Putting a dream on hold

Yesterday, I made a very tough decision.

I love writing. It's my thing, it's what I know best, it's what makes me happy. It's the only way I know to emote. Things I can't say, things I won't say, things I don't say... Once they're on paper, they don't seem quite as terrifying as before. Writing gives me strength--to accept my feelings and deal with them.

So I like calling myself a writer.

And like every other self-proclaimed writer, I sometimes think I'm the cat's whiskers. On the good days, when I'm able to drive every other thought from my mind, I dream my childhood dream. I see a book in my favourite book store. I don't know what that book is, I can't read the title, I can't see the cover, but I can see the name of the author. It's mine.

I see copies of this book flying off the shelves, I see people smiling as they read it in coffee shops. I see the book making someone feel better. I see the book saying things that someone somewhere can't find the right words for. It wasn't a big dream but it was something to hold on to when I was sad, something that kept darkness from filling up my heart entirely...

For as long as I can remember, this has been my dream. A few weeks ago, I found myself on the first rung of the ladder that would take me to it. There was a chance, a good one at that, of the dream coming true. I was so excited, I wanted to stand on the terrace of a really really tall building and shout out to the world. I thought nothing could stop me now.

Except, there is something that is stopping me.

Last week I finished writing the most important chapter in my book. It was the thought that had been burning in my mind and heart for a long long time. The volcano that had been building up for almost three months found release in my book. And so I vomited out all the poison I had in me. I didn't even realise how much hatred I’d kept locked away in my heart till I read what I wrote. I hate someone from every fibre of my being, and it was showing.

I thought I'd feel better after I'd written it. It was supposed to be a healing process, a kind of catharsis. But things have changed this week. I realised that the hate was just one part of a much larger picture. There were so many more ways in which I had been affected... So many more wounds that needed to heal before I could hope to become my former self again...

I thought that if I focused on the anger, if I refused to acknowledge the devastating pain, I'd be okay. I thought I was protecting myself, but it didn't work out like that... Anyway, yesterday when I read what I'd written, I wanted to cry. It's not that it wasn't good; on the contrary, it is probably my best work to date, but it's just not me.

I've never been a hateful person. Bitchy, yes, but never this cynical. I used to believe in goodness, in love, in friendship... The person who wrote the chapter did not. This person is cynical, jaded and hell-bent on seeking revenge. This person doesn't trust anyone--not even herself. It terrifies me when I look into the mirror and see what I've become. And it makes me angry that this change is mine by default. That I didn't choose it...

But something Mr M said to me made me realise that I may not have had a say in what I've become, but I do have a say in what I do with the knowledge... So I've made a decision. I've chosen to keep my dream safe from the person who's made me the monster that I am today. She's robbed my happiness, my respect and my dignity, but I won't let her rob me of my dream.

My dream was supposed to give me joy, it was to be a memory that I can cherish forever... But the person I am today is not the person who saw this dream. Things have changed. I have changed. I don't know if I'll ever be that girl again, but I know I have to try. Because I can't let her become a part of my dream, or my life, forever... I have to try because unless I do, we’re going to be inextricably linked to each other for life. I can’t let that happen…

So I've put the dream on hold. Just until I find myself... Just until this cloud of hurt lifts... Just until M stops seeing the haunted look he sees in my eyes... Until then, I’ll keep my dream safe in its special box.

What do you do when you can't do anything?

Today was a strange day. There was drama, laughter, tears and an overwhelming feeling of sadness as I waited for the traffic to move on the way back home.

What happened was this...

Miss K had been suspecting for a while that her maid had been playing fastest fingers first around the house. After months of consistently losing money and trinkets from the kitchen, her cupboards and bags, she finally decided to put an end to it. And no matter how insignificant the matter, it feels good to have a say in what happens in our lives and to us. No matter how fleeting, the illusion of control is essential for our survival...

So anyway, together, we set up the web cam, left money in her bag and tottered off to lunch. In the one hour we were away, our minds kept going back to what might be going on in the house and what we'd see in the video. It was juvenile, but I was excited. Just one of those silly things that you do simply because it'll make for a great story some day. So exactly an hour after we left, we rushed home to check if she'd stolen any more money, and more importantly, if the camera had captured everything. Sure enough, the money was missing. But what we saw on the camera stunned us. So basically, before stealing the money, the maid had put the lens cap on. We could hear the rustle of money, but the screen remained a resolute blank. A few minutes later, the money was gone and the lens cap was off.

