The soulmate backpacker

Disclaimer: For a while now, I disappear.  More often than not, for the better. I touch base with myself, sometimes meet new people, cry over silly things, and live dangerously - at least I try. Last year, I took the train to Mysore. Saw the palace, touched the walls, fell in love with the history. While it was beautiful, it felt uneventful... till the 27th of January, 2018. Two days with a man who shared my spirit, my passion, my drive, and my vibes. He was part of my tribe - part of the rejects. He is the hero of this. Not me.

I have no writing style. I write as I feel. I write to document. I write because something or someone was too powerful and I needed help containing it. These are personal reflections.

Subject: The Soulmate Backpacker

"Have you ever lived in a cloud?"
"If you mean like a fog of sorts, sure", the stupid, naive city girl in me replies.
"No. A cloud. High up above it all. In the sky."
"No."


------

I was bored. I am back in Bangalore, the city I am always reckless in. The city that taught me good from bad. The city that is home to a lot of us misfits. But it's was a long weekend and people had pre-planned lives. I was okay being not significant in their grand scheme of things. 

But I do get bored. A lot. And easily. 

I did what any single, lonely, introvert would. I logged onto a dating app. I wanted to meet someone cute, down a couple of drinks, validate the existence of my womanhood, and fuck the shit out of the country in 5 days. Clean, neat, with no strings attached. 

I matched best with him - Maankhod (Monkey in Konkani - my dialect).

I may have gotten more than I bargained for. And I may have lost it all, yet again. 

------

He found me. He knew it was me. 

The first time I laid eyes on him, was when he walked up to introduce himself. There was not a feather of doubt in his head that he had come for me. 

He stood almost at my height, was dark as the beautiful night sky, with a smile that hit me like a constellation. There was something, yet there was nothing. 

We picked a table under the open skies and dined, drowning out the world.

He clearly wasn't of this world. He was untowardly perfect.

-----

I am rambling, aren't I?

You should've seen me with him. Unfiltered, raw, and juggling with my defenses and my vulnerability. The absolute havoc he wrecked on me in those initial 12 hours blew my mind.

He didn't kiss me. He spoke my soul.
He didn't hold on to me. He tethered his spirit to mine.
His 'creepy stare', spoke of how happy he was. 

That's how I knew I broke his heart when I upped and left for those few hours.

------

Maankhod did more than help me calm down. He won my heart, my trust, and my mind. For a restless spirit, he felt like a port. But I didn't know my own strength. (Add that to the list of things I cannot love about myself.)

We decided to answer our footloose instincts and disappear to together for three days. Two wonderfully broken people, coping in ways that were detrimental to the other. But oh how beautiful that pain felt. How it tore us inside. 

We ran to Kodaikanal in TamilNadu. We wanted to escape this dimension and I wanted to do it with him. We trekked mountains, and slippery slopes in search for 'shrooms. All throughout he held firmly onto my cold hands, unwilling to let go. That raw and untapped was his love. That much I trusted him. I trusted a complete stranger with my life.

Here's something you learn when you constantly battle on the need to keep breathing - you know pure vibes when it hits you. You know this because it gives you a reason to go in. It shows your worth beyond your paycheck. It shows how perfectly molded you are beneath those clothes. It shows all wars fought in those scars. It shows all those gaps left from years of unrequited love. As damaged as my Maankhod was, that magnificent his spirit was to me. 

That night, the 27th of Jan 2018, after failing to score some 'shrooms, we smoked and drank a whole bottle of Old Monk. We danced, we laughed, we cried, and we loved deeply. As we kids say - pure as fuck! We saw our constellation of Taurus above our modest little cottage, headbutting the moon. Zidane skills, if I may! I loved how vulnerable he was and I loved holding him tight in protection. For a change, I saw someone worth protecting with every fiber of my love. Here's where I fucked up. I didn't factor in protection from myself. 

I am extremely sarcastic. I use it all the time as a shield to defend myself. The less I feel, the less I get hurt. The logic was simple. I met too many men and I have learned one thing. Diffuse and defer. But Maankhod was sensitive. I didn't see it then.


