Dreamer to my Realist

I was a dreamer once. There was nothing that could stop me. I did not so much as to even give a momentary thought to detractors. Nothing was beyond my reach. If I did not do something, it was simply because I did not want to do it. Cheerful and endearing, ambitious and brave; I loved this version of myself because I had never known I had any other versions.

It came as a phone call. I was jumping and yelling with joy along with my roommates in a small apartment close to the university campus because the Blue Devils had won a crucial game. I picked up the call with slight irritation as it was interrupting our celebrations.

And then it began.

The cousin whom I hadn’t spoken to in years was on the phone informing me of some medical ailment that someone closest to my heart was suffering from. That someone was my Papa. And then, the phone calls, the voice messages of concern, the ‘I’m sorry’ calls. It was all too much to make sense of. All I was focused on was to get home, which was an excruciating 10,000 km (8000 miles) away. I frantically started calling Papa’s phone, evidently he didn’t pick up. I then spoke to my sister who only calmly instructed me to just come home, stating everything was fine.

The calmness in her voice was deafening.

My mom wouldn’t speak to me; they said she was busy with the doctors or something. Nevertheless, I continued my frantic state of utter hopelessness, calling on Papa’s cell a zillion times; ignoring the tiny terrifying voice in my head that pricked oh ever so mercilessly that something was wrong.

As I packed my bags, a friend called. She was almost sobbing, and that’s when I knew. After that moment, it was all numbness and darkness engulfing me in their thick smoky layers that I gasped for breath and strained to see the light.

It’s been 4 years since that day. Although I haven’t managed to clear out the smoke, I have managed to contain it as much. Whenever I think of my Papa, it seems to lift a little, but on some other days it seems to thicken.

They say there are 5 stages of grief. But why is everything ‘defined’? Couldn’t they at least leave grief alone? I believe that grief is just that. Nothing more, nothing less. In the past 4 years I have mindlessly drifted back and forth between denial, anger, bargaining and depression and occasionally considering the idea of acceptance. I don’t like the notion of HAVING to go through all those stages of grief. I like my pain as it is because it makes me who I am. Anyway it will not go away ever, even if I wanted it to. Why should it? I am an emotional clusterfuck and I shall remain so by my own accord. Forever.

To this day, a concoction of all the above grips my heart.

The absence of my Papa has changed me though. I am more of a realist than a dreamer now. I live in the safe zone. I find even a roller coaster ride mighty uncomfortable. It might take a while, but I know I will get over it and someday get back to my old self. The one my Papa made me. Because I now hold a hand so dear and so strong, that of my husband. We share the mutual grief of having lost a loved one early in life; it is more as though we feed off of each other’s will to live. And I like that.

He is the dreamer to my realist and I am to his.

We so often dance this dance entwined in the barrage of emotions, that we feel all of it. The solace we have is in each other.

All of us have our own ways of feeling emotion. Some say it out loud and express while others don’t. Some talk, some hide behind laughter and some cry. Some do all of it and some do neither.

The only thing to remember is to do what you feel deep inside. It is OK to be absolutely stoic if you want to and it is OK to wail like a banshee. There is no need to conform to theory or norms just because someone with a double PhD wrote a book saying so. Hey, that PhD’s theory may work for someone too, no judgments here! There will always be someone to label you. But you alone know where in the spectrum of emotion you lie.

So pop open a bottle of fine wine as long as you are in the spectrum and make a rainbow of it!

******************

Sparkle

As I wander in the wilderness
Across the woods and through a stream..
As I look for the sunbeam..
I want to cry..

The darkness is engulfing, the wind so balmy..
There is a stoic silence, and my eyes gleam..
In the depths of winter..
I want to cry..

Through the paths of glory..
A story your life speaks..
But I want to hear you..
I want to cry..

You left a life alone..
An unfinished script..
you took with you a rush of feelings.. an aura of colors..
a sheath of warmth..a comforting smile..a heart of gold…
I want to cry..

The drop of tear stays still..
Frozen in time..yet it breathes cuz of your will..
It engulfs my soul and wraps itself with your presence..
I don’t want to cry..
For, the tear is embedded deep within my self..
A thriving chronicle it has to be..
For it carries your spirit.. 
And I carry it with me.. forever..

As I wait by the shore..gazing at the horizon in my boat..
I see you my old man.. gathering the finest wood, to make my oar..

***************