"If, after I die, they should want to write my biography,
There's nothing simpler.
I've just two dates - of my birth, and of my death.
In between the one thing and the other all the days are mine."
- by Fernando Pessoa
I am forever growing, yet I feel I've grown only an inch.
If I write down my life on a piece of paper, we wouldn't come very far as there is a vast of stories to be told. But why do I still feel like my paper is empty?
Some would indicate that it must be because I haven't met the milestones that one should have at my age, others would tell me that it's my great curiosity for wanting to know more. And I would say it's probably my fear of getting old.
Which ever it is, I do desire to fill that blank paper one day with scribbles and doodles...
From today I will stop mentioning how I've completely failed to maintain this blog, how I think every once in awhile to write some episode of my life or a piece of a thought, those of whom that have followed this blog know this story too well, and I keep on shaming myself every time I revisit. Conclusion; I settle with knowing that I write once in a blue moon, whenever it occurs.
We've embarked a new year, a clean slate, to fill it with good and bad stories. But stories never the less, most of them common to everyone, but unique to the individual being. However I live this year, someone else has already taken the same foot steps before me, I will just be walking on the same trail but in different shoes.
But this year, I am excited of walking the designated trail. After walking bare feet on many narrow slippery roads, or on hot asphalts, or through sharp thorn bushes or on broken glass, where there hasn't been any option of turning back but then to continue further, even though I've been immensely fatigue, angry and apathetic... I have reached here; on soft silk with tough soles.
I wish to climb a high mountain this year, where I will be dripping sweat, where my thighs will sore. A mountain that will feel never ending, but for every step I climb, I'll feel nothing but the thrill. The thrill of reaching the top, thrill of floating on white clouds in the blue sky, to be able to look down at the beautiful sight of the world... And as my reward, I will leap, I'll leap down, very fast. I will leap so fast that it will be only me and the wind. And when I reach down, I will be wiser and content.*
*For all the mountains I've climbed in South Korea and for all those morning runs up to Namsan.
It's been almost 1 year in Korea. And I'm find myself to miss eating spicy biryani with raita, eating my mom's cottage cheese when she's not looking before they become juicy rasgollahs and indulging more. Miss my bhabi's colourful laddus, just thinking about them makes my mouth water.
Miss wearing my saris and bindis, putting on the heavy thick kohl around my eyes and the brightest red lipstick I own. Wearing my jhumkhas, with matching glass bangles and payals, ankle bracelets, that makes sound wherever I go.
Being stressed by my father, who is already downstairs dressed and smelling of cologne, which my mother reminded him to put on. He has somehow managed to iron 3 sets of saris and gotten himself suited and watching segments of a football game that he already knows the outcome of.
My mother being extremely annoyed with us, 30 and still can't wear my sari without her help. Adiba running in and out from her room to my room, to my parents room and the bathroom, borrowing make up and jewelry. This girl has still so much to learn but her liner is always on fleek.
Been having this urge for a while now, to dance in a 4 day long Desi wedding to Bollywood and random Bengali songs, choreographed or freestyle. Dancing with my friends and family, doing the most typical Desi moves, twirls and changing light bulbs, in my heavy sari that's at the verge of getting unfolded but somehow staying put together because of that one safety pin. Having my sisters as dance partners and then seeing my mother pulling up my dad to the dance floor and seeing them goofing around with all the other aunties and uncles. Dancing all day long for 4 days straight.
I miss being colourful, loud and free of worries.
I guess no matter where you put me in the world, you won't be able to take out the Desi in me.
You'd think that by now I'd have my sh*t together and achieved most of my life goals, but no. I'm more lost now than I was before, thrown myself in to the unknown thinking that I'd find my way to Ithaka. (Yes, if you haven't notice Ithaka is the only reference I know, sad.)
Every day, I come to realise new things (or the same things but in different light). I always find myself knowing the answers to my problems, yet again I find myself not applying those solutions. Seeing myself, I realise we human beings are quite the funny mammals. Unless we don't have to struggle for survival, most of us seem to create our own issues. We just don't know how to be satisfied with what we have (I might be wrong and this might only refer to me).
I always find myself seeing other people's problems and wishing those were mine as I know I'd be able to easily solve them. But then again knowing that I could solve my own problems, why am I crippled to do something about those? Are we as humans designated to make our lives painful? Don't get me wrong, I am not in anywhere self loathing myself or hating life. I am just questioning myself as a human, after observing others as well, why do we mostly tend to choose the things that are not suitable for us?
Like every questions in my head, I have an answer for this one too. For the life experience! I know for a fact that I find myself bored after doing the same old thing over and over again. When I am most comfortable in life, my body and soul starts to itch for some needed changes in my life. That's why I could never stick to one thing; reading, writing, art..! My brain craves for more information, more experiences, more wisdom. But with that; life throws me more lemons, in abundance!
I find myself choosing situations that are not appropriate, then as stubborn as I am, I force myself to stick to it even though most of me wants to run faster than Usain Bolt. Because of these tendencies; I have stories of a lifetime... there are times were I walk down the memory lane and get myself surprised over my previous choices. Is this an addiction of mine? (And yes, I am pretty full of myself!)