A Letter to My Distraught Self

I’m writing this to you because I want to. I don’t know what this is going to look like by the end of it. Ideally, I would’ve indulged in careful thought before letting words flow onto this screen, but maybe, for once, I wanted this to be as spontaneous, reckless, with no ends or meanings attached, as you always wanted life to be …

But since life has its own ways of being completely insensitive and antagonistic, like a hostile parent or partner who is told the same thing each day and yet refuses to understand it. Sometimes, that’s the only thing we look at, and we judge each person, each thing, through the eyes and the experience of one hostile person or place or perspective.

I’ve been adversely affected, and rather depressed, by the small talk around me — by conventions, capitalism, by the consistent crafting of the process of life into an accomplishment, a mission, a declarative statement. But after much deliberation, I’ve concluded that, we as humans, being born as intelligent beings, with brains, have no option but to THINK, and often those thoughts do not work with us or for us. However, fortunately enough, just like how a hostile person’s heart melts to nobody but to a little child, who is free of fear and bias, life also mends its ways for those who choose to approach it with unrestrained laughter, outrageous desires, fearlessness and faith.

While living may not have any end attached to it in its own self, while no amount of work is work enough to promise a mortal immortality. While there’s uncertainty, separation, and predicament — the process of life itself, with each unique moment, has many gifts which are waiting to be unveiled, if we see with a receptive mind, hear without wanting to respond, and speak with an intent to caress the silence.

While there are more than a thousand things each day that try to defeat our utopian ideals, ethics, values, and belief systems — there is always one thing in each day which is exactly like we wanted it to be.

I’ve tried to explore the dark corners of your mind, and while I might have been able to see a few things, my hands are too weak without yours, in their capacities, in igniting a spark, in illuminating the twilight. I know the twilight is comforting, but while it is often mistaken for dawn for their undeniable hyper similarity, twilight can only be lived for its authentic essence after experiencing dawn.

I carve seven dreams each night, recite 170 poems, weave 77 stories. But I refuse to wake up with the dawn for it doesn’t let me dream. And then I refuse to talk to moonlight because it doesn’t let me sleep. I caress the twilight, but it often asks me: “Do you love me because I succeed dawn, or because I precede dusk?” I scream: “I like you for you. Not because you come after or before something.” But it tells me: “How can you love me for me? I do not exist without dawn and dusk. If you really love me for how I transcend dusk and dawn, but you do not transition with me to either, how can I trust you?” I fall silent. I do not utter a word.

I had become so comfortable in the transition, the gaps, the silences, that I often traded where I needed to be for where I wanted to be — until I realised the only thing I wanted was to align myself with everyone and everything that needed me. Maybe I wanted to remind myself that life needed me more than I needed it.

The circle of life is a funny game. I often encounter meaningless, utter disgust at the consistency of the rat-race, suffocating structures and organisations — but I’m somehow convinced that there is something within each of us, aching to find expression. For how are we still alive despite how desperately we’ve wanted to destroy ourselves? I don’t know what life holds or what it will take or what it can give. All I know is, there must be something within us that needs life, to undo years of concealing, silencing and wrongdoing. There must be a light, a hope, a spark, an energy. There must be something we do not know, and because of it, I’m convinced I’ll find the courage to make it to tomorrow, to breathe another day. And I’m hoping you will too?