It’s been a hellish week. Hellish. Moving is tough, no doubt, but I, of course, have carried my crap luck along with me, so managed to invite hajaar different, unbelievable problems into the new place. It’s such a nice apartment and yet so tainted from the word go.
To top that off I’m being an idiot—raking up my past and unsure about my future. Women just don’t learn, supreme idiots we are. I’ve reached a stage where I am just exhausted, of myself and of my life. I’m tired of fighting a new battle everyday and of being strong. I’m tired of putting up a brave face when I feel anything but that. I’m tired of living in fear and in discomfort. I’m lacking purpose and vision and no one can give this to me but me. I’m tired of Bombay. I no longer feel proud of myself and the life I’ve made for myself. All this, for what? Is it really worth it? I know the answer and it’s no.
I’m tired of being there for people, no matter whether they’ve been there for me or not, no matter what they’ve done for me, or only when I’ve fit into their scheme of convenience. I’m tired of being treated like a yo-yo ball. I’m a decently good person who’s just exhausted. I’m tired of being tested day in and day out. This isn’t how it was all supposed to pan out.
I’m grateful for the handful of people who have got my back, but everyone has their own life to lead and deal with. Maybe it’s time to take a call on my own. No I’m not happy, so isn’t it time to cut any possible umbilical cord that may be holding me back, and make a move that will perhaps make me happy? Chances need to be taken, right? How will I know if I never try it? I mean, can it get any worse? I doubt.
I spoke to my best friend’s mother today, and she made perfect sense. She said that after a certain stage in life, all you really want is peace of mind. That’s so true. At this point, that’s all I yearn for, that’s all I desire. Too much to ask for, eh? The power of prayer *really* seems to be working, since the last time I did a little puja, a couple of days ago for Diwali, the incense stick attacked me and burnt my hand. Are you serious?
Home is where the heart is, right? I definitely do not feel at home and don’t get me started on my heart. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to listen to my instinct, and pack my bags. Maybe it’s time.
Home is where the heart is, and that’s on my mind.