down for the world to read is just another hill to climb. I even contemplated giving it a skip today, despite knowing that I have so much to say, and I don't want to give up. Well, here I am again.

So I'm finally going to address this topic I've been avoiding for a while: Guilt. It might take more than one post, but I'm keen to crack the surface.

All my life (up until the past couple of years) I was oblivious to the amount of guilt I've been carrying around. I used to pride myself on not having any regrets, despite the rollercoaster I've been riding since a very young age. I'd say to myself: all these events, people and choices have led me up to this point in my life, and have made me who I am today. And I like me, my life and so -- no regrets. This thought process worked for many years and even helped me boost my self-esteem when things got rough or I was fragile.

Like I said before, curveballs are one thing. Curve-bludgeons are quite another.

But before I go further into the topic of guilt, I need to address another topic, one that will make more clear why guilt has taken centerstage in my life right now.

About 8 years ago, I attended a forum run by Landmark Education. They're a global group that conduct motivational seminars around the world, helping you to find what it is you really want in life, and empowering you with tools to achieve that ideal life. It was pretty powerful and those workshops really did strengthen my resolve to live a more meaningful, wholesome and healed life. It mended a lot of strained relationships with my family at the time and made me feel stronger within myself.

One of the workshops focused on 'Strong Suits'. Strong suits are loosely defined as your strong points, something you excel at or can be noted for, which you use in different areas of your life.
For E.g., the session facilitator asked each of us to list 3 qualities that we thought would encapsulate us as individuals. Three words. Not stories or sentences. Just sum up yourself in three words.

Mine were: 'STRONG', 'INDEPENDENT', 'CREATIVE'. I think these summed me up quite well. My group members came up with their own. When we were done sharing our qualities with one another, our Session Facilitator told us these were our strong suits. We weren't BORN this way, but we had accumulated these skills or sharpened them along the way, to help us cope with life, in a way. We were all surprised and somewhat indignant at first. What did he mean, coping mechanism? Does that mean I'm faking it? That I'm pretending to be creative? That my talents aren't real?

He asked us to take some time to think about the first time we ever adopted any one of those qualities. An instance, an event, something someone said, anything -- it was most likely to have happened in the early years of our lives - somewhere up till the ago of 15 or 16 at best. We really had to dig deep.

And then the memories began to appear in front of me like little glowing bubbles.

STRONG:
I remember an evening in my grandparents' bedroom. I must have been no older than 4 or 5. I was fiddling with my grandmother's writing table and stationery, and out of nowhere my grandfather yelled at me for touching her things. I was so startled I ran out of the room and found a dark corner to cry in. I had never experienced such terror. And my grandfather was a very tall, big man with a booming voice. He could be quite a bully back in the day and everyone feared his temper. I can almost remember the explosion of adrenaline somewhere between my stomach and chest and the immediate impulse to run. That's not the last time I've been yelled at by a member of my family, or been punished for doing something I wasn't supposed to.

Another memory came flooding back: I was 12 years old, when I first registered that I was being touched inappropriately by a man. I had no one telling me what was right or wrong, and no one really knew what had happened at the time. It was something within me that set of an alarm that said, "No, this doesn't feel right. He shouldn't be touching me." And I froze with fear. It took me weeks to muster up the courage to make him back off (which he did). I remember feeling powerless, vulnerable, exposed, insignificant and ashamed for letting it happen and knowing no better. I even believed that I must have done something to deserve it. This is irrespective of the fact that he escaped punishment and I've had to coexist with him for longer than I would have desired. This wasn't the last time a man tried to touch me inappropriately.

I developed a temper at a young age. I began beating up boys and girls at school. I had angry outbursts as a teenager and attempted to 'destroy' people's hearts with my words. I self-harmed, stopped eating and was very destructive for about 2-3 years before I went to college. My rage was uncontrollable. And nobody understood why. In my 20s, I joined a martial arts group and for the first time I felt safe and understood. My rage was channeled into hardcore physical exertion and I became a calmer, but physically very strong woman. I no longer feared being attacked or reprimanded. Nobody could bully or misbehave with me. But I still had angry outbursts - only this time, my ego was my sword. My physical strength made me believe I was powerful enough to destroy people by lashing out at them. And I would. This destroyed me much more than the receiver of my wrath. I still struggled with destructive relationships, but since then have become stronger and wiser. Therapy helped. I became quieter, less aggressive and more contemplative. I made a vow this year never to lash out again in a moment of anger. To respond and not react (unless I'm being attacked, of course). Never to raise my voice again. And I haven't, so I'm quite proud of myself.

