I just switched off the pause button inside my head. The unbridled thoughts of years came gushing out like river that been halted midway in its mad flow. The big wall that stopped the gushing of the clear stream was an unspoken need for acceptance and acknowledgement from sources outside my being.
Recognition of the being was the toughest part of this shift in my journey of knowing myself. The fear and the thoughts were numerous of others but myself. Forgetting self as a woman was easier than acknowledging my hunger of spiritual connections from my circle of life. The friends, the spouse, the child and each and everyone who tried to calm my tornado of emotions. They were unaware of how I was dying a slow death from inside. Walking the line and pleasing others everytime. They tried to tie my mouth, tie my hands but couldn’t tie my wild heart and soul. It was raging to break free from my rib cage. Suddenly it was this utmost hunger for freedom. I no longer wanted to ask for permission for my thoughts. Even your thoughts are conditioned. I struggle with this inner voice where success and productivity is measured with a monthly salary. It been years since I earned. And the truth is my sense of identity arises from what I do as a professional. All social gatherings I am asked the same stupid question by “so called” educated emancipated individuals, What do I do for a living?
I draw a blank there. I was nurturing a home and a child and feeling the stretch marks on my tummy. I knew I had a journey in that texture. I in a dim voice said. “I was looking after home and child.”
Most lost interest in speaking to me. Then to bring attention of myself. I spoke about the past.
Now when I tell them I write a blog. They ask but that’s just a hobby? Hey no! I write because I am hoping someday some artists get recognition. And my words touch your soul. It’s more than a hobby. This is my zen.
Most things I found at the dusk of my life. The people of the past ,connections and conversations were lifeless like the dead butterfly before it could turn into dust.
Have you seen a dead butterfly lying listless on the flower? It came searching for the nectar at its most toughest, slowest flight from life. And like the listless butterfly It was a mirage that I surged towards. Knowing well the fireflies would die in the lies of the flickering flame that was so inviting. It was forbidden and like the firefly I was just gravitating towards the death of the old me.
I just found my place under the sun, spreading my wings and not confined to the closet, where my emotions and speech is no longer measured with patriarchal society rules. I will break the stereotypes as I surge ahead. My place is not next to your shoes. It is in my boots that will march unhindered, unstoppable like the storm brewing in my heart and the untamed seas.