Life Glare. Sundays 9:00 PM. Only on Conscience. Don’t miss the first episode!

As she landed on a webpage that reminded her of him, she sighed. It was sad that things had come to where they had. But yet, somewhere in her heart, or mind rather, because that’s where one knows, she knew that this was more or less inevitable. They would have reached this impasse sooner or later. ‘You always had a way of falling for the wrong guy’

 ‘Falling’ she thought. Had she really fallen for him? She didn’t really like the idea. She wasn’t some 16 year old school girl. She was 25. Would turn 26, in a matter of weeks. She was married. To her boyfriend. And happy. Yes, of course, no doubt about that. Her husband and the marriage were one of the best things to have happened to her. The husband, she had fallen for. Hook, line and sinker. No doubt again.

 So what was it exactly with him, that now made her wince and sigh as she thought of him? She had missed him, no doubt (goddamn, she thought, I keep using that phrase, yet doubt seems to be the only thing running through my mind, all the time) in the few days that they had maintained their stoic and stubborn silence. She also knew that this time the silence would be protracted, unlike their previous disagreements, and she would probably have to miss him some more. But she knew she wouldn’t be going back to the same thing either. She had had enough.

 Exactly what had he been? A distraction? A past-time perhaps? A friend? Maybe all three. Maybe none. She thought of all the times they had talked, all their conversations. They had brought her immense joy and laughter and excitement. Yes, that was the word – excitement. He was exciting. Stimulating. Endlessly. Almost addictive-ly. And he made her laugh, and smile, and get upset, and angry and sad. Something was always happening with him. Like with your favourite TV series.  An episode of Lost. Or One Tree Hill. Yes, that is what he was. That is what she had made him into. She smiled wanly and wistfully. It was too sad.

 Why? And How? She felt pathetic. It was pathetic. ‘God, my life must really suck’ she thought. Perhaps she was right. Had there been nothing, in her day-to-day life apart from his conversations to excite her? To give her that sense of rush and satisfaction? To make her feel? She reflected on all the events of the past week, the past month – she couldn’t recall a single memorable activity. 30 days, 4 weeks, god knows how many hours, and she couldn’t recall one, single memorable thing. Except maybe the argument with him. It was beyond pathetic.

 There is really nothing lacking in my life right now. It’s actually pretty awesome. I’ve got money. I’m with the man I love, and he’s with me. I’m doing something I’ve always wanted to do. I don’t have to work an 8-hour job. I don’t have to withstand a harrowing daily commute. It’s actually a breeze! But yet, apparently, nothing in my life excites me or gives me a sense of satisfaction.

 I seriously need help.

I seriously need to help, myself.

This would stop. Right now. Right this minute. She couldn’t go on like this. I cannot let it. The idea that the most memorable moments of her day happened in front of a chat window was too disturbing to excuse or reason with. I would have to do something. The operative word being ‘Do’. And ‘Something’.

‘Something’ that excites me, that gives my day meaning, that reflects my real wants, that is true to my values, that is a conscious choice, and that brings me memorable happiness. Happiness that occurs while I’m doing it, and that lingers on long after I’ve done it. It need not be complicated, or huge or particularly boast-worthy. It need not even take a lot of time. It just needed to be done. The operative word being ‘Needed’.

Otherwise, she would just go back to watching a TV series. On TV or on a chat window. The drama had to come from her own life, her own day, her own actions. Not from persons, real or fictional.

She wished she could apologize to him. Then realized she probably owed a much bigger apology to herself. She smiled. This would be memorable moment number 1. Sitting by herself on a cold, damp Sunday night, typing away at a computer, listening to the rain tap-tapping outside and awakening to a new realization. Yes, the first of many others.

To Valentine or not to Valentine

Today was Valentine’s Day.

A day when lovers take the time out, to do something special for their lovers. Not that you need a specific day to do so, but this just gives us one more reason.

It is also a day when companies are laughing all the way to the bank considering the amount spent over really expensive gifts, as well as really ridiculous ones: giant hearts and chocolates, confetti, balloons and the like.

It is also a day when otherwise constantly bickering couples take the time out to not-bicker reinforce their delusion of happily ever after.

It is also a day when men can buy a year’s quota of sensitivity, understanding, respect and affection all wrapped up in a teddy bear (holding a heart shaped cushion preferably, or a bunch of red roses)

It is also a time when women can guiltlessly covet ridiculously expensive gifts their men bring, however grudgingly.

