I guess I just feel like

For years now, I’ve sat at my bedroom window on the fifth floor of an urban apartment facing one of the busiest streets in the city, and I’ve made dreams and decisions, choices and regrets, reflections and perceptions. It’s what I call my urban lighthouse. A view from the top, with a beam of hope. As I’ve watched swarming headlights and clamorous horns flitter through my empty spaces, I’ve felt the silence inside me knocking to be freed. I’ve watched the pitter-patter of rains making me warm inside. I’ve felt parts of me  fading away, and parts of me coming back. In the cacophony of the city’s weekend nights, I’ve felt less alone. And, right there, I’ve made promises to myself, I’ve given myself deadlines, I’ve allowed myself to feel and let go, and I’ve come to accept that bad decisions and wrong directions are my innate specialities. I’ve told myself – “No more decisions – because you can’t make any, and the ones you make ain’t gonna do you any good.” And, I’ve been naive enough to believe that I can live in the in-between forever.

Those dreams at the window are dreams I keep going back to. How I wished for something and how that something finally happened. And how that was a bad decision in hindsight. Then, there was another big dream painted at the same window. And how that turned out to be yet another testament of my failure. How dream after dream, I was envisioning a life that made no sense in its entirety. Ironically, how I applied the law of attraction to make it all happen, when my bread-crumbed path was nothing but dust scattered in a mist that sparkled when there was a ray of sunshine, and left darkness behind on a forlorn road when the dust settled at dawn. And yet, every one of those dreams has a vivid life – the song I was listening to, the way the bokeh street lights softened the night air, the way my hair swayed in the gentle breeze, the smile I had on my face, the faith that rested in that fantasy. No flickers of doubt, no dark forebodings. I’d trust myself, my instincts, the fire in my soul. I trusted it because it ‘felt right’. Because, I’ve read enough books, watched enough movies, and seen enough in my lifetime to know that I must shut everything out and listen to the voice inside. That’s the way to go right? But, what if that weren’t true? Where does that leave us? Where does that leave me?

It leaves me where I am today, at the hilt of the in-between. Weary of decisions, willing to put out the fire in my soul with a damp memory – not willing to stop, not willing to walk. It’s comfortable because it doesn’t demand a finality. It’s not wrong, and it’s not right. It’s not having anything to believe wholly in, but feeling content that right now, I can put a rest to my laws of attraction. It’s taking time off from dwelling in the past, planning the future or even living the present. Essentially, it’s a state of nothingness. One may argue that empty vices fill empty spaces – and even if so – I shall not have to decide on what to keep empty and what to fill – and how. After all, I’ve only topped up my glasses with peace, love or music – or all. It’s the only way I’ve made sense of my world. My reasons have never meant much else. But fate often does a double take & reminds me that apparently that’s not how it’s done around here. Here, we weigh things. Not once, but once every day. We make some calculations, and we barter only as much as we get back. We have many definitions of love – even when it’s not beautiful. We don’t believe in absolutes. There’s grey everywhere. 50 shades of it, as someone put it. And to bring this all into perspective,  is to say that where you work your mind, your heart shall rest. Would it make sense if I said this makes it too real to be true? – and impossible for me to do. I could coax my soul to do all the math, but would that make it ‘feel right’? And if not, then what? You make that decision that doesn’t feel right but may be right. While I still make the decision that feels right, but turns out all wrong. There’s never any fair-play in matters of the heart. I read somewhere that nobody knows where a journey will lead them when they begin – nobody.

After the ego, second-guessing yourself has to be your greatest enemy. And one that’s smart enough to call your bluff. As the self-proclaimed bad decision maker of my kingdom, I declare that I’ve yet to prove my hungry heart’s innocence in every matter so far. And, one way of setting matters straight is by resorting to some more foolishness, and following the heart to make another bad decision, and hoping like nothing else that it won’t let me down after 33 years of beating inside me. And yet, I’m not ready. Not ready to brave that tight-rope walk again. Not ready to believe that failure will always remain an option (and in my case, as statistics will show, with a high probability). Although for now, me and failure are on a temporary break from being deeply involved. We’ve come to a mutual understanding of sorts. I don’t irk it and it stays out of my business.

But, one of these days, the time will come when I’ll have to face this old friend again – in a battle I’ll choose to fight someday. This time though, I’ll go in better prepared. Maybe with an armour around my heart. Maybe an escape route.

Or maybe, I’ll simply win.

After all, only a strong heart remembers to hope.

And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.

Until next time,

XOXO