The next morning, my impatience got the better of me. I was restless. I needed to run away. He was perfect but he didn't match my restlessness. I spat out a few hurtful words at him and disappeared. I ran through an empty church, Coaker's Walk, Bryant National Park, the open market, stalls of hawkers, streets filled with the smell of Eucalyptus, lazy cows, steep uphill roads, fresh cotton candy, and the smell of fresh coffee brewing and it did the opposite of liberating. I lost contact with him and not even the pure air could help fix the way I felt. I bought a kiwi as a peace offering and ran back to him. 

My Maankhod wasn't there. It was just a shell of him. Shutting me out. Just a cold, distant man staring brokenly. We were inside a cloud together and not even the crisp, clean, cold air could do anything to fix anything.

"I am going back. I am done. I'm heading into town to see if there are any tickets available. You can stay behind. You are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself"
"What do you mean?
"I am not happy anymore. I spent an hour alone, dwelling on the words you said, feeling worthless. I am done. I am going back."
"But, I want to be with you."
"Shit happens"

------------

In some obscure way, our journeys matched a lot. He had vibes that spoke to me. Vibes that freed me, vibes that made me strong, yet weak. Vibes that made me a strong woman, unashamed of my vulnerabilities. Vibes that made me see a kind of love that wasn't purely sexual. 

And I chased it away with my reckless, impatient behavior. 

I killed a love that felt pure and real. 
I let it go.

------------

Maankhod,

I am broken

without you.

I am broken

with you.

I may have

forfeited all now.

But for those

tiny brief moments:

You were

my everything.

You were

my love.

You were

my soulmate.

You were

pure melody.

You were

my everything.

I am broken

with you.

I am broken

without you too.

-------

Forgive me, my love. I can't do justice.

-------

"Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it." Proverbs 4:33

The fighter

Disclaimer: I write because I want to. I want to revisit this document a few years later and see how I much I have moved or stayed from what I believed in. I will come across as someone bossy for I will project a lot of 'in-my-opinion and i-think/believe' related phrases. I am open to views on the subject matter, for the insights of each one of us, is so vastly different. To me, that is something of beauty. So I welcome you to read this somewhat convoluted, yet hopefully sane musings of mine. 

-----------

It is a 6feet by 6feet rink, held shut by the harshest of ropes.

She stands at one end, in the shadows, away from the spotlight. It is the darkest and deepest of corners. It is the alley of condemning voices and broken bones. It is the alley where the bloodstains have made home. There is no one who cares. 

She stands all alone clenching her boxing gloves tight. She stands all alone shaking like a leaf.

The bright lit center beckons but she shakes like a leaf. The voices begin their taunt - on she rests our bets and gold?

Her bruised knuckles and her tightly clenched fist lets go. The voices drowned out by the fallen red gloves.

She shakes like a leaf.
She is jostled for a bit.
She begins to breathe.

The fight must go on. No one really cares how wounded she is. This is a game of cheap gamblers and she is but an animal in the cage.

She tries for the third time...
She straps on her gloves. She answers the beckoning.

The brilliance of the bright light blinds her. She shakes like a leaf.

But she takes her stance. She takes one long breath and pushes with all of her existence.

A ray of the bright light shines through her. It shines brightly on the single tear that drops.

She shakes like a leaf. But the fight of healing must go on.

------------

Editor's Note: I wrote this on September 2, 2012. I was 24 years old. I had my heart broken by the only man I really loved. He was the one I wanted to trouble till we grew old. He was the one I wanted to hear whine how bad a cook I am - but would eat it anyway. He was my best friend and now, a page in history. I wrote this when I saw his wife and him (he eloped with another, FYI) on my way back from a kickboxing class. This is just 9 months since it ended. I grew numb, somehow drove straight to the closest refugee - an empty church, and had one of my severe anxiety attacks. It's not about just a boy. It's about someone/something that fuels the idea of how much you're not worth existing.

