I ache to write.
And yet, words keep their distance. They hesitate to come closer, afraid of being abandoned again. Maybe they’re angry with me; for not inviting them in. For not letting them fly in through the window, as the relentless grey Berlin sky continues to growl and glower.
I haven’t seen the sun in days. I long for its warmth on my clavicles. I miss the feeling of my neck turning warm and tender in the winter sun. I miss a lot of things today. I miss being twenty-two. I miss having more time to be existential for nondescript reasons, as opposed to the dread you can feel in a thirty-two year old body.
My emotions are jumbled up and garbled, like a pair of earphones that have stayed in a musty pocket for too long. Pardon me as I put myself together. I’m trying to detangle my soggy emotions.
You know how they say “People can only meet you as deeply as they have met themselves?” I’ve always looked for meaning in every conversation and depth in every friendship. But now it feels like I’m meeting myself “deeply” for the first time.
I’m coming to terms with how badly I’ve treated myself in the past, and how much it needs to change. Not only in terms of what I put in or on my body, but what I expose my mind, heart and soul to. I’m learning what to embrace and what to avoid. I’m learning to believe in myself. I’m learning to love myself. It’s bittersweet. Like a new tooth breaking through my gums and trying to make itself known.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be… elsewhere. I never knew where. Just not “here”. My elsewhere was filled with promise and picnic baskets and pure love and intense friendships. I was looking for people and places to hold me and move me and heal me. I’ve had a series of ‘elsewheres’ now. I’ve found it in people too. I have a gorgeous elsewhere right here in the heart of Europe. Heartbreakingly beautiful, and filled with enchantment. But that feeling hasn’t entirely left me.
It took me three whole decades to figure my elsewhere was inside me, and I had no clue. That’s the thing about elsewheres. They’re out of reach unless you really look for them. Mine only comes out when it wants to. Much like the Berlin sun. Some days it feels like a sand castle, washed away by the waves. Some days it blooms like a new bud, other days it’s a chrysalis, waiting and watching. But it’s there. It’s there.
Even knowing it’s within me makes me undeniably happy. I don’t feel so lost anymore. I feel alone sometimes. I feel angry, for a lot of reasons. I feel grief stricken. I feel joyous with a pinch of sadness and a dash of disappointment. It’s like carrying a spice box full of intricate emotions at all times. But now I know I can nurture it. I can love it and I can make it mine. I just need time. And patience. Maybe three more decades. Hopefully, fewer.
I was often called a chuimui as a child. Chuimui is the Hindi word for the touch-me-not plant. It was meant as a term of derision for being too sensitive. I hated it back then. But now I want to reclaim it. I recently realised the very same plant has healing properties. That’s what I want to be known for. Healing my own heart, and those of others. To give, to grieve, to grow. To listen, to hold, to love.
You, reading this. Come here, sit with me. Do you want some tea? I have some spearmint with me. I know it’s tiring, okay? This whole living thing. This whole being a person thing. It’s a lot. There’s so much to consider, so much to take care of. But let’s stop for a moment. Let’s douse our hearts in a salve made of words. I want to tell you I’m here. I’m listening. You matter. You’re important. You’re doing your best. I see you. I hear you. I love you.
You and I will be fine. I promise you. Take care of your heart, and keep your elsewhere close to you. I’ll come back soon. Write to me if you feel like it. Love.