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Showing posts with label moving on. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving on. Show all posts

Saturday, 18 June 2016

Like Oil and Water





'What is meant for you will reach you even if it's beneath two mountains. What isn't meant for you, won't reach you even if it is between your two lips'

This is the verse I remind myself when I run into bad times. It comforts the anxiety of the pits of my stomach, it makes my heart breathe a little easier.

Trials and tribulations of life will not cease as you get older. At times even experience, the 'big there, done that' jargon fall short to rescue you. It's not the situation but more how you react to it, is what matters. Or so I've been told. And react I did.

A puzzling situation,  unforgivable to most, stood right in front of me and stared at me in the eye. I shrugged my shoulders and tried to do the right despite knowing my inevitable pain. Probably out of defeat or being well aware of the fact that there really was no way around it. Damage it is, I was the one picking up the pieces and getting cut at the same time.

Strange people happen in your 20s. They drag you into stranger situations and before you know it, you're entangled in that web. You question the point and purpose to no end. No answer is an answer by itself.  You know cobwebs. Invisible. You walk through them and it clings to you. No matter how hard you try to pry it off you, you can still feel the remains.

I was in such a web about a month ago. I let go and almost instantly found my sorry self leaning on a shoulder that I didn't notice was there. One that lurked in the shadows. I was grieving and still hadn't noticed. There were black clouds looming over me, my feet dragging that abominable lull like chains. So easy to destroy something so fragile that nursing it back means more aches and pains. You wince at the thought of it. Forgiveness is no longer an option, It's a choice one has to make. Reaching that choice would only further your pain. A little suffering to ease your selfish soul is most likely a sin itself. Again, there was no giving more than I already had. I chose to be greedy for my betterment.

Some one opened a door behind me, grabbed my hand and yanked me through. Funny, the way things work, you miss a chance so closely while only later on you realise what was right in front of you. May be the door behind me was what I was meant to stop and look at. I smile meekly in an attempt to repair myself from the cords that unravelled. But I was already feeling better. Relieved precisely speaking, I could breathe again without being choked up.

I know that I am safe. I know that I will be okay.


*****

To all those who are worried about my well being or were wondering about my absence from the blog, I'm absolutely fine. Took a break to clear my head and heart of some emotional turmoil that took momentum couple of weeks ago but thankfully that has ebbed. I'm recovering fast and well. I'm blessed with well-wishers, friends who are family to me and of course, family itself. Hope this Ramadan is treating you all well. 

خُدا حافِظ






Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Splatter Days

Paintings by Mehreen Shaikh
Sometimes I just crave a blank canvas to spill out everything that's bottled up in me. Like a gush of paints and ink splatter. In no order or any sense, yet hoping you will read off your screens and nod your head,barely able to understand what I'm trying to say and still be able to say to me telepathically, 'Hey, it's okay, we all have our days'. Splatter days I want to call them.
    
It's like waiting, endlessly for something you have no idea about. Like waiting at a curb looking for cars to pass by or in a hospital corridor at 3 AM with just the breeze of doors being pushed around. You don't see anyone and it gets quiet again. You try to hear something familiar to you or something that holds a faint meaning. But instead, all you see is blank spaces. So blank, they make you feel all eerie inside. You see random people occasionally who've seen and dealt with the situation themselves or could be battling their own inner demons, handing you obscure advice. More splatter. You think you don't need that advice till one day it all begins to resonate. Can you still call it a painting if it isn't complete? Will it ever be complete?

I see mimes with all the upside down smiles, shaking their heads. No. They pat my head, trying to console me. There, There. They don't convey anything more than that. They can't. There is nothing left to be addressed. They know it's my journey and I'm on my own.

I take a few steps ahead in the name of moving on. For the sake of moving on. Let's try to collect more splatter - I can't help look back again and again as I go forth. I move ahead a few steps more till I can actually walk by myself..... steady.......steady.......I look back lesser now.......but I still look. Hoping the deeply missed splatter shade will bloom on my canvas some day.

خُدا حافِظ