It is also an occasion which creates innumerable future occasions for men to bitch about their women, and vice versa.

And, it’s an occasion which warrants single people to pathetically display their joy and pride at being ‘single’ (Yeah like you really had to work hard for it.)

And that’s why I have always hated Valentine’s Day. The show, the charade, the gloss of it all. Ugh. Till now.

I celebrated Valentine’s Day today, for the first time ever. For 23 years, I have watched all the drama and non-sense unfold before me eyes ad nauseum; and I always wondered what I would feel like, celebrating it. Don’t get me wrong, I have always wanted to celebrate it; I was just never sure whether I would find the right reasons to, after witnessing so many wrong ones. I wondered if there’d be roses and teddy bears and romantic candlelit dinners. I wondered if all of these things would feel less ridiculous when they happened to me. More importantly, I wondered if they would happen for the right reasons.

So after years of criticizing Valentine’s Day celebrations, I finally had one of my own. And that’s when it hit me: I wasn’t really celebrating the day, I was celebrating the person I was with. 14th of February was just like an accessory — there for you to celebrate or to ignore, but that you choose to celebrate, because you have a reason to, you have a person to. Celebrate this person you are with, and everything they’ve given to you, the joy they’ve brought, they way they’ve changed you and the pleasure and pride you feel being with them. Sure, you can do it any day — but hey, today was a chance to do it — Did you take it?

I did and I felt joyous, going about it, in a way I had not felt before. Tingly anticipation, the ecstasy of knowing you have a reason to celebrate the occasion, and you’ve grabbed it! The warm assurance of knowing what you are celebrating, and why. The high of having made that person feel special, of having someone you want to make feel special and that wonderful new feeling that makes you feel. The apprehension that this person may also want to celebrate you in the same way, on this day. How wonderful.

But well, not everyone celebrates Valentine’s Day on the same day. I guess sometimes what we really want out of Valentine’s Day is to have someone celebrate us, as much as we’d like to celebrate them.

Hurting. Healing. Hurting.

I feel numb.

It’s not supposed to be like this. When something hurts you, you are supposed to take that something away from yourself, so that you can heal your wounds. IF you don’t then the wound never heals; you just become numb.

I feel numb.

Though the object of the hurt is nowhere close. I’m still numb. How do I know this? Because I don’t believe I can be this ‘normal’ given my characteristics and the situation I’m in right now. If I am, then the only way that’s possible is by being numb. Denial. There is no hurt, because there is no object of hurt. It never existed at all. I’m just making it all up in my head.

Or possibly I haven’t healed yet. Yes, that’s it. It’s still an open wound. So going anywhere close to the object of the hurt is going to cause further pain or require fortified numbing.

But, But, the object of the hurt will always hurt. Even after I have healed completely. Then it will be a new wound. Then it becomes a redundant cycle of getting hurting and healing. I’ve read that the capacity to heal diminishes upon repeated injury-healing. One just becomes numb. Back to square one.

Spontaneous Re-generation is the need of the hour.

I don’t want to be numb. I don’t want to hurt either. Lemme know if you’ve figured that one out.

What is the difference between not acknowledging pain and becoming numb? Where is the fucking line? When something heals it doesn’t mean that it will not hurt again. It very well can, by the same object too. Fall 10 times and it will still hurt the 11th. How does that stop? Remove the object forever. Don’t fall in the first place.

The will always be other objects. How many does one remove? How many graves/mountains does one avoid?

Chuck it. Just let it go. The will be more objects after this. Each of them will cause wounds. Each of them will heal. Then there will be new wounds. Heck, then even the old object can be welcomed back. Wounds are wounds. They all cause pain.

I hope the part about capacity of healing diminishing is just a joke. I keep coming back to spontaneous re-generation. Fall 10 times and it will still hurt the 11th. You just learn to get up faster. Wait a minute, is that healing faster or numbing faster?

Maybe it’s not about the object. It’s ME. How does that matter? The answer still remains the same. Stay away from the object of the hurt. STAY AWAY.

Healed wounds are still sensitive you know, even more so.

“I know it’s hard to keep an open heart,

When even friends seem out to harm you;

But if you could heal a broken heart,

Wouldn’t time be out charm you?”

I do hope he’s right.

It’s really hard to go on like this. No point to hurting, healing and then hurting again.

I still feel numb. When does the anesthesia wear off, Doctor?