I left without saying goodbye, and waited until I was too afraid to return. So, I waited some more. And realised why I never said goodbye.
Hi, it’s me. Over the last four months, a lot of life decided to happen to me, and I was caught up between making it happen and unhappen at the same time. After months of asking people to find me, I kind of lost myself.
To take a much needed break, I visited a bookstore I used to visit from back when the coolest things in a bookstore were the Archie comics and the stationery. It was a fairly posh, air conditioned affair, with lazy chairs and buttery croissants to sink into. What I loved most about it though, was the fact that you could just read your way through entire bookshelves as you sat there and no one stopped (read: coaxed your guilt into a purchase) you. Perhaps, it was because I was a regular customer. Either way, I do remember sifting through most of the Roald Dahls I’ve read during my time there. When Flipkart and ebooks kind of took over my life (read: when the café inside began serving tripe), I stopped visiting the store.
I expected a bout of nostalgia to cloud my head the minute I walked into the store. It almost goes without saying that I would feel obligated to buy everything the it had to offer. I armed myself for such an eventuality, furnishing myself with limited monetary resources. I walked in and couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. My favourite salespeople were nowhere to be found and the store just seemed rather depleted, much like my writing of late.
It’s been hard coming to terms with the fact that the ability to write seems to have left me, largely because I held on to it too tight, demanded too much of it.
I only fell in love with writing early last year. I’m a bit upset that it’s decided to leave so soon. I don’t feel it’s ever going to return, at least, not in the same way.
I know a lot of my posts say this, but I think I need a break. A vacation. That’s where I found my writing. Maybe, that’s where I’ll find it again. And if I don’t, maybe I’ll find something else. Writing’s been so closely associated with me lately that I sometimes need to remind myself that a writer is not all I am. It’s definitely not all I’m ever going to be.
If these are the last words I ever write, I’d like to say