CREATIVE:
As a child, I'd always been a bit of a day dreamer. I loved to draw, paint, play music and look outside the window and make up stories. But I fared poorly in school: you know, the subjects that everyone should excel at in order to be a 'success'. I barely followed math. I loathed physics. I like chemistry because I got to mixed things and play with fire. I liked biology because I got to draw intricate diagrams of plants and insects. I wasn't physically fit and wasn't allowed to play inter-school sports because I'd have to wear shorts as part of the uniform. I didn't fit in with the popular kids. I wasn't a smart student, I wasn't an athlete, I wasn't a theater performer and I used to stammer when I was nervous. I was bullied a lot for 'being stupid', 'being fat', 'being ugly' (Yeah, I know, Assholes). But I excelled at Art, Music and Languages. I was one of the only two students who were allowed to remain in the school choirs (both Indian and Western Classical) right up till I graduated. I used to carry my own art kit to school everyday, and help students with their projects. I drew caricatures of my classmates and even the school's principal asked me to make one of him, which he proudly framed in his office. I became the reputed artist and musician. And it suited me just fine.

It was in high school and college that I discovered that I'm actually quite intelligent, when I excelled in all the other subjects as well and took part in several inter-collegiate competitions. And that I'm not ugly or fat, after all, when boys began to fall in love with me. But that didn't matter, because these things weren't my USP. My art was. My music was. So I took them up as hobbies And while I spent years as a magazine journalist, writer, editor and many other things, my heart finally pulled me back to where I was truly happy -- in my art and my music.

INDEPENDENT:

I realised very early in life that money makes the world go 'round. And that you cannot love on an empty stomach. Growing up in a joint unconventional family that had many members with an incomplete education created a lot of tension when it came to paying bills and taking responsibilities of running a household. There were egos, tempers, fights and humiliation. My parents decided it was time to move out, my brother and me in tow. I was 15, when the world I grew up, the universe I knew, was ripped apart and I was uprooted and taken to a different country to start a new life. Sure, new adventure, I told myself. But I lost my feeling of 'home'. That was the first of many moves, to the point that in my 20s I got used to the idea of living in one place for only 2 years, until it was time to move again. Money was a strain throughout, and it tore my family apart. I soon realised my freedom lay in my own income. I started working at the age of 19 and my father opened my first bank account for me (the best thing he ever did). Once I began to earn money, things changed. I didn't need permission for a lot of things. I didn't need to ask for an allowance. I didn't need to put up with the lectures of "we don't have enough money". Because I did. I didn't need anybody to fend for me or provide for me. I began to support myself, through trial and error. It made me feel safe, having money of my own. I moved out of my parents's house at 23 -- something that is culturally unheard of in my community, for an unmarried woman. It was hard, but the best thing I ever did.

I'm still moving around, but I know that no matter where I am I will always land on my feet and I will never go hungry or worry about where I'm going to sleep for the night. Sometimes it makes me detach from a place or people very quickly. Sometimes, it's necessary, but when it isn't, I do feel bad.

When I understood these strong suits, I realised that they were an armour I built around my skin to protect myself. To protect that child who had suffered different traumas at a young age. I began to pride myself on having them. I began to identify myself as these qualities. I forgot about my fragility, my humanity and my innocence. I became hard and impenetrable. I was friendly and extroverted but few people could gain access to the vulnerable me. It took me a while to remember that the little child is still in there somewhere. And that I didn't have to let go or undo the armour to find her. My travels around the world, interactions with people -- other seekers like me -- have helped me to understand this.


This brings me to now.

Things had set in motion around late last year, when some incidents triggered a snowball effect in my introspective journey. A lot of repressed trauma and memories came to the forefront. I had been going to therapy regularly and I began to acknowledge their presence. This hit me quite hard and threw me off balance. Added to this were significant life changes, geographical shifts and relationship turbulence. While I feel broken, damaged, scared, fragile and unbelievably terrified of letting people see me, I also am glad I am facing everything, with the help of a therapist and a loving family and supportive friends. I think that's just good grace I've earned over time and I'm grateful.