I wrote this because it was either drinking myself to death, drinking and then slashing my wrists, or drinking and wanting to kickbox again. I'm not proud of how it's turned out as a piece, but it still reminds me how I fought through. Depression and PCOS go hand in hand. This is a hard disease. Talk to someone who can help you. Don't fight it alone. Or talk to me. Let's bitch the shit out of this MoFo. :)

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I can't write. I just can't.
I can't spurt poetry on the go. Nor can I create illusions of new worlds with words.

I can't create. My womb is barren and my heart empty.
I can't sculpt a greek god. Nor can I fall create pretty pieces to showcase.

I can't start. I see myself as a failure; everything I touch turns to dust.
I'm afraid of beginning something beautiful. I'm afraid of it's falling to pieces.

I'm not self sufficient. I can't care for my family, nor let my mother rest.
I don't have anything to offer. Nor am I capable of anything new.


In times like these, when it gets dark, my appetite for self destruction whets.
It gets lonely and the screams in my head overwhelm.
I hear them loud and clear and they taunt me on my worthlessness.
I hear them tell me to call it a day. They insist on the end all the time.


I can love. I can love truly and deeply.
I can love enough to get scarred. I can pick up my broken pieces and love again.

I can be. I can hold on to you tight till you learn to cry it all out.
I can absorb that energy and set you free. I can hold you in, completely.

I can empathise. I live in the darkest corners, I know these alleys.
I can help you through it, I can cry with you. I can laugh with you.

I can exist. I can stand tall and look in the mirror and say 'not today'.
The warmth of my blood oozing is proof of me living.

In times like these, when it gets dark, I count my scars - one by one,
I feel the texture of healing, the desire to exist overwhelms.
I may feel worthless in my head, but my heart beats a song of survival.
I can't hear the screams and wails over my frail yet loud beating heart.

I can't love myself enough yet, but I suppose-
I can try to survive for another day.


Notes:
Depression. Suicide calls. Feelings of worthlessness. Warning signs

Editors notes:
I battle mild (if you may call it) clinical depression. I know coz I've seen the warning signs. I haven't seeked help yet simply because I haven't approached a severe level of self destruction. I've let a few people know I may be damaged goods but the rest is undercontrol. The heaviness of life and the umpteen number of responsibilities unfairly dumped on my shoulders seems to aggravate it more, simply coz I can't seem to meet them. However, I thank GOD, my Father, for little mercies here and there.

If you know someone who suffers, never hestitate to let them know that they are loved and are important. They may be too 'emo' or egoistic but it most cases, they shut life out as to avoid severing bonds when they call it quits. 

If you suffer from depression, let's talk. I'm happy to help, the little I can. We're in the same sea, might as well show some love. :)

Till next time.

p.s. Encourage feedback on langiage, literature or the subject.

The leaf

Disclaimer: I write because I want to. I want to revisit this document a few years later and see how I much I have moved or stayed from what I believed in. I will come across as someone bossy for I will project a lot of 'in-my-opinion and i-think/believe' related phrases. I am open to views on the subject matter, for the insights of each one of us, is so vastly different. To me that is something of beauty. So I welcome you to read this somewhat convoluted, yet hopefully sane musings of mine. 

I once spoke to a leaf that had fallen down from her majestic home tree. She flew with the wind, bathe in the rain, and rolled on muddy waters till she hit upon a small, insignificant rock. She got stuck under him and he sheltered her from flying free with the wind power or dancing in the mighty downpour of the heavens. He sheltered her from the muddy waters on the ground.  

To her, this rock was a blessing. Almost God sent. To me, he seemed nothing more than a rock. It weighed her down, creased the gorgeousness of her soul and let the ants run rampant on her. It tore her in bits and pieces and she seemed to only adore it more.  

I took a liking to this little homeless, lost leaf. She was still young and the scorching sun had not yet taken a toll on her freshness. She was so perfect to me, all by herself. Yet she clung to the rock like it was very salvation itself.  

