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a stranger.

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  I wonder.. where is my mountain? where is my suffering? where is my path? somewhere in the greenness of this fields, I head outside searching for myself betwixt the birches coating themselves in emeralds. time is fleeting, running, and I have less of it now with my dawns fading into a much-needed sleep. one of my greatest fears before I came here was perhaps losing myself the more I went further away from my sufferings. now that there’s less to suffer from, my muse hangs midair. my dreams touch the ground. the reality that held me to Love dissipates slowly into things more tangible, more consuming. realities that live outside of my head and my heart. and this is me. perhaps I don’t need to heal. perhaps I always need something to suffer from so that meaning is found in eternal skies, so that even heaven is not enough. and I cannot live in a state where I find myself praying for something temporary.  I have really tasted bliss those past few weeks. an immense wave of relaxation, a hea
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a tired heart.

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what is it with those tears that come with each time God is remembered, and some ethereal tie to the infinite is reignited. what is it with this tired heart that has forgotten how to dream and has grown old with all the tribulations it has been through. it’s been a tough transition. I haven’t had time to be   without the constant chatter of my mind and all of the useless negativity it throws on me. I feel so alone sometimes. so alone in my healing. so alone in wanting to reach out for the dreams that made me who I am. so alone in not feeling good enough or worthy enough to shine.  but I at least feel good about something— I feel good about having left it all behind and took all those serious decisions, despite the whirlpool of happenings peeling my skin sore. I feel good about the endless rivers of kindness in my heart. I feel good about be willing to give every single thing I have for everyone else.  it was my choice, in the end. there is so much I need to deal with. the insane pains
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I’ve forgotten who I am.

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  how many days has it been since I reconnected to that soul within me, and when a glimpse of its nature touches my heart, I find myself in tears, helpless at the gateways of vastness this lifetime has left me with. it’s been a cascade of inevitable changes. swirling, swooning cursive changes all along the spine of my little story. I’m in the airplane this moment, my husband on my lap, a sky so blue to my right. in the centre resides me, all what I’ve lost and who I’m learning to be. I’ve forgotten who I am. I’m quite unsure, searching for myself in the translations of this mirroring reality. am I reflection of it all? a reflection of the immense receivership, the boundless love, the endless tries, the laughter rippling more often, and the tears by the end of each prayer, wrapped in his all-encompassing arms. I’m quite unsure of my dreams, now. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. and so, I think I’ll be plunging into so many new things and investing my presence in this world in circum
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letting it be.

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  I am learning that healing is not about what your working through in diligence and persistence, but the nonchalance in letting things be. healing at its roots is the most complex non-linear sprouting of beingness I’ve ever seen. it overwhelms a devoted heart by the many ways it can manifest, but at its heart, it is truly the simplest display. just as the stars beam in graceful softness, so does our humanness. it never was but the ease in it all. I’m learning that healing strains itself when we hold on to its difficulty. but we recognise it when we do things that may seem childish, but stem with so much inner, all-encompassing love. it may look like choosing that friend to see, that cup of coffee to sip slowly, that extra hour of sleep. it may be that ‘no’ to an extra bite, or a ‘yes’ to a fancy restaurant with a luxurious view. it may be that feeling that you’re beautiful and deserving. it may be that gift you’re buying for someone you love. it may be the sleep I’m losing waiting for
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shame.

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perhaps the only thing that I wish I could truly work on is healing the shame locked between my bones. the shame that binds me. the shame of not feeling good enough most of the time. the shame of not wanting to be in pictures, not knowing how to smile wide enough or laugh till it lights up my world. I get so self-conscious sometimes. I start fretting around the tiniest details about little things like that little wisp of hair not falling perfectly on my eye. some things like how my clothes wrap around my body, and how his gentle arms feel around my soul. there are little things that show me how much there is left to go in terms of self-love, and healing that toxic shame that penetrates me on the inside, stops me from eating what I like and doing what I feel I need to feel enough. sometimes I feel it so strongly that I manage to stop breathing and find myself weeping all alone feeling so ashamed, pleading desperately to disappear for a while and not be here until I see it clearly. I don
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how has it turned around?