To say that Miss K and I were left speechless would be an understatement. We just kept looking incredulously at each other for a few minutes. This was like a slap across the face. I don't know a better way of saying, "So what you gonna do?"

Nothing.

The answer is nothing. Miss K will no doubt fire the maid and not pay her the month's salary. But it's not about the money... It's about the nothingness of the situation Miss K now finds herself in. Because beyond putting up a token fight, there's really nothing that can be done about the situation. It's bad enough when you know it. But it's infinitely worse when your opponent knows it to. Understandably, Miss K was upset. I was too, for her.

On the way back home tonight, I heard something very upsetting. It was a chapter I thought I had finished writing. I'd even thought that the ink would finally dry this time around. But I guess it was stupid of me to assume so. Because dignity doesn't come with a price tag. And some people only understand the language of buy, sell and auction. I made the mistake of allowing one such person access to my life and my feelings. And now I was paying the price. Which is fine, but I had truly thought my time in this self-constructed prison was over. I thought I'd turned the corner. That the worse was behind me.

And for some reason I thought of Miss K and the maid. And I realised that it might be a somewhat watered down version of the feeling, but Miss K was probably feeling what I was: a searing feeling of helplessness. Because when it comes right down to it, there's really nothing I can do about what's happening in my life, either. As a fairly intelligent and extremely stubborn girl, I was used to controlling my life and making the decisions that steered it in a certain direction. So the helplessness that I feel now is a new experience. Which brings me to the point of this post: what do you do when you can't do anything?

Since last weekend, I've been feeling like I'm sitting in the passenger seat rather than the driver's in the journey of my life. There are so many questions in my head. So many feelings, some of them rather self-destructive too, that I've been trying to deal with. But nothing seems easy or manageable anymore. There's a debilitating sense of sadness that just won't go. This whole week, I've cried myself to sleep. I've woken up with swollen red eyes, tried to bury myself under work and felt like acid was being poured on my insides every time I realised what a public spectacle my life has become.

When the sadness abates, it's place is taken by anger. Why should I be given this private trip to hell? How can this be my lot in life? I know it's churlish to look at the ceiling in the night and wonder, for the thousandth time, 'why me?'. Why should I become this non-trusting, cynical person because someone else thought I wasn't worth it? You think you'll find the answer in tears, you think you'll find the answer in anger, you think that if you ask the questions often enough, try and make some sense of what happened, you'll finally reach a place where it doesn't hurt quite this much. If such a place exists, I haven't found it yet. All that happens is that every time you torture your mind with the questions, the knife that feels like a permanent resident in my gut now, twists more painfully, it cuts me up deeper, makes me bleed more in places that I can't show to people. And in places that I won't talk about.

The questions hurt like hell. Not having an answer to any of them hurts even more.

After the fourth or fifth malicious rumour we heard about me, Miss N told me that when it gets this ugly, walk away. The other person may not have any dignity or pride, but we can never compromise on ours. It's sound advice. It would be the sensible thing to do. Except, how do I walk away from my own life. And if I walked away right now, wouldn't that mean treating myself like the dirty little secret that someone else has reduced me to? I can't just cut off a whole portion of my life, right? I can't pretend that it didn't happen. Because it did. Am I ashamed of it? No.

Miss N, in her nicer moments, says that I am an 'exceptionally mature' 24-year-old. But I don't feel mature anymore. I don't know if I even want to be that person for a while. For the first time in my life, I want to be taken care of like all other girls are. I want to be hugged and told that everything will be okay. I want to be able to believe it. I don't want to be scarred forever. The idea of giving up on friends and friendship scares me. I want to be able to behave like any other 24-year-old girl who got her heart broken. I don't want to be strong anymore.

So here it is: I lost. You won. You broke me. And I can't do anything about it. Congratulations. Isn't that what you wanted all along?