One rainy day, the thunder roared. The birds hid far away and the little squirrels scampered into their holes on the trees. The rain gave birth to a large angry river. It washed away the throngs of sadness that it saw from the heavens and cleared the pain off the young trees and leaves. It threw little puddles for the tiny life forms and watered the dry, thirsty earth. It was a party of destruction and a prayer of hope. It had the rush of uncertainty and the blessings of a soul. 

The small, insignificant rock seized the opportunity and jumped on the bandwagon to self-proclaimed freedom. It let itself drag along. Whilst doing so, he tore off a large part of the leaf. It was but expected. She was no longer as the other leaves. She had a large chunk of her gone and she looked incomplete.  

No longer tied down by the rock, she struggled to find a way to move forward. With her new shape, she could no longer float as she used to. Nor could she let the gentle winds carry her. She constantly dipped to one side. (She saw many other leaves damaged by unexplained forces riding the giant river. Their screams rang loud yet they all seemed to be going somewhere.) She (on the other hand) kept failing and falling and failing. 

Now young leaves like her lose hope very fast. She believed that her life had run its course. She felt useless. She saw the reflection of a nobody in the rivers and never washed the mud that fell on her pretty face. 

She lay on the dirt, quiet - almost ignorable. 

Almost a no one.  

Shielded from no one and going nowhere she lay on the ground, resigned to the cards the hands of fate dealt her with. She lay down, waiting to dry up and become dust.  

Piercing screams of agony scattered the stillness that lay in her soul. 

The first rays of the sun shone. It dried up the waters so fierce and dispelled all the dark grey clouds. It brought the birds out and their chirping replaced the screams.  

A bird picks her up coz she fits perfectly. She's a part of a family.

Notes:

(Rushing stream, leaves all around screaming, mud all around. 

First rays of the sun. Mud becomes dust.) 

(soul because of the vibrancy and the very reason of life) 

Subject 1: Silence

Disclaimer: I write because I want to. I want to revisit this document a few years later and see how I much I have moved or stayed from what I believed in. I will come across as someone bossy for I will project a lot of 'in-my-opinion and i-think/believe' related phrases. I am open to views on the subject matter, for the insights of each one of us, is so vastly different. To me that is something of beauty. So I welcome you to read this somewhat convoluted, yet hopefully sane musings of mine. 

Subject: Silence

Here is a conveniently ignored fact about 'silence'.

I don't really like Fridays here in the Middle East. It's the day we go to church. It's the 'Sunday Obligation' that is moved two days ahead, for convenience. I am not agnostic or an atheist or a fanatic. I love and respect the religion I'm born into and the religion I see around me, predominantly. That's just about it.

My mother makes it a point to spend these friday evenings in this manner: the half an hour rosary session to Our Lady, an hour of holy Mass and two very long painful hours of charismatic renewal. This is my problem. My problem is praying by rote. To my immature ear – that is constantly pumped by the ambient noises that spell civilisation – this is more noise. The last thing I need is to pray a cacophony of words when I rush to a so proclaimed place of peace at my so called hour of need. It's not like I haven't served the idea of dropping one of the too many worship sessions to her.

Remember how God said to look for Him in each other and in His creation? Yes, how do you suppose that will happen? I wanted to find something 'special' in me, really. Let's try this three step method that worked for me the once out of probably a billion times I attempted it:

1. Get to someplace personal, quiet and comfortable. Maintain a comfortable posture (you would require to remain in this posture for a while, so choose wisely)
2. Shut out all ambient noises. That includes the ones outside your body and the ones inside your head.
3. Wallow in the stillness. 

I did that today. I went into an empty church, sat on the last bench and cried my heart out (as quiet as I could). I whined and whined – sometimes with my voice (in the lowest possible decibel I could achieve) and other times in my head (here I screamed like no tomorrow). When I was done, all that remained was this piercing silence. It rang like a running train heading straight for me. It pierced my very core and after a while I got distracted. It seemed like eternity. But it lasted close to a minute.What followed was an innate sense of peace. 

Reading points: The Indian sanyasis, meditation, silence.