I am my subject, shall remain..

 

 

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There’s a moment right before you wake up……It’s a moment of absolute nothingness, completely white and opaque. It lasts for a fraction of a second but you sometimes wish you could live in that second forever. It’s an instant devoid of feeling, the only occasion when you can actually stop time in its tracks. It’s a button that triggers the most perfect of freeze frames, and it’s over before you realize it was there at all. 

And then you actually wake up. Face light. Face life. Let’s make us some coffee, latte here.

If you asked me to describe my life right now, I would tell you that I’m feeling lucky. And blessed. And happy. Most importantly, I genuinely mean it. People have been highly appreciative of my blog, the stats are improving, I have earned more than 4200 wonderful followers and its growing as we speak which is a tremendous achievement in itself.

Advertisement agencies are showing prodigious faith and promise. Reputed copyright agencies have tied up, they are closely monitoring and protecting my content. So, all those Sir’s and Madam’s who had issues on the authenticity and standard of my content should stop burning their midnight oil and better find somebody else to keep themselves busy. I was also being targeted for my subjective writings. Well, my writings are about myself, the life I have seen and lived thus far, the struggles I faced, my conflicts and confusions with my own self, with situations and people around, it’s about me losing my way, confidence and strength and discovering them back. I am important to me. My stories are important to me and they need to see the light of day. If somebody feels otherwise that’s not my problem. There will be hundreds of people wanting to write the life of a boxer mom or a reluctant politician or the reigning Chief Minister or social worker, thousands will attempt to write about their regions, its beauty or the lack of it, disturbances, terrorism etc. I am my subject, and trust me, nothing intrigues me more than my own self. Hence, Arunima Dutta shall remain my most important subject. Period.

And as i say this a sting of nostalgia creeps in unnoticed in the middle of my morning coffee. This sudden and quiet whisper of nostalgia cripples me, I won’t lie. Past knocks again. People shame me for looking back. And I get it. I’ve been beating myself up over it. Sometimes, I can’t control my natural instinct to look in the rear view mirror. And this is nostalgic. But nostalgia, to me, has never been about my wanting to go back to my past and redo it. It’s never been about trying to change the outcome. It’s never been about trying to go back and see if I could find something I missed. Something new. Something that would change the way my life turned out. Every road I’ve traveled led me to this life. Nostalgia is about taking my arms and wrapping them around the girl I used to be and hanging onto the naivety that I once lived in. The girl i knew was me. She was alone. Hurt. Misunderstood. She was confused. She needed help.

There will be things you cannot erase from your memory. And then what do you do? You try to start the process of forgetting. But your memory will forever be bound to these images – flickering visions of choices you cannot undo. You’ll attempt to write letters, but you’ll find that the words and phrases doesn’t necessarily count for anything if you can’t find a hook strong enough to hold its weight. Your trash can will pile up with crumpled balls of paper that remain smeared with meaningless ink.

There are some decisions you get to apologize for, you realize, and there are some that you don’t. My fear is that I will never be fully present. That I’ll never love a moment as much as I should. That I will never live in the way that I should. My fear is that I will always fall into my nostalgia and kick myself for not laughing harder, or loving deeper. My fear is that these words — my own words, will never be enough. That they’ll sit on your computer screen and mean nothing more than that. My fear is that I’ll never truly ever be okay with letting these moments disappear. That I’ll never learn to truly let go. 

It will be these moments that force you to wonder if you chose correctly. You find a sense of calm in realizing that you will never know the answer to that question, that there actually is no way to know. You eventually realize that not all choices are right or wrong, instead; they are chapters of time, like state signs or mile markers. Your choices are first sentences, or the beginning of an epilogue.

Ultimately, sometimes you have to burn the bridge in order to know what comes next.

The phone rings.

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