Prose before hos

What now? 

I had that on my mind the entire last year.

I had it through three ER trips just with rash, a debilitating break-up, two soul-crushing appraisal cycles, one pet dog's demise, and through many other near-death encounters (Flu, Viral). None of that could stop me from using that on my birthday. 

Right down to the beat, the next day after the birthday was ER run again. Injection meant a day's worth of sleep. In daze. 

I am supposed to leave in a few hours for my annual pilgrimage. It couldn't have been worse timing. I'm bleeding, there's a rat in my room. I have not packed. I have not done my nails. I've not taken a shower. I'm a mess. A stinking mess at that. There's work stuff that's exploding through groups. A couple of lazy colleagues mentioned this is great timing. Nobody seems to remember that I've been fervently here since January, nowhere else. 

GPT is begging me to stop. My anxiety is spiralling at a point of no return. The rash? It's all nerves. It's all the love I can't showcase to the man, so I spiral alone, I end up in the ER, and I watch my life crumble. 

There's work-related stuff on embargo. I'm in for a spin, a 180 spin again when I return. I have never been more checked out of my life than now; when I'm forced to reckon with all the change in a short span of time. 

I just want to be able to go for my walks and be in good health. Neither of the two is happening. I just want to be able to pursue my hobbies without thinking of my ex and wondering what is it that I'm doing wrong, months after having broken up, because he's being hot and cold to me. 

It is liberating to be truly out of fucks and put words down. All that's on my mind, now here. 

People around me have been more excited about my vacation than I am. I'm nervous. Hands are shaking while I'm typing kind. I'm parched and water is next to me but I'm fucked in the head. I'm really shaking out of nervousness. Is it because of my ex? Is it because of my work? I don't know. I wish I could talk to him and ground myself but a wonderful self-help activity suggested I ask myself, "What is it that you want, dear?" and give myself exactly that. The reason I'm feeling so hopelessly alone is because I've not spent enough time with myself. If I can't pour in my cup, how can I expect someone else to pour into mine?

I had a win in my life recently after a very long time. The kind I used to take for granted in the past. The kind that made me into the person I am. It was the greatest thing that has happened to me this year, thus far. Even momentarily, I felt like I was glad I'm alive and I'm here. None of that has happened in a long time. 

I miss my grandparents daily, more than ever. When your confidence takes a dip, their hype would really help, and I guess I needed that. Not having my ex in my corner despite having him in my DMs has been a different kind of experience. I never thought I'd be foolish enough for that but here I am, wearing a dunce hat. I should have known better but I never do. 

The nervousness will fall flat if I take a nice dump, make a list of items I need to pack, take a shower, do my nails and just generally feel more regulated. Clearly, outliving Jesus wasn't enough. 

More, when I survive two AI flights. If I don't, tell my mom I love her. 

A big red candle, two thin pink candles and one medium-length powder pink candle— all worth rs 60, just to show I'm grateful. 

I cried, not because you hadn't texted me in almost a day, or that we hadn't had another heart to heart exchange since our first, but because my Instagram feed is weighing down on, "have some self worth"

I didn't come to you; I didn't knock at your door twice. 

You chose it. Maybe, it was a moment of weakness or irresistible pull to see if I still care and whether you still matter. You still do. But, I'm not an object to be played with. 

Here's the thing, I should not have taken my pre-period feelings seriously. I should have been cerebral on Friday morning, and yesterday. Instead, watching back-to-back, "know your worth" and "have some self-respect" videos are gnawing at me. 

I'm biting into the crumbs you're feeding me from the palm of your hand. Crumbs are over so now I'm licking your palm and you're getting the ick. I'm getting the ick. I can feel you flinch and withdraw. My heart feels weaker, I can't take another heartbreak with you. I cannot have you tell me to fuck off. 

I want to tell you to not hurt me. I want to tell you to be real, gentle. If this is you being real then I want to understand, who was that man who lovingly showed up everyday, how is it that the care is gone? I miss our tender moments, I miss you being there for me in silence, I miss feeling you, your protection. Instead, I see a man who is not here for me. He's here to feed himself. 

I feel like a liar. I'm walking, smiling, talking, and I feel broken. I can't tell anyone you reached out. More like, I don't want to tell anyone. I don't have the heart to listen to "well-wishers" and their sermons. I want you to call me out lovingly, like you once did, like you used to. I want to be able to call you by whatever names I thought. I want to be able to tell you all the things I couldn't. I got new earrings, I got new perfume, my work is sucking balls, I have bought outfits for the family wedding, I discovered new burger places, I know where to go the next time we meet, I want to be able to meet you without overthinking life. 

