It’s been 95 days since I started writing this story. This is my 100th post. I was always a writer, but i’ve never written so much ever. This is my grief, translated in to words, so that it doesn’t spill out of my eyes. I’ve been accused of being brave – yes, I say accused, because somehow there is an underlying tone in innocent statements, that says “you are not mourning him enough”.
“Now I know that our world is no more permanent than a wave rising on the ocean. Whatever our struggles and triumphs, however we may suffer them, all too soon they bleed into a wash, just like watery ink on paper.”
I’ve always liked the way Arthur Golden expresses emotions in Memoirs of a Geisha. And these lines were always my favorite. Sadly, in my case, now they ring true.
What I’ve learnt and felt in these 95 days has been beyond my wildest imagination. I always prided myself as being the practical one – none of that emotional nonsense for me. I could shrug off issues and move on with life. I could – like Scarlett O’Hara – push troubles at the back of my mind; to be dealt with another day. It’s unsettling to find that I cannot apply those tricks any more. But I am learning something new. I’m learning that words can heal. I’m learning that sometimes it’s ok to cry. That it’s ok to not be able to deal with stuff.
I now know that people are the most important part of our lives. That we are fragile and transient. And that whatever opportunities we get to connect with people in our short stay here, we must take them.
I was a workaholic, spent too much time thinking of the next thing we could do. Always talking work, breathing work, living it. In fact G said it once – “You only talk work, can we have a normal, non-work, conversation?”. I was so busy working that I didn’t have time to say a proper goodbye the day he left to never come back. And that i’m going to regret for a very long time. So I don’t want to make this mistake again. I want to make sure that people who are a part of my life know that I care for them. I want to make sure I give them my time, the only thing that really matters.
This grief that’s settled somewhere deep inside me has shown me a new side of me that I didn’t know existed. The cocky, ambitious, i-don’t-care, me is gone. I care a lot now; but not about career or ambition. I care about the smaller things in life, like spending time in buying a gift, taking the trouble to send a message, helping someone with something. For the first time I care about other people’s feelings and emotions, where earlier I was impervious. I know now that everyone’s tolerance for emotional upheavals is different – some can crack at the slightest pressure, others can still stand tall. But no matter what they show outside, these things do leave scars.
I know I can never forget G, or my life with him. I don’t want to. In a few days it’ll be 4 months of his absence. And I am still unable to believe him gone. Sometimes I see people on the road – random strangers – with a similar haircut, or beard, or build; and and I think that’s him. For the first time a few days ago I dreamed about him – one in which he wasn’t dead at the end of it. We were just laughing and talking. But I now know that it’s possible to relive a life through memories. Not that I’m going to stagnate with them or anything (before people get worried here). Again going with J.K. Rowling – I know now what a Patronus must be. It’s the strength that happy memories give you, when you are in the deepest dungeons of sadness, to fight back the demons and get on with life. Therefore, I also know it’s important for me to keep on making happy memories.
Am I rambling now? Could be, because I never read what I write. Not brave enough! So I’ll stop here I guess. Just knowing that time will get by, one day at a time. It’s up to me how I use that time, given that it’s never going to come back. Just like G!