Letters can not know the depth of pain… they do not feel. Pain is experienced; & the one who does, becomes a different person. Letters do nothing for the aggrieved. They only appear imprinted on pages. Once the page turns, the words depicting pain become read in past participle. The story on the pages takes a new course. In my world, after writing a story for three years, the draft reached to stand still.

I am attempting to live with the knowledge of what I saw coming; yet, something I did not fathom to encounter ever. Change takes a series of events & its knowledge introduces that point in time where one becomes clueless about why that had to happen at all. Words fail to express personal loss, or the emotions felt… infact, at times, there isn’t a word to describe the experience.A longtime goes by to accept & come to terms with the veracity. The moment it’s accepted establishing its occurence, a definite amount of rage creeps in.

The original draft is lost. This is a re-write. The same is happening to my world right now.

I mentioned in the post immediately before about a premonition. That has comes to pass. That restlessness that had made me write about a certain change to comeby had soon grown into a persistent uneasiness over the last few months. Eventually, it hit me… so hard that it tore the moral fabric of a relationship very dear to me.

A month back when I was overwhelmed with uneasiness, I turned to Universe. For hours I meditated seeking a sign. In my trance, I was shown a scene. I was to enact… something that would have never crossed my mind if mot guided. In the morning, I followed what was told all the while telling off that voice in mind to not urge me to do something so pointless.

Like in some horror movie, I sat in my living room unveiling layers of a buried tomb covered in cobwebs of betrayal & stench of deceit. It was existence of a parallel world in present perfect continuous intertwined with that of mine. I was unaware… up until then.

My pride is shattered. Seems who I owned was mine never. At a different time, I concluded perhaps, the foundation wasn’t strong enough to hold the two of us together. The semblance is deluding. There’s no trace of anything on the surface; but, beneath my calmness is the storm that is eroding my love for life.

The space I am in is an abyss of self doubt, lame realizations which perhaps, may be true; & a pierced heart incapable of trusting again.

Once known, knowledge cannot be not- known. It creates a moment to pause & reflect. It imparts responsibility to carefully assess what is that should no more be. And when I sat down drained carrying its weight, I saw Karma staring at me.

Mistakes I had made with intent & the ones unknowingly, as though all gathered together to seek accountability in me. It was during one such restless evening when another stark realization left me stoned for days together. Was this is why my mind was unable to calm down?

I had wanted to forgive father for all he did to mother & me. And in this happenstance, Karma presented to me that opportunity. I do not have any whereabouts of father. So seeing him is another task unfulfilled- unless by some Divine intervention, I stumble upon him.

I am standing where a twelve years old me stood bidding father farewell making him leave without me. What was happening to mother was most important & with that in sight, I chose to be with her. My mother chose me & I being a woman, it was obvious I would stay with mother. My father’s attempt at speaking with me in school & one morning at a bus stop later was responded by an estranged daughter. In turn, he estranged me for life.

In the last few years, I have felt his pain. I am the one who fated him to become the man he is today- if alive still. I do not want to create another father. I do not want to create me again. A chapter written 33 years ago is progressing towards closing sentence.

These are the things that turn a perfectly worldly-wise into a recluse. What this turns me into will be etched in a post to come.

PS – The header image was shot during my stay at the place where that realization happened.

About Olivia

Corporate worker, textile designer, writer.
This entry was posted in My Biopic Log, My mind and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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