I want to be grateful. I lit a candle for you. I think the purpose of this life is to be grateful and keep repeating until you die. I can't wait for life to cease to exist for me, for I'm grateful for you, even when you've come as a lesson I am failing to understand. I lit a candle for you. I want you to be happy,  I want you to see through your fear. I won't hurt you. Just hold me softly. Don't let me go, you're going to be fine. I may or may not be fine but who cares for me. I'm a bad bitch, I'll see through it. 

I lit a candle for you, when I could have lit one for me. 

And then what? I forgot?

Nah, I just stopped. 

I measured my break-up in a jewellery savings plan that I initiated 2 days before we proceeded to end it;  in a pack of medicines that I'm advised to take once in two weeks and I'm down to the last tablet now, due on Thursday. I took the advise of friends and started new hobbies, picked up old hobbies, allowed a drummer to convince me to get to bass playing at a wedding where I knew exactly four people including the groom and I wore a new saree to it. 

The wedding— oh shit. I wanted to write about it. Something about overlooking the lights in a balcony on the first floor in the night outside of your work building and filling your lungs with second hand tobacco, "Careful, don't let the brother see it, he gets paranoid."

There were chats, oh enough to make me bawl over days intermittently. "Everything I am, it's because of my wife and I have to tell my son to build his life forward so someday a woman can enhance it further. My wife and I grew up together. We built a life and my empire together. So, when you get someone, make sure they invest in you and your life equally. If you look after her, she'll do the same for you, so be good. Choose good. I know she loves me but not more than I love her."

I wondered if anyone would ever talk about me in the same way. I wondered if he means it or if he's cheating on her in private and comping his feelings in a performative way in public over many cocktails. Maybe, I'm so gone that even a genuine admission of love got me overthinking, maybe I've seen a lot of Hacks and Ava Daniels' writing all at once over this weekend. 

This weekend. 

Where do I begin? What do I say? Is it gonna hold? Is it gonna last? I've attended a wedding, a funeral, a massive fight, a day without food, two long days and nights in Gurgaon, a love so close yet so far and a life infused in me. 

I want to write, but I'm scared. I compensate by eating extra, maybe my feelings will be buried under carciogenic carbs and maybe I'll feel bloated by non-essential fats instead of the urge to talk my heart out. Why am I expected to be mysterious? Should I be mysterious? My sister needs a make-up artist, we go over the list again. It feels mechanical, "ask her for natural light photographs and tell her you don't need lenses or fake lashes." My cousin and aunt try to talk me into getting an artist, "it's minimal," I nod and think of him. I think of him this entire weekend, it ebbs and flows but my back is stiff and cough is back. My back is hurting and I think of him when we were good. I'm comparing the bygones to where I am. You're expected to get out of your feelings for your significant other after 6 months of breakup and 7 months later, I'm trying to move but stuck in the same seat. I have adjusted for comfort. I have enough work and hobbies and my life's nothing like what it was when he was here but still, something in me sees it all. 

I've adjusted, I'm adjusting but there is little wiggle room. I wonder what will I do after this wedding is over? I think of my dog, I dream of my grandfather, I dream of my ex— a very specific picture from his childhood he had shared early on when we had started dating— I dreamt of him in the same outfit and he wanted to get me suspended from my school, it checks out because there was my HR and boss as Principal and Teacher respectively, not listening to my part of the srory and him? He got out, as he did, as he always does. I am and I will be in trouble. 

Why was I so fucking angry, over my breakup, despite seeing it coming my way. I wonder today, on my period, months after it went down. 

Anxious, I open the chat window and search for one bookmarked message, from the break-up conversation. It lacked an apostrophe, I remember, so I searched again and got it this time. It's not an ordinary text; it's a cry for help. It's a bleeding reminder of two individuals who didn't want to let go. 

I don't know why but I revisit it today. I don't ever want to re-look at things that have hurt me this way. I don't even want to think about the memory again but I do. I place myself on the same chair and area where I was seated at work and begin to read. Anxiety worsens, I can feel it in my fingers and stomach. 

I reach the point where I see the issue. What did he do to deserve my anger? I can't recall. Yes, he'd taken a leisure trip with his pals around Valentine's but was it all so bad? Yes, he hadn't met me on his birthday and neither on mine, but really? Was that a cause for an argument? 

He said we were not operating like a relationship. Truth be told, neither of us put that effort in order to preserve our hearts. We were walking through it so carefully that we eventually dropped the ball. Both of us, with our respective mistakes, piling them on to each other. 

But I still don't understand the cause for anger. I can see my texts. I've written them in agony, in misery and anxiety. I remember my state, a wreck, just hoping that he could get up and ask me to, "come here," an instant balm to my anger. 

Kelly Clarkson got nothing on me; that's how strong I am. 

Or well, I had to be. 

A friend reminded me that I couldn't go an hour without crying if I brought up the subject to discuss my break-up, and somehow, running into my ex during our respective run (walk?) was...monumental, if nothing else. 

