I have seen flowers bloom in valleys, and I have seen them bloom in deserts – One is not more beautiful than the other.
One woke up to the golden sun, cradled in the silver rain’s soft lullaby, The other needed to snake through corpses of its predecessors to taste the breeze dancing above the soil. But both the valley-born and the desert-forged ended up in the same bouquet a boy gave me yesterday. And I couldn’t help but admire them equally, though I forgot to ask who suffered more.
They say it’s the journey that matters, not the destination. But do we truly care about anyone’s journey or healing? To the observer, a flower is a flower; its story forgotten beneath its petals. The assiduous journey of the desert flower, with all its setbacks, means everything to itself and nothing to the vase.
So I wonder: Would it be such a loss if the flower never broke through the sand? Would it be less of a tragedy if it never bloomed at all?
In the essence of my being lies a truth, fundamental and clear, I’m a procrastinator, wired to sprint; they say it’s born out of fear. Be it a hundred meters or two hundred feet, Last night fights before exams, chasing deadlines on repeat.
Then how did I end up in this marathon, now running the eleventh lap, Five years and four cities, I was following a map. Convinced I was running toward something – a goal, But it’s been a long time now; uncertain, I question my soul.
An unseen tether, a spectral noose, tightens around my nape, I wash the glaze off my eyes; the earth beneath I scrape. The track marks have long faded; I realize a spiral course I’ve tread, Thundering encore from the last homestretch bleeds through; the finish line turns red.
Lunging for the fleeting goal, ethereal and sly, The rope tightens relentlessly, and I run, there’s no time to comply.
Centrifugal force takes over and my legs give away, My eyes are cloudy, unblinking, lost in an abyss of disarray.
Today, still running, haunted by memories, on the verge of decay, The elusive question still echoes, what made me run away?
I’ve been traveling in India and am currently on a flight to Bangalore from Patna. I made the rookie mistake of leaving my Kindle & headphones in the overhead cabin with my bag. I could have retrieved them, but I decided not to.
Bangalore is my favorite city in the whole wide world, and I’m visiting it after two years. A lot has changed since. As much as I’m excited to meet my old pals, I’m also apprehensive about meeting the old me through their eyes. Will she be proud of me?
I’m at such a unique juncture in life right now, I want to take a step back and breathe. I recently graduated with an MBA and a Master’s in Business Analytics, and I’ll be joining one of the Fortune 5 firms as a Senior Manager.
What I’ve strived for all my life, and I think I have come close to achieving it career-wise. All of this seems too good to be true, but makes me wonder, what next? Am I finally in a position to stop worrying about my career for a bit? And if I do that, what else do I do? Yes, hobbies would be my safe haven again. I might be able to write more and draw more. I think I’ll learn piano and some dance form too, but what else?
Why is it never enough? Maybe my idea of success was flawed. Maybe milestones should never be about a career, a degree, or a salary slab but about yourself. It’s funny we never set goals to be happy at 30, content at 45, or fearless at 50. Or at least, I never did. I have always thought of happiness as a by-product of a great career, success, or a relationship. Did I get it all wrong? Is it supposed to be the other way around?
In an ideal world, either this or that would be true. However, in the world that we live in, I think happiness is also a goal and a by-product. To be my happiest self, I think my health, career, support system, and mental state must all align. And it’s a delicate balance. I read somewhere that an unhealthy person wants only one thing while a healthy person wants many, and it hit me hard. Anytime you start chasing a goal relentlessly at the cost of other goals, you shatter the balance. And then, when you achieve that goal and stand on the podium with your medallions and bouquets, you still feel empty.
As grateful as I am for where I am in my life right now and the people who make it worthwhile, today I set my next goal to be and remain happy. That means making time for my career, health, family and friends, hobbies, and just giving back and acknowledging every day. I think if I’m able to achieve that, my MBA might actually be worth its while.
P.S. – Found this in my archives from June 2022 and decided to post it. AND, I also checked off skydiving before 30 from my bucket list last September!
I held her tightly, her face right next to my heart. I held her strong in a perpetual grip. It was only a ball of my bedspread that I had curled up in a frenzy, but that felt right. That felt like home. That felt like myself again. With the dying flicker of the lamp, I drifted a world apart, in times bygone, another lifetime. Those were wistful times, endearing times.
I found myself in my parents’ house again. Moonlight sieved in on the bed through the window, hugging my skin. The room boomed with the illustrious laughter of my sisters. The littlest one clung on my back and her teddy clung onto her. The five of us began our little tea-party. I just loved adorning them, making dresses for them and styling their hair, just like mother did. I was fourteen again. I might not have been an absolute angel, but I was prim nonetheless. I laughed and laughed and just laughed. In the darkness of that fetid night, I had found my beacon once again. I danced around it like the psychedelic moths. I let that moment own me. She was me. I was her. I felt safe. I had found the place where I belonged.
