It's sweet. The younger me, the naive me..to hug and to care for the old me. Has it just been 2 -3 years? And yet, how much I have traveled not in miles but in the mind. And I ache to be that girl again. The one cried the first night she spent in London, the night her most ambitious dream had finally become a reality.
I ache to be that girl who I hurt - I know things could not have been different perhaps - age plays its part - and yet I feel for her and what it lead to for her. may be I am wrong in saying I want to be her. Away from all of my past, in a new city where I hardly know anyone, I have come to belong my old self. Ah, the warmth of an Indian city meeting the warmth of my old self.
Today while reading some old posts from 2012 I realized that so much has changed yet so much has not. I am still that little girl running to her blog to find peace. I will always be that. Why is it that the world is not enough to talk to? It is talking to myself that gives some relief.
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I have tired of 'trying'. I do not want to do that anymore. You may say I am giving up the fight before even preparing for it - but then exactly, I do not have the courage, I do not want to go through it all and I do not want to see a doctor to answer why. I don't and perhaps that's the end of it.
There is a lot of grief. Not only in every aspect of my work in human rights, but in every cell of my body that seems to have lost the zeal to live. How can I then love? How can I then hold someone's hands and make promises? When I am trying hard to hold myself lest I should leave me stranded mid-way.
I had love for that little girl even as I was that little girl. Somewhere that self-love is missing. What I see right now is a person who let herself down and I am reluctant to hug her, tell her that 'hey girl, you are me and I love you'.
Blog, you will be seeing a lot of me.
I ache to be that girl who I hurt - I know things could not have been different perhaps - age plays its part - and yet I feel for her and what it lead to for her. may be I am wrong in saying I want to be her. Away from all of my past, in a new city where I hardly know anyone, I have come to belong my old self. Ah, the warmth of an Indian city meeting the warmth of my old self.
Today while reading some old posts from 2012 I realized that so much has changed yet so much has not. I am still that little girl running to her blog to find peace. I will always be that. Why is it that the world is not enough to talk to? It is talking to myself that gives some relief.
---
I have tired of 'trying'. I do not want to do that anymore. You may say I am giving up the fight before even preparing for it - but then exactly, I do not have the courage, I do not want to go through it all and I do not want to see a doctor to answer why. I don't and perhaps that's the end of it.
There is a lot of grief. Not only in every aspect of my work in human rights, but in every cell of my body that seems to have lost the zeal to live. How can I then love? How can I then hold someone's hands and make promises? When I am trying hard to hold myself lest I should leave me stranded mid-way.
I had love for that little girl even as I was that little girl. Somewhere that self-love is missing. What I see right now is a person who let herself down and I am reluctant to hug her, tell her that 'hey girl, you are me and I love you'.
Blog, you will be seeing a lot of me.
