There comes a moment in your life in which you understand how alone you are. There is practically no one for you. Parents will always be there, but being a generation apart sometimes they fail to understand and some other times you don't want to burden them with the anchors that are pulling you down. You have many "best friends" whom you tag or wish on friendship day or even call a sibling based on your "connection", but who are basically for photographical preservation and will always have a small excuse for not answering back when you need them the most. The person who thought you loved, basically was a figment of imagination impersonated by another soul so unlike the one you loved, and deceived by your own dreams; or one who just deserted you. The loves, friendships you thought were there, were actually never that deep, and in your own standards never existed thus. At night, when you can't sleep and are having scary live dreams about various possibilities, it is at most a pen and a paper that can come to your rescue. Friendless. Loveless. You are now so low and flat on your back that you can't even look down upon yourself in pity. What do you do then?
In this fast, urban, independent life that we have made for ourselves there are so many of us who have felt like this some one time, at least, in their life. Being intelligent people, we have found our ways out. Some dive into chasms of work that keeps this feeling of abandonement and of hurt at bay. Some become vagabonds, struck with a false sense of wanderlust, trying to get away from the memory of those unrealised, haunting dreams they perhaps can never escape from until confronted and won over and even winning seems a loss, and painful then. Some poor souls are even drowned. And though some do emerge out again, stronger, and perhaps more detached to initiate that effect from the world outside, many don't. Even those who manage to overcome, some do find happiness again whereas for many others the definitons change. Now they are no longer seeking what they once were. Even if the institutions remain the same, destinations change. And perhaps that is necessary too. Isn't it, my dear void? Can you reassure me?
In this fast, urban, independent life that we have made for ourselves there are so many of us who have felt like this some one time, at least, in their life. Being intelligent people, we have found our ways out. Some dive into chasms of work that keeps this feeling of abandonement and of hurt at bay. Some become vagabonds, struck with a false sense of wanderlust, trying to get away from the memory of those unrealised, haunting dreams they perhaps can never escape from until confronted and won over and even winning seems a loss, and painful then. Some poor souls are even drowned. And though some do emerge out again, stronger, and perhaps more detached to initiate that effect from the world outside, many don't. Even those who manage to overcome, some do find happiness again whereas for many others the definitons change. Now they are no longer seeking what they once were. Even if the institutions remain the same, destinations change. And perhaps that is necessary too. Isn't it, my dear void? Can you reassure me?
I have seen so many stories unfolding like that. It used to make me so sad how pain can change people. But when it happened to me I wasn't exactly unwelcoming. Change is perhaps necessary too. That is the difference between being a child and an adult - to be welcoming for such a change. We always have to pay a price for everything, even for a small amount of air we catch in our lungs. Sometimes we loose things which were once our heart and soul. We had our faults, our own book of errata and some really hurtful injustices. But they were out of our control or may be of the person we are trying to blame. And life doesn't stop, change doesn't stop. Either we move on with the flow, or be buried under the shifting sands of the desert. Which one we choose, is our intelligence and some hormones controlling a phenomenon we call our 'wish'.
In this ever changing world, everything is so strange, so difficult, yet so beautiful. I love the ocean. It is deep. It's silent roar on a full moon makes me wonder about life, makes me cry. Why is everything as it is? Why not more? Why not less? When you have lost a thing, you aspire to find it again in its depths, not knowing ever if you will or if your search will ever end. I was standing at this sunset whose photo you see, laughed as the waves greeted me - friendly and caressing; but as they receded I felt the sand beneath my feet leaving the shore. I was loosing my balance and my own earth. Should I go and search in vain for the lost in the ocean?
I didn't. Fear or wisdom? Loneliness or solitude? I did not know, I do not yet. I just sat at the bank, drained the noises out and looked at the sunset, the hauntingly beautiful sunset.
