The longest chit-chat
“And then what happened?”, I asked her.
“Well”, she said, almost unsure where to begin, but not a bit hesitant to open those floodgate of thoughts she was keeping in. “You’d have to promise me not to interrupt, OK?” — that was the funniest thing about her. She always had that rule. ALWAYS. She’d never carry on without throwing in the caveat.
“It was exhilarating. The grandest one I’ve ever been in. I wasn’t expecting and expecting at the same time. I knew the adrenaline junkie in me was looking forward to this…and for a second there, though, I thought I was scared.”
I would be. That was what I thought as I listened to her and watch those pair of peepers glisten at the euphoria she seems to be reliving. But I made my vow. I wasn’t about to break it. I had to know. Needed, to be more precise.
She was fondly counting with her long fingers, I guessed thinking ‘was it sixteen?’ or ‘do I count that in?’. I knew how she would try to go over things and invalidate certain stuff using her own secret rules without any iota of shame. It was how ridiculously, stupidly feminine she was. Just like that one time when she was trying to apply her friend’s rule on how to determine if a “thing” is considered a relationship.
Oh, she loved that one. If it did not live up to a year, it’s not.
“I’ve always wanted to travel and see places,” she started again, remembering I guess where she wanted to plot out her ideas. “The temples and the teal-coloured horizons are just… I can’t even begin to describe it! It’s everything my mermaid heart wants. I got to play silly games with my cousin. She, Mum and I balled at all the silly things that happened — like that one time we all slept it out after a flight and somehow skipped dinner til TEN in the evening! I mean, it wasn’t just that. Mum and I always had the most wonderful adventures.”
She loves her Mum. Deeply. Weirdly, but deeply. I mean, she wasn’t sweet though. But I knew. Everyone who knew her knew.
I watched her pause again, as if thinking about what her Mum would say if she was sitting next to her at this moment. But alas, that one’s a work bug.
She purses her lips and lies back a bit, “Mum always knew what to say. During these weeks, you know, we’d fight. But she always found a way to lighten up the mood, pinch in the advice I was really (vehemently) rejecting earlier, and convince me to look at things in a new light. And I loved that. Now that I’ve paid more attention to her, my big brother, Dad, I knew that it was only a matter of time before I could feel that jittery first-grader in me again.”
“Life, I thought was cruel to me. But I never knew how much colour there would be, if I hadn’t allowed myself the heartbreaks, the let-downs and what-not… I would never know the fun and the sense of accomplishment in spending a couple of hours at the gym and bonding with my sassy coach. You know”, she looks at me with so much sharp intent in her eyes, I thought I was going to get diced, “I think the thing people are most afraid of is not what’s out there…” She slowly lands a gentle palm above my heart, “it’s what is in here.”
I look at her for a minute or two longer. I was silently proud. I wouldn’t say it out loud because God knows how much of a narcissistic hooligan she was. But even given that, I knew that she was a masterpiece at this point. That while being a work-in-progress at the same time.
When she smiled, you could see how much dignity she carried. She cried like a strung out baby when she was frustrated or sad. She gasped helplessly when she was awestruck by something or someone (mostly celebrity crushes — harmless, I guess).
She was every bit sincere about the things that lit a fire in her very bones, and that was the least bit wonderful thing about her.
“I have had the craziest dreams,” she says, “but I would not even trade them for anything else. I want all that. The ones I wake up raising my eyebrows to, and those ones I just know were pretty, but can’t really remember after.”
I gave her a questioning look I guess, because without speaking a word, she goes “Silly, it’s all ME. I know in my heart of hearts that those dreams were what I fantasised; what I last thought of. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t hanging on by a thread because I fell asleep devastated over a boy who couldn’t half-deliver anything I could. I wasn’t thinking about unanswered questions. I wasn’t thinking about playing cat-and-mouse. I wasn’t thinking about validation that never came. I wasn’t even trying to dream good dreams — yet I had great ones!”
I smiled. I finally understood.
You see, this wasn’t a transcript of a conversation I had with another woman.
I was internally conversing with myself.
That honest, shameless person that I had always been, but never was able to see. That face that used to grimace at her mistakes whenever she saw her reflection in the mirror. I was seeing what love can do inwards, rather than flailing it outwards.
I mean, I wasn’t being a hermit about relationships and all. I still wanted it. But, I wasn’t going to be dust. I wasn’t going to settle.
Nope. Far from it.
And I wasn’t going to wait either.
God knows I couldn’t sit still anyway had I wanted to.
But I was however, going to wait on myself. Serve her with every bit of joy and warmth that I can muster; end her days catching her breath after meeting a lot of people of all age groups; read a lot of Carlo Rovelli (should she ever get around organising that one).
But one thing is for sure.
I had stopped living for and moving to the beat of somebody else’s ukulele.
They can play that thing all they want, but somehow, I wasn’t up to dancing to it anymore. I found that there is much solace in knowing and feeling that the world and every living thing in it dances to its own tune. That everything goes on and moves forward whether we like it or not; whether we’re prepared for it or not.
And life is short. Why should I exchange the fleeting sensation, redolent of the past?
I do hope that, if you can, take a second or two, maybe a minute, to have a conversation with your inner you. Ask her or him: Are you happy? Is this what you want? Is there more? Are you stuck?
Bring out and thresh out all the questions you have about why you’re uncomfortable or maybe too comfortable. And don’t be afraid to be really happy. Even if it means you have to cut off some overgrowth in your priorities, your e-mails, your circle of on-again off-again flings.
At the end of the day, you know what you actually are searching for. And I am betting my retirement (which won’t be anytime soon), that it is not found in the opinions, praises or acceptance of anyone else, except YOU.