"You know nothing," weighed in the ex-colleague, "men know the ways to crawl back."

If that were the case, then he'd definitely reply to me and not leave the meme on reaction alone. 

Of course, my ex-colleague went all, you-fucked-up-big-time, as did two other friends who've heard all about the said break-up. People love to give unsolicited opinions on break-ups and I love to hear their view, as long as it's not my life they're commenting on. If that's the case, then fuck right off. 

Earlier last week, it had been over six months since our last date, and five months since our break-up; you can say four months of absence purely on a technicality cause the break-up timeline is hazy. 

We caught up on our lives after this meet-cute, but it didn't feel heavy.
Strangely, it flowed, it felt like nothing had ever happened, no time had lost, except there were glaring gaps that we were filling in.

Gaps, which showed that a lot of time had passed, but nothing had really changed in terms of our personalities. I was still overthinking and worrying myself to death, and he was still juggling exhaustion and long hours. A match made in heaven, unlike us. 

So, when the momentum died over text the next day, the status quo as "ex for a reason" was restored, I lived through the realisation that we're not together in any capacity, loud and clear. It was like taking five daggers through my body, extremely painful and very heavy throughout the day, and it even spilled into the weekend. 

Thankfully, this time, the damage was only cleaning my room, packing my luggage, buying a saree, organising my closet and sorting my lingerie. Imagine, if I worked with my ex, the productivity would shoot through the roof. 

I don't know how and when the pain subsides because the yearning sure did; infact I was recounting the same to the friend minutes before the run-in. The dull ache though? That goes on. It shows up in the middle of a joyous occasion, a moment after lunch when I'm wondering who do I rant about my work-performance reward, a memory when I'm in the car; none of it stops ever. You learn to live with the pain but it's unfair how it continues to be there. 

Obviously, the event was detrimental to the yearning in control. I spiralled back into a lunatic for the first 48 hours, went completely batshit at picking my skin (it's swollen, palms have hives, rash on thighs), ate more than I should have, ate breakfast, just went ham at my life. Not to forget, added more walks in my schedule, but in a different park. Didn't bother arguing or convincing my friend who I go out with to go to the same venue where we ran into each other. 

The reason I write about this is not because it's the only monumental thing that happened to me, but it certainly did affect me more than my sister's engagement, the appraisal (that sucked), planning a whole engagement party and an after party, dealing with disgruntled family. None of it broke me like this blip did. I have been speaking to my therapist on the regular, I feel I'm working harder than ever and yet, none of it had any effect, not the way this episode did.

It's been a month of way too many things going down, a lot of emotions running wild. A lot of me splattered into corners where I've no business being around. He made me feel the same, "what are you doing here at 7 am?" I couldn't gather anything except "hey" when I wanted to say, "it's 7:51 am, what does it look like I'm doing from my outfit and sweat and is this hard that I can't do it?" Instead, I just froze and smiled. 

I spent a lot of time with family, friends, extended family over this weekend. A lot of camaraderie to distract, spaces which offered me a respite from this constant badgering of what was the purpose of this episode, and times when I could disappear and nobody would say anything. Yet, the only thing that mattered was, how I came undone at a simple question from him, "something on your mind?"

I fucking love boomers aka folks born in the 80s, cause they got their hatred for the "reaction" right. If not for that, I'd be simping on the man in this post. Thank god for no-reaction because the way that reigned me in should be studied. 

A colleague at work quit his job the same day I broke up with my (now) ex. 

It went something like this— my ex and I had the break up conversation while I was on my way to work. My colleague called me shortly after I had reached office. 

I was sitting numb, nauseated and wondering if I should get to checking numbers for the week or go to the washroom and attempt to cry. Instead, I took his call. He started screaming; he was complaining about the person seated in front of me, and told me they're the reason he wants to put in his papers. I am not particularly fond of the person, but in that moment, I was barely able to comprehend anything that he was saying. 

After 15 minutes of his monologue, he told me he has a job interview and if I could help him prepare. Two questions in, I realised I had to hit the washroom. 

"I just broke up. You're the first person to know. I am feeling sick. Can we talk in a bit? I'm really sorry I'm just not okay." 

I felt guilty as hell; I remember my outfit. I remember what he texted me after. He was the first person in my life to know. 

I think it sank when he was talking to me how much he loathes the person who was seated in front of me. 

This colleague and I worked together closely for a year. We had nothing in common, we have nothing in common. He was always a call away to help me and I'd like to think I was always bothering him asking him for one too many things. 

Shortly after my break up, the project I was assigned to do with him changed and I was no longer an associate there. I was told both our replacements were extremely thrilled. His resignation had gone through and my break up was well underway. 

Coming Monday marks his last working day. 

