I keep getting comments, e-mails, WhatApp messages and more from people who connect with what I write. Many hold themselves back from commenting on public forum out of fear of being reprimanded for being too bold. One such person decided to inbox me today. There is a reason why I am sharing this, but we will get to that in a bit. Here is an excerpt from the e-mail (I have decided to share only a part of it for a reason.).
“How are you doing this? I have been following you for quite a while. It is like you are writing my story. Every post. How can it be? This is who I am. … Thanks for confirming there are others like me. Thanks for saying it out to the world what I want to tell everyone around me. You are my escape. … Please write more often. You have a gift of knowing how to hold a pen with audacity.”
First things first. I am humbled and touched beyond words. Thanks for writing in. You made my day. I never started writing with a goal; it was and still is my way to get away from the compulsion of incessant thinking. Like you, words are my escape too.
I never thought of my blog as some bold platform to write what comes to my mind, but I now do realise that is how it is being perceived. I know why you would call me audacious. I have received quite a few curious mails asking me if this blog is my story, a friend’s story or a work of fiction. Some decided it is their story. Some decided it is my story. Some decided I am twisted. Some read, got curious, bitched and gossiped to a level that was beyond my mind’s ability to comprehend. A few others are still trying to pschoanalyse me through those words.
I just have one answer for those not-so-happy readers, “The line between fact and fiction is blurred. And good luck figuring out what’s what. Please let me know when you reach a conclusion. Meanwhile, thanks for following my blog with such dedication. All the reading, analysing, judging, bitching and gossiping means more publicity… Bring it on, people!”
And for my happy readers, I don’t see why you would not comment publicly. I would love it if you do. Perception is the stupidest thing to be worried about. So let go and just be!
Words are magic. Write what you feel like writing… Shout, be brave, cry, bleed it all out… just WRITE. Let the words shatter you. Let the words heal you.
I want magic. I want madness. I want “you”.
Her friend told her to write bravely. She wrote, “He said he loved me and I believed him. I loved him, I hope he loved me too… even if it was for a moment, I hope he loved me too… the way I loved him.”
And she bared her true feelings to the people that mattered to her.
She told them how he made her feel. She was surprised at her audacity. She knew they did not approve. She knew that they thought it was an absolute mismatch. But she still said it all and said it out loud. He took her to places she’d never been, places she could not even have imagined existed. So she kept trying to explain what he was… Not that anyone was convinced, but she felt uncurbed.
At the very least it was liberating. She felt liberated… emancipated!
And then the realisation dawned on her… He indeed made her tremble with the sweet pain of pleasure, every time. He made her experience pleasures she never thought she was capable of feeling. But in the end, he was just a chapter in her book that was fast coming to a close… A chapter, a lesson, a memory and an experience. An experience she unabashedly reveled in, an experience that made her aware of a side she never knew existed, an experience that left her with a lot of anticipation for the coming chapters… and that is one thing she was grateful to him for… probably, the only thing.
She was determined to rationally understand what went wrong. Assumption, she thought, was the convict in their relationship. When he said that is “our song”, she assumed our meant “him and her”. When she said she wanted pure
unadulterated love and he said that is what he wanted too, she assumed the definition of “pure unadulterated love” was the same for both of them. When he said “forever”, she assumed he meant forever. It was definitely not him, not
him… yes. Assumption indeed was the culprit, the only guilty party.
It was time again for their late-night tête-à-tête with soft music, some wine and dim lights. What started out as a regular gossip session between two besties meeting after a long time, quickly turned into a serious conversation. She desperately needed to know her best friend’s opinion on the thought that was haunting her for quite some time now, so she finally asked, “Did I disrupt his mundane life? He seemed fine with the ordinary before I barged in. Do you think I have left him muddled up for the rest of his life?” After musing over it for what seemed like ages her friend answered with certainty, “Yes, you did; but in a good way. When you barged in, he got the emotional experience of his life… He never knew he was capable of such intensity, such passion. Now he knows the difference between living and just being alive. You, my friend, are that difference. And even if it is not forever, he is lucky to have experienced the intensity of your love.”
What is pain?
Pain is every time I wonder what could be.
Contradiction was her second name. She was gifted. She was cursed. Day after day, she went through a myriad of emotions so contradictory that she could not believe herself. He made her head-over-heels happy, but he also made her hopping-mad furious. What was she to make of this tumultuous relationship? What was she to make of all his promises? She wished for numbness, as the pain was too much to deal with every time he said, “I love you, but…” Was it time to let him go? Did he deserve another chance? Another chance to admit how crazy he was about her, minus all the “buts”. Aah… If only the answer was that simple, if only love was that simple, if only life was that simple!