Ramblings #20 - Adulting

Fits of coughs fill the Friday night sky. 

Actually, it wasn’t really dark when they started, but these curtains work wonders. Night comes early here.

And yeah, that cough is coming from under the folds of a blanket with me as it’s well of despair – echoing the torment of changing seasons.

I miss them.

Almost 2000 kms away (its 1733 exactly, but then literature doesn’t work that way).

It’s a strange feeling. Being independent and yet wanting a form of dependence in your bleakest and happiest moments. No man is an island, they say. But I, through circumstance and blundersome design, strive to prove it wrong.

Strength is such a weird essence to one’s character and yet, so essential at times to growing up.

“Are you ready to relocate? Would you be comfortable in this city?”

None of us are truly comfortable. We become nomads charged with wanderlust because that is the natural next step. For so many of us. And yet, it feels anything but natural.

I miss them.

But I can’t haunt them with my worries from a thousand miles away. What does that serve? To render them in useless concern. To charge them with urgency and ride to the airport to see someone who can’t take care of a trifle.

I hear the bell. The cook is here and I must go. Even if it’s almost at the pace of a rotting corpse. He asks what is to be had. My tongue doesn’t really understand.

“Whatever you want.”

And with that, I dragged myself to my bed hoping for some relief from this agony. Pain is relative, and hunger is not my chief concern right now. The cook leaves, and I am back in my bed. In the dark, listening to Passenger telling me to find someone to love and be loved by. All love songs do is break my heart, right Mike?

A long time back, I found myself in a dark place. And I picked up a pen.

Tonight, I pick up my keyboard. It’s not always going to be an enjoyable experience. Understanding how much you need to make yourself reliant on strangers (with the biggest one being you). 

Work, Food, Travel. It’s strange that almost half a decade since I left home, I still become vulnerable. Or maybe that’s how it should be. Strength and Vulnerability are what make us human. And what reminds us of the ones we love and who love us – a dependence that brings forth independence. Maybe this is what faith is.

Time to type again.