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  I sit there receiving, a sprightly, exuberant mulberry leaf drinking in the jovial sunlight of february. it’s my first time to learn to receive, and there is no ultimatum when it comes to surrender. it just is. the moment you know it, it is gone. the forgetfulness of it is leaning into being  it . all my life, I chased and ghosted power. the tidal waves of craving it, projecting it into everything, and when finding myself gazing at it eye-to-eye, I’d run away. I wanted to be anything but powerful. anything but strong. I wanted to be calm, gentle, kind. I wanted people to love me, because all I’ve ever learned is how to make people hate you. but there were the shadows in hindsight manipulating me to be powerful all along. I’d get myself in the trenches of wanting to be invisible, and learning through it the essence of being strong. the authenticity in knowing what is true and clinging to following it even if it requires hurt and pain. and now the tables have turned. I’m powerful. it’s
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falling in love again.

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  oh, my dearest heart. how fascinating you are, falling in love again and again. with every turn of this labyrinthine life, the paradigm shifts and you find yourself returning to a version of you you never were but always you knew held deep inside. isn’t it terribly perilous to keep falling again for life when it has so menacingly betrayed your trust? I find myself unable to keep up with that cynical temptation to be at the side lines. there are wings that were made to land only for the temporary, finding themselves in their skies again. I seem to be willing to have my heart broken again and again, just to have it healed in a renaissance. alongside the glimmering lights of ancient towns and riversides that welcome shivery winter walks, warmed by hands swaying in an embrace. my trust is inexhaustible. a trust that even if I’m failing and not seeing things through, the heartbreak is meant just for me. at least, the disappointment will be real. there’s an empowering authority in being ab
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alchemy.

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the most artistically beautiful question is perhaps: how do we alchemise this pain into another thriving existence? that is the process I cherish the most. the alchemical transmutation of my darkness into a wavelength more subtle, grounded and calm. there is a restlessness I find in me, toppling me down as I venture into new things. a grappling idea that I’m never enough. a stifled creative force so shaky and fragile that does not allow itself to burst into light. that is the miracle. a change of perception. every time I feel it gnawing at my insides, I can peek closely instead of react. I can liberate this anger into creating everything I’ve always longed for. I can smooth out the wrinkles of self-sabotage into surrendered trust in the universe. amongst everyone I know, I am rose-wrapped warrior with scarred skin. but I can do it all when I’m facing the sun, as long as my roses are nourished by comforting rains, glorious sunrises and friendly fresh winds. and now there is this anger.
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the outside.

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it’s been a long time inside my bubble. the bubble of insecurity, silencing and imposed anxieties. a bubble of so many closed doors and a single three-inch wide window allowing for the faintest ray of light to beam in. a ray of God’s absolute beingness in my heart. but now it’s different. I’m outside this locked cage with a world filled with possibilities. ordinary happenings. annoying errands to run. things that take time. things that don’t. little things that fill the day— things like cooking, cleaning, managing and replying to texts. when life was just my heart and the devil, there was only one thing I had to do: survive. and when done correctly, thrive. therefore, it was only a perpetual strife to alternate between both in peace, and there was really nothing else I needed. I could give up on food, people, enjoyment and hobbies. I had to give up on everything just to have the energy to stay alive. and now, there are the little friendships to maintain. the business to keep up with. t
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a letter to my father.

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I thought I’d be writing this to you on a different day I had visualised for years. the day I’d be free. the day you wouldn’t be here anymore and I’d have the valiance to finally scream out all my unkempt anger. this day has come sooner than I’d expected, and in different circumstances. much better than I’d hoped them to be. and I have some things I want to say. I want to tell you that you’ll always be the greatest source of hurt and pain. I hadn’t seen anyone who had hurt me and who would ever hurt me more than you. it is diabolical to how much lengths you’ve crossed just to inflict me, my mother and my sister — and my whole family — with pain that we need so much time and effort to heal. it’s unreasonable how you never listened to me despite telling you countless times that I did not feel well. it’s terrible that you’d blocked all of my attempts to talk to you honestly.  I want to tell you that you did not give me a choice but to lie to you. anytime I’d say or you’d discover the trut
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