But with this crashing down of my armour - the strong, independent, creative woman who doesn't need anybody to take care of her, who always finds a solution to any problem, who can survive anything - has added a considerable amount of shame and guilt on my shoulders. So I'm going to state everything I feel guilty about and hope that in this declaration, it's out in the open and can finally leave me:

I feel guilty because I cannot carry myself physically forward.

I feel guilty for not having the wisdom, strength or tools to protect myself as a child.

I feel guilty for not having the courage to say 'no', when I wanted to.

I feel guilty for the rage I have felt against my family for not protecting or guiding me when I needed it most.

I feel guilty because I couldn't make my last relationship survive the tough times.

I feel guilty because I'm relying on my parents to support and love me and hold me up when I can't stand.

I feel guilty because I feel that I should be doing this for them.

I feel guilty when my mother hugs me even when she has a backache.

I feel guilty when I cannot let my father see me cry or when I'm vulnerable.

I feel guilty when I have an anxiety attack and my body shrivels up and contorts and I cannot breathe, and I cannot snap out of it right away.

I feel guilty when I cannot meet my friends and tell them how my life is going.

I feel guilty that I do not want to be seen, even when everyone is worried about me.

I feel guilty I cannot be there for my siblings when they are struggling with their own problems.

I feel guilty that I cannot change or improve my situation today, this minute, right here, right now.

I feel guilty that I couldn't control my emotions when I wanted to.

I feel guilty because I lack patience, and it takes patience to acquire patience over a period of time.

I feel guilty that I put my body through so much stress, anxiety and worry for the past year, that when it gave up on me, I was frustrated with myself. (I'm really sorry about that, Tulsi. I promise to make it up to you.)

I feel guilty that I am spending my life savings on more education, living in a country I'll have to struggle to belong in, rather than saving for a secure future (if that even means anything, really).

I feel guilty for allowing myself to believe in promises of love, when deep down I knew it was a long shot when the man just lies to himself, so how could he even know I was The One?

I feel guilty for not being strong enough to support the man I loved, when he was being inauthentic with himself and wanted to be validated, and stood up for the truth instead (I will get over this one quickly, I assure you).

I feel guilty for not being able to be mentally and emotionally stable enough to face my family and friends, to smile and laugh, to feel normal and live a healthy, active life just yet. I'm afraid they will lose patience with me.

I feel guilty when I can't go up and down stairs because my erstwhile strong legs are in so much pain, and my mother has to bring me dinner.

I feel guilty that I cannot find an innovative way to end suffering in the world, that I cannot heal everybody, that I cannot save everyone.

I feel guilty now that I have realised I'm not a superhuman.
(But I've also come to realise that being human in itself is a very powerful thing -- which very few people recognize and practice in their lifetimes)



I'm blanking out. That probably means my List of Guilt is ending. If I remember more, I'll vent them in the next post.

I don't know if my guilt stems from the possibility that my strong suits failed me. Or from the likelihood that I don't need them anymore but am not sure the world will accept me as me. But then I imagine a world that doesn't accept me as I am, isn't the world I'm meant to live in. Is it then the guilt of wanting to shed the suits and still be considered those things in my own head? Is that even possible? Not sure yet.


I spent most of today in bed, deep in thought. I didn't do much else. So I want to end this post with a positive thought I read online.

"We can all practice beginning anew. 

We can always start over."- Thich Nhat Hanh

Day 8: Eight Laps

I wanted to write a post about guilt today, but I've had a major anxiety attack this evening and have zero energy to introspect at the moment. Safe to say, a load was lifted, but another one took its place. I'm dealing with it and will address it soon.

Today, I did 8 laps and a 45-minute meditation session in the pool. I befriended my chakras, and told them it is safe to blossom. It felt wonderful.

I also went through the last two years of music I have created, sung or been a part of and remembered that I am gifted. It felt good to see myself sing and smile and fearlessly emote through music. I feel blessed and fortunate that I have been chosen by the universe to channel and spread this beautiful energy. May I always be worthy of the music.

