Not-knowing
a poem, a question, a playlist
It's often easy to be believe that you alone are confused and clueless in the wholewideworld. A vile sweet self-indulgent pity party. This poem was my first concrete proof that nobody has it gotten all figured out, and we all are learning it along the way. (Gosh, what a relief it is to finally have some evidence. Although you know it is not just any one thing but everything that's ever happened anywhere that led to this moment) And I love evidence, I love clarity, specificities.
Being a child was difficult. I was smart. I knew something was not quite right though I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Day after day I performed, mimicked what I saw/was taught was cool/acceptable behavior. And I was occupied. There were fires to put out, constant grueling to fit the mold of The Good Daughter. And for long I did own the title, though it didn’t feel as good as I was led to believe it would. Amidst all this I never asked questions. In classrooms, at home, to friends, anyone ever. Lived evidence showed that questions could lead to discomfort, anger, disappointment, loss of love, taunting, embarrassment, and I barely had the will to take risks. There were enough fires already. And when your throat dries up at the prospect of speaking up in a group, and you need time to absorb information and more time when said information is said and not written down, it is easy to believe that you are not smart enough to have questions.
Then life happens. One finds people, spaces, safety, voice.
I brim with questions, some asked, some not.
Sometimes answers find me float towards me gives me a tight slap. Sometimes the questions grow and grow and grow so much into me that i forget the words it is made of.
Sometimes I have these Pulse moments.
One moment you are relishing the familiarity of pachha maanga aka kachha aam aka raw mango, and the next a tiny explosion of flavour in your mouth. Even when you know you are signing up for a surprise every time you pop the candy, the moment of explosion tickles you into delight.
Okay, even if the candy doesn’t give you the same thrill, just bear with me okay? (aww look at me trying to be nice, yuck. i am obsessed about being seen as the good person.) Writing is mostly me talking to all the other me-s in me. In other words, dear reader, these words are the red carpet im rolling out for you. Welcome to my brain.
Sorry I'm digressing.
I'm concerned about the time before the answer arrives.
And I can no longer bear the weight of these questions.
And not-knowing together, I'm told, is a much softer place than not-knowing alone.
When you choose protecting yourself, your sanity, your wellbeing, dare I say your joy, over someone you love, what do you do with all the pain and hurt and guilt? How many time do you need to be told, reassured, reminded you are allowed to choose yourself before you believe it? When do you stop feeling ashamed of the audacity to be happysafeloved? How do you drown out the voice that says you don’t deserve what you have? Is there an end to this ache?
Share your wisdom, words, music.
Here's a playlist for you to dream to.
And a shaky-little cloudmagic video.
Hi there, thank you for reading.
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