“If I had some idea of a finish line, don’t you think I would have crossed it years ago?”
This quote basically sums up my idea about a finish line. It is an elusive thing, in the far horizon, and I don’t know what exactly I need to do to reach there. And it gets changed in every stage of life.
When I was in school, the finish line meant to pass my 12th standard with high grades, so that I can get in a good college. College meant freedom from school uniforms, mingling with boys, pocket money, less restrictions, more night time etc etc. But after reaching that, I felt that the finish line has sled further away. Now I wanted a job. Financial independence. The sole target of the last year of college was getting a job offer….as if that would mean the end of the race.
After getting the job, me and my partner thought of moving in together. It was a tough job, to get a flat and to convince the parents and all, but we did that also. Little did we know that the race has just begun. Over the years, we got married, then got separated, and now again I am back on my racing track. This time the finish line seems to be beyond a crooked jagged dangerous path, one on which I must bleed and burn before reaching my destination. Hopefully this will be my finish line; on which I will find peace and happiness and that spiritual fulfillment that I yearn for. Until then, race on.
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
And then came his confusion. Is it right? It is unethical. It is immoral. No …I cannot do this. This is it. No more. A sudden stop. Somebody who was occupying 100% of my waking hours, said this is it, no more. I . turned into a zombie. The world outside was a torture; every day I would wake up and decide this is the last day of my life. I would cry and scream and bleed the whole day. But it didn’t stop. The days went on, agonizingly slow.
I met him one day in office. It was just luck. That day he was going almost 12000 miles away from me. Without a closure. I was hysterical to say the least.. I was in a real physical pain. It felt that my lungs had stopped pumping air in me. my heart had lost its rhythm, all my body was in distress. But still I went on.
The days and months that passed after this was a blur. I carried on somehow, putting a facade in front of others. Alone in my room, I would curl into a ball. The pain that came in waves engulfed me . I was helpless, and I was sure that I can never recover from this. It was as if something was eating me from inside. But still…..It went on.
Was there any reason for the split? Truthfully, no. We were still very much comfortable with each other, loved spending time, were movie buffs, and in every way a compatible couple. It was my wish to say the truth. He just supported me in every step. And it was whimsical, expensive, bad. Now when I look back and see what I have done, I feel ashamed. If anybody treated me inthat way, I would never ever see that person’s face again. I abused and exploited the relationship in the worst way possible. Still….it goes on.
Is this love? This longing, guilty feeling, this tug, what is it called? I never felt I was a emotional person. But now…I have to admit, I’ve never seen a more whimsical or weird being. What I did, why, I don’t know. And sadly, the two people who were connected to me both suffered genuinely. However much apologies I make, it will fall short.
Now, it comes again, the thing I hate the most. A decision that will again change my life. And it is the proverbial last straw. What I make of it will decide how the rest of my life will go. While I cherish the certainty and comfort and safety, I also long for the wild mystery and call of the unknown. I know this time whichever way I chose, I have to burn the bridges and go. No second (erm…third…fourth) chance.
Each day as I wake up in my little flat…..in my lonely bed, for the first 5 minutes I cannot place where I am. The room is unfamiliar, the sounds and smell are alien, and the sunlight comes from the opposite direction (in my home the window was near the foot of the bed, here the window is at the head!). Then slowly things start settling. It’s like a new birth every day.
There is a mosque just outside my flat. Every morning at 5:30 the Aajan will start, and go on for about 3-4 minutes. At first this was a unbearable torture. But now when every day I’ll wake up for those 3 minutes, I sort of get a reassurance. Something that binds me with reality. And I’m getting a lot of reassurances nowadays. Almost as if I have a guardian angel…who is looking after me whatever I do. Now it has become a habit; I’ll wake up for those 3 minutes and again sleep off. It’s like life, really, most of the times we are sleeping….and consciousness is rare.
I’m recently going through a myriad range of emotions. And as always, I feel I’m just an observer, watching it all unfold in front of me, but not touching me. I don’t know how that is possible, but this is not the first time it’s happening. I’m just a spectator in this drama; and an actor as well!
Last night, I was waiting for him to call. I really did want to talk nonsense with him. Well till 5 he didnt call. I woke up at 5 and pinged him….he replied a bit halfheartedly, then called me. And suddenly I realised I have nothing to talk about! I could feel that he called me only because I was angry, not because he wanted to talk; and as soon as I realised that, I lost all interest. So the call ended at 2 minutes rather badly.
Then he started messaging…..I’ll miss you and so on….basically he thought this was it. And I was too disinterested even to protest him. And I went to sleep.