I like how my face glows when I'm in love. I hope I can feel that glow again some day. 

Day 6: Kiri-kiri

Today was a very busy and eventful day. And I was looking forward to writing about it tonight. But after a long time, I had a massive breakdown in my bedroom. 

I couldn't hold it in any longer, and screamed and sobbed my heart out into a pillow, while my mother sat next to me. All the anger, hurt, frustration, fear, sadness and pain just tumbled out without warning. It felt like the earth was shaking beneath me, and I was caught in a hurricane. All the feelings I was trying to distract myself from, suppress or rationalise in the hope of being a 'better human being', just raced out of my throat and into the universe. It was a cry from so deep within me, what came out felt like it made straight for the core of the earth, if you can imagine it. My mother let me vent. She believes it's better to let it out than keep it inside. I sobbed for every ache in my body, my heart and my soul. I cried like a child and begged my mother to never leave me, never die on me, never stop loving me (all the things a child is afraid of). In those 15 minutes, I became a 4 year old and she held me so tight, I felt like I was glued to her. It was the most secure feeling I have felt in a very long time. 

When I calmed down, I lay my head in her lap and sniffled. She ran her fingers gently up and down my back. This is something she used to do to me and my brother when we were kids. It's strangely soothing and relaxing and even though I'm easily tickled, this makes me feel light and sleepy. She calls it, 'kiri-kiri'. I feel blank now. 

So tonight, I've composed a tune on the ukulele I bought earlier today. It's the music that plays in my head when my mother runs her fingers up and down my back. My first time on a ukelele. Happy notes. Just what I need. Let's see if I can build on this tune over the next couple of days.

Kiri-kiri

An Ode to my Period

I waited as the clock struck twelve, 

With bated breath and crampy thighs

But Aunty Flo had other plans

And left me dry, with tears in my eyes.

I know I've been a tense little beast

And ignored the alarms to rest

I'd hoped this time, she'd give me a pass

And just add extra soreness to my breasts.

But it's wonky, without the crimson tide,

No surf is up, I'm hurting inside.

I know she's in there, tapping her foot,

Taking her sweet time to arrive.

Dear Flo, I miss you and your brilliant red

I miss the cramps, I miss the dread

Of leaving a mark, of feeling I've stained

Of feeling my bones are made of lead.

I promise I'll be a good little girl.

Self love and healing: I'll give it a whirl. 

Just come back and you will see

That you mean the world to me.

🌹

Day 4 - The Driver's Seat

A woman's hormones are like a cat. Temperamental. Choosy. Will only play along if you pamper them and succumb to their every whim and wish. And even then, they might blow you off. Just because they don't feel like coming out to play. If you anger them, they will lash out in the worst way possible. Meowr! (I must add here that I think cats are very lovable creatures.)

I missed my period this month. No, I'm not pregnant. No, I don't have any disorder. They just haven't come yet. A major cause is stress. I've learnt this year (as if I didn't have any signals before, that I should have paid better attention to) that stress can screw up your body more than a car shredder can deface your car. I have had regular periods for pretty long, with only a couple of misses that I remember, once a decade, either due to under-eating or over-exercise. I have a Period App on my phone that logs my period cycle and reminds me when my next period is expected. It's very handy. I can even log in what pills I've taken, when I had sex and how I'm feeling emotionally.

My last three periods have been during very stressful times. I had to move houses twice, hauling tonnes of heavy luggage, with a bit of help, up and down flights of stairs. My last period was me running to catch a 22-hour flight from New York to India. This time around, my boyfriend and I broke up a few days before my period was due. I can safely say my ovaries have been sufficiently traumatized. 

This makes me sad. My body is tired and in pain and the medication I'm on is doing its best to get me back on track, but I feel weak, powerless, guilty and frustrated. So much that I find it hard sometimes to get up and sit down, or go up and down a flight of stairs. Of course, it hasn't stopped me, but I do take extra care not to push myself or fling my body around in over-enthusiasm. 

I really thought I'd get my period today. I've been cramping for weeks now, and my legs felt heavier. Let's put aside the moodiness because that's an everyday given. I'm still hopeful it'll come soon. But I have dark moments when I wonder what if they never will? I'm trying not to stay in that dark zone for very long.