Miss N and Mr M :)

Today's post is dedicated to two people who've held me together like glue in the past 2 months--Miss N and Mr M.

Miss N is one of the most difficult people I know. She'll turn up her snooty nose at you, call you an idiot and bully you. If you survive all that intact, you've got a friend that will literally sit on people and pummel them if they hurt you, no questions asked. It's refreshing to have people like that in your life. People who will call your nemesis a 'chudail' without waiting for explanations. The other side of the coin doesn't really matter to Miss N. Unless you've committed murder or something.

I think somewhere inside, we all still cling on to our childhood need to be loved and accepted unconditionally. I have friends and acquaintances who say that every relationship is independent of every other relationship, but I don't see how that actually works. The only thing I see coming out of such an on-the-fence kind of attitude towards relationships is that you belong to no one. How can I tell you that it feels like someone drove a knife into my gut when I can't be sure that you weren't the one who handed her the knife?

With Miss N, there is no ambiguity like that. In some ways, she's the exact opposite of me. While she believes in wearing her heart on the sleeve and saying exactly what she feels, I'm more into keeping up pretences. I can't imagine expressing my feelings as openly as she does. Especially to people capable of hurting me. Any sign of pain, fear and need will be hidden under layers of assumed indifference, carelessness and, most often, a frustratingly uncommunicative attitude. In some ways, Miss N has helped me loosen up. She helps me talk about the things that hurt me instead of being vague and non-committal about them. She makes it okay to be sad. Whether it's around her or alone. And she's helping me wade through that giant, Olympic-sized pool called feelings. Thank you, N. :)

Next, Mr M. Mr M is THE most amazing man I know. Second to absolutely no one. He is uncomplicated, sweet and as strong as a rock. His feelings about things and people are as unambiguous as Miss N's. Which is probably why both of them approve of the other's role in my life so much. Mr M is just there for you. Always. Once he's decided you're important to him, there's no confusion in his mind that your happiness is his responsibility. No pain is too great, no effort too much to make. If Miss N makes it okay to feel sad, Mr M makes it okay to ask for help. I'm not someone given to seeking support and crying on shoulders, but with Mr M, it's easy to just let yourself go. It's easy to let him take care of things, and of you. Ever since he came into my life, I can't think of a time when I needed someone and he wasn't there. The only times I was alone was when I chose to be. For a life that that attracts drama the way mine has this past year, that's saying something.

But the MOST fantastic thing about Mr M is his way of dealing with changes. In the one year that I've known him this closely, we've gone from dating casually, to becoming friends, to me moving in with him, to going on a break, to getting engaged, to calling it off, to becoming friends again and finally, to him finding The Right One for himself. In a lot of ways, it was a waiting game for me. After every major shift in our relationship, I thought that this would be it, that our time was up. Left to me, our relationship would have collapsed after the very first 180-degree swing. But M is not someone who'll just leave it to you. There are few people I know who apply the 'if it's important, it's worth fighting for', rule so wholly in their lives. Long ago I'd told someone that I was the kind of girl who needed to be sought. I needed to be singled out. M understands this need of mine. So through the peaks and valleys of our relationship, he's made sure that I never question my importance in his life. He’s the only guy I’ve dated who is still on my speed dial. It isn't an ego thing for him, to be needed by a girl who is so constitutionally opposed to being needy in any way. For M, it's a friend thing.

I love the respect with which he acknowledges our relationship. It forces others around us to do the same. I wouldn’t have realised how much it matters if I hadn’t been feeling so cheap and trashy lately. Even though we didn’t work out, M’s treated me with so much grace and dignity that it’s impossible not to love him. Or feel the fierce loyalty that I’ve learnt to feel for him. I don’t know what the future will be like. I don’t know whether we’ll continue being such an active part of each other’s life in the days and changes to come. But I know we’ll always be friends. Because loyalty like that lasts forever.

Recently, I landed myself in a huge financial mess. I didn't know what I was going to do or how I was going to deal with it. I can't remember who I called first, Miss N, or Mr M. But unsurprisingly, both of them gave me the exact same advice. Today, Mr M took the whole sordid mess off my hands. And Miss N did her best to trump skankola, as we call her. Some day, I want to be a friend like these two. :)