Once Again.

I can with no hesitation declare this week to be one of the most adventurous and life changing week ever. There’s so much to say and you know I’m going to be vague AF. But I need to put a bit of this here. 

A bit of trivial information, been on bed since the past four days or so. Caught a terrible cold, I’m better now. But being on bed when you have too much to contemplate can make one very restless. Made me. 

I know I should get to the point so here it is. About a week ago had been forced to attend this particular farewell party one of our family friend was throwing for his son who’s about to leave for the USA to complete some Master In Surgery/ Medicine/ somedickdontaskme. And of course he wanted everyone to know , let’s not go there. Anyway, I had to wear a dress and spanx. I’m sorry my male readers but can we talk about this for a second? Spanx fucking suck you up in to a tube so your bottom looks picture perfect, Marilyn Monroe style but your thighs feel like they’re in prison and my va-jay-jay felt so gloomy sad and claustrophobic. We ( me and my, you know, privateparts) weren’t so happy about the whole set up at first, but when I looked into the mirror I can’t deny it made me happy. But the moment I walked out of the house, it was pouring heavily. The sky was a shade of grey and it just made me feel very depressed. The silence in the car wasn’t helping. By the time I reached the party, I had put on this mask of happiness and enthusiasm but someone who knew me could easily tell I wasn’t having a good day. 

It was there, when I met people I last met in 2010 or something I realised how far I’ve come from what I was. I could see the surprise, the shock in their eyes. Like a snake sheds its skin, painful as it was I had done the same. And I was completely conscious of this fact, what I did realise in midst of people chattering is the fact that it is time, again, to shed my skin. I’m the kind of person (I’m sure you know) who constantly curses time and yet adores it. I keep memories close to my heart. But I never analyse them too much. I hate taking life so seriously. 

When people started bringing up all sorts of incidences from the past, in the beginning it was all fun and games. But eventually it started triggering in me an anxiety attack. I didn’t want anyone to know so I quietly went by the bar and picked up a glass of wine. As I was nursing my drink, the guy who’s farewell party it was, came by and started forcing me to dance. I know I was dressed suitably to dance, I know I can dance, and at any other occasion I wouldn’t have said no. But as he pulled me to the dance floor and pulled me closer, I found myself hating my younger self, hating the fact that I ever let myself be devoured by circumstances and I hated myself even more because in spite of hating my younger self for all the chaos, I loved her, empathized with her and I knew that she did the best she could. I was feeling too much and I wasn’t in a mood to be groped so I went stiff for a moment and the next moment I found myself walking off the dancefloor giving the guy a disgusted look. The rest of the evening was a bit of a relief (because time solves most problems, and what time can’t solve, wine helps forgetting). 

That night when I came back home, I was lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. My bed was wet, my legs hurt with the heels, but my heart for some reason was smiling. That’s when I decided that maybe it truly is time. To love more fearlessly. To live more whole heartedly. To believe in that little girl who’d walk through fire for what she loved. Once again. 

P.S. Can’t reply to any letters because I’m at my mom’s. 

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