Happy observation of the day: I've begun to look forward to the second half of the day. So far, every morning, I've been depressed, sluggish and brain dead. By the time I make my way downstairs for breakfast, I see my mom puttering about her plants and fixing me my morning mug of hot water and some fruits. She enthusiastically suggests activities we could do after breakfast, but I have no energy to do any at all. I am learning to forgive myself for lacking energy. By lunchtime, I gain some strength but am mentally still quite low. Mum goes up for her afternoon siesta and so do I. Normally I would never sleep in the afternoon, but for the past two days, I have enjoyed an hour of deep sleep. Once I wake up, I feel rested. When I go down, I'm raring for some activity. It's this second half of the day, when things begin to happen. And so they did, today.

I finally got to paint. My mom fixed me up with her stash of oil paints, some brushes and palette knives (my weapon of choice), turpentine and linseed oil, and a variety of canvases to choose from. I created a nook for myself under the stairs, where the books and my grandfather's old LPs are stored. It's cosy and private. I had a basic idea and just went for it. It was fun and illuminating. I enjoy painting because I never know how it's going to look in the end. By the end of the day, I was pretty happy with what I made. But I might tweak it tomorrow. 

We then decided to drive out to buy groceries. I haven't driven a car in 2 years, having lived in the US without a driver's license. But it didn't take much for me to get back into the driver's seat. And once I was in it, I just didn't want to stop driving. So we went to the vegatable market, fruit market and a plant nursery. We decided to drive to Johncy's for dinner at the beach. It was pouring and it was high tide. The sea was magnificent, with furious waves lashing at the shore and gusty winds sprinkling sea water on our faces. I could stare at the sea in the rain forever. It's peaceful and comforting, in any avatar. My mother and I walked along the shoreline after a delicious meal and gave thanks to the sea and the sand, for the peace we felt.

I wasn't ready to go home just yet. So we went on a long drive through the empty, dark roads of Goa at night. It was freeing. Mom went crazy taking pictures. Goa at night is just as gorgeous as day. I could have driven all night, all the way to the southernmost tip of Goa, if I could. But I made it to Cavellosim, and that was enough for the first day. 

Being able to drive a car, steadily on Indian roads (with Indian drivers and traffic), tells me I'm pretty stable and calm. It's reassuring. Even if I don't have control over my hormones, I have control of my driving skills and how I react to crazy drivers. This is a powerful feeling - being in the driver's seat (literally and metaphorically). I see myself driving out a lot more.

Looking forward to the second half of tomorrow. :)

Day 2: Just keep swim-ming

"Fear of loneliness is a powerful thing", said Kelsey Grammar as Harry Hamilton in the film, Like Father.  I saw it this afternoon on Netflix and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It was cathartic, emotional, funny, real and ironic: everything that makes it a good film for me.

I believe that at any given point of time, people operate from either one of two things: love and fear. Think about it. Why did I keep going back to my boyfriend? Why did my parents shout at me as a child? Why do I fight with people close to me? Why do we put that extra effort into creating something for someone or even ourselves? Is it out of love or out of fear? Chances are, for every one of those questions, at different times in our lives, the answer could be love and fear. This made me go back and (hesitantly) think about what went wrong, what was right, and what couldn't be fixed. I couldn't go too deep into it, because the wound is fresh. But I'm opening up to the possibility that not everything we said or did was out of fear. And not every promise or plan we made was out of love. Which was which and when? I don't know. I don't know if I'm ready to face that yet. Maybe later.

Today was Spa Day. I put on a mud pack on my face (Multani mitti/clay in case you're wondering). I filled a small tub with epsom salt and hot water. And I soaked my feet in it, while my face got crackly and cool with the clay. This, while watching Like Father on Netflix. My mother, ever-ready for a spa day, joined me. We broke for lunch, which was THE most delicious coconut fish curry I've tasted in Goa, made by my father. I, then, experimented with the mango topping on my lemon bars. Not too shabby! The flavour of the lemon bars is a bit over powering so you want to check the ratio of lemon bar to mango slices based on your preference. But a really yummy combination! *Pat on back*

It's been cloudy today, with intermittent rain. Every few moments, I'll hear a gentle rush of raindrops outside my balcony, with a gush of wind entering my room. No city noise, no honking cars or shouting people, no pollution, no blaring radio on the sidewalk. Just the sound of rain, some birds, the jazz radio my mom's listening to downstairs while she has tea, and way in the background: the distant roar of the sea.