Through the first month of his notice, he had reached out asking if he should rescind. "Don't even think about it." They had extended his notice and had refused to accept his resignation. My break-up was instant. Atleast, I think so. I don't think he (aka my ex) would agree. 

He (my colleague) was asked to extend this notice, it's been over three months since he first dropped that he's leaving and now five months in, he's almost out. 

Kinda like my break up. 

On most days, I know it's gone through and I'm single. I tell confidently, and I believe every word when I say the closure was helpful. 

And then I come home and have an ugly cry. I think of all the times last year I had both these people in my life and I could just count on them to be there, to root for me on my bad days and support me through low points. 

Today was one such day, I was reminded this colleague is on his way out. I was reminded it's been over three months since we discussed break up. 

I wish I could rescind the grief, that I'm so tired of holding out and waiting for my ex to come and hold along with me. I wish it wasn't me crying in bed but moving on, like my colleague did. I wish I was brave to see through endings when I know I'm done. 

Instead, I'll wallow. Another night of despair, another year into this job, another failure. 

I think I finally understood what my friend meant when she said break NC. She saw how much he meant to me and felt I deserved to have people who root for me in my corner. 

It's okay, I guess, to have them in my memory alone. 

It's been a perfect day. Perfect because it started with a call from you. 

No, really. I didn't pay attention to the fact that I got rejected by two Uber drivers while on that call. I didn't even pay my Uber driver, and when I reached my desk, I realized that I owed him INR 576.44 for a ride Uber promised me for INR 424. Did I file a claim? You bet. This is even before I realised I hadn't paid him. Then I proceeded to panic and feel bad in equal measure that I hadn't paid him and he deserved his due for driving me when everyone else rejected the ride

I tried so hard (and got so far?) to get to the driver and despite leaving multiple helpless messages to faceless help chatbox, I got a call from the driver himself. Aisa hota hai ma'am, koi baat nahi. 

On my way out, I was rejected by two drivers again but the weather made me forget that it's okay to be denied a ride just when you're about to enter the cab. Cash payment nahi hai toh ride nahi hogi. 

Fucker. 

I walked over 5k, when all I wanted to do was nap. I changed my bedside table contents, I added a gorgeous tray and an open perfume— fuck, am I that ballsy/confident/rich? Or am I just bored? Perhaps, I'm bored. I switched the side where I sleep on. I am now fervently in the middle of a king bed alone. Living like a king. Not really, I've been living out of bags, two broken cartons, all old packaging. I repainted the room with the same colour. 0 risk, all reward; just like you reader no. 0. 

I love the fact that you go as far back as my memory allows. First annual day in school, our first Christmas lunch; you are the reason I broke NC with my latest ex and you'll always be the person I'll praise in therapy. 

Even when I've had horrible sessions when I've cried my eyes out and opened about my family (only took 5 years and a massive family announcement), I've praised you. "That's the only relationship which gives me hope at present."

My college friend disagrees. She thinks I'll never be able to purge my favourite ex; that he's a permanent fixture in my life. She hasn't met you, she'd change her stance if she did. He texted me ten mins ago; checking in. I wish my latest ex would do that lolololol. But, instead, you tell me to text him. You tell me to keep my ego aside, and let my love flow. I try. 

I am aiming to be forgiving this year. I've tried gratitude and I've tried kindness but forgiveness is a ,lost cause. I enjoyed trying empathy but not for me. Makes me too weak. I fought for a disabled couple at a cinema hall recently. I felt I'd write a whole thought-feature and request an editor to publish. But, like a lot of other things, reconciliation, forgiveness and writing are not coming to me. 

You're the only person who's consistently asked me when am I updating this page. Truth be told, there were days. All these days that I wanted to, but changing your routine and life by 180, and then finding any pocket of time to write is criminally hard. I'd rather crush the NRC app with personal goals (my cadence is decent but my pace stinks). 

Covid is back. Everything returned except him. It's so funny, I'm doing the exact thing I swore to myself I'd never do— befriend him— but forgiveness, that evades me. Not that he needs forgiveness. But, I do need a space to compartmentalize all the care and the love I have for him. I don't know where to take it. He doesn't need it and I can't burden him with it. I miss him, but I don't need him in my routine now. I spoke about it to my other pal- you know her. I told her between an uphill climb, I used to miss our routine but now I just love him and miss him from a distance. I don't know how to get rid of that but I'm trying to settle those emotions and trade them for sweat in 36 degrees that feel like 45 degrees in May. Humid, sweaty, but perfect. 

Like today; in 2007 when I wrote my first blog post here in May, you were the first person I informed. 

Nothing has changed. Except you got married and we're watching our siblings go down a road at the same time, once again. I'm still writing and you're still reading. You're still here. 

Perfect day. Couldn't be better and couldn't ask for more on a day when I'm in my ovulation cycle, the Sun is out till 7 pm and I'm glad I can move around.