Every few moments, his face pops up in my head and I feel a pang so potent I want to split in half. I'll never see that face the way he looked at me again. He'll never smile for me again. I'll never get to bury my nose in his chest and melt into his warmth. Then I remember all the things I didn't like about him, and how I tried to move past them, but eventually couldn't. I'm left with a mixture of emotions: guilt, shame, disappointment, sadness, hurt, anger, resentment but also clarity on the fact that this was our last try and it's done.

I went up to the terrace, thinking I'd paint something, but I saw the pool outside our house: blue, empty, untouched, undisturbed, with light ripples made by the breeze. I had to be a part of it. So I went for a swim. I was pretty impressed with my enthusiasm. As I was getting ready to go in, I had a barrage of doubts: Am I fit enough? Will it be cold? Oh, I'm not ready to do this. Maybe I should wait another day before I get out and about, I'm too depressed. Oh, but the water doesn't seem too cold, it's pretty lukewarm; just right. Well, I'm already in halfway, might as well go all the way in.

Once I was in, there were no thoughts. My body knew what to do. And I swam. It was liberating. Reassuring. Effortless. Brilliant. All the things I feel when I make music, or when I excel at something. I always remember the feeling I get when I swim. Exhileration. Freedom. Strength. Infinity. Solitude. Peace. What I was born to do. I meditated as I glided underwater, remembering the space within me is just as infinite as the water I'm swimming in. The silence around me silenced the chatter inside me. My tired and sore body felt activated. I floated on the surface of the pool, feeling weightless. The hot shower after my swim was the best I've had in days.



I hope to do this more often. I hope I have the courage to move a step forward every day, however small. I hope to remember that I don't have to freeze when something bad happens. That I can wiggle my toes to start with and make my way up.

I hope.

Break Up Song

Funnily enough, this isn't my first breakup with my last boyfriend. I know what you're thinking. Why did she go back to him again, only to be heartbroken again? Love makes us do strange things that seem right to us at the time. That's pretty much all I can say about that. And that I don't regret it. And that it still sucks.

So the last time we broke up, quite messily and tearfully too, I wrote a bunch of songs. I'm a songwriter, by the way. So emotional turmoil is easy money, in a way. My unreleased hits include, "Borrowed Shoe", "I Can't Feel A Thing", "If You Were Here", and others. I guess you get the gist of the song by the title. Don't get me wrong: I don't find pleasure in pain (not this kind of pain, anyway. We'll leave that conversation for another kind of blog). But a wise man in a tweed jacket once told me that a songwriter's job is to bleed emotionally for the public, in the hope they will relate to us, and make our songs and feelings about them (and that's how we make money).

Maybe for this chapter of our long relationship, The Final Chapter, a new set of songs is in order.
Current Song Titles:

"Immature Douchebag"

"Not Strong Enough"

"Lying to Yourself"

"Why Bother?"

"The Asshole Song" (Oh wait, Jimmy Buffet already wrote that one. Worth a listen.)



Maybe I should hold on to the songwriting idea for a little longer. I think the lyrics will flow when they have to.

This is what I've been listening to lately. Not necessarily break-up songs per se. But they distract me from the sound of his voice or his smile and loving eyes or how we ripped each other apart.

1. The Score - Revolution
2. KONGOS - Come With Me
3. Fleetwood Mac - Gold Dust Woman
4. Barns Courtney - Glitter & Gold
5. Flashdance OST - She's a Maniac
6. Franz Ferdinand - Take Me Out
7. Fleetwood Mac - The Chain
8. Rocky II OST - Redemption
9. Blondie - Call me
10. Pat Benatar - Love is a Battlefield (because it is.)


If you have any other songs for me to listen to, I'm open to recommendations.

Poetry for the night (from my stash, circa 2005):

"Twinkle twinkle little pricks,
May your balls be under bricks.
When night falls, so will they
And sink to the bottom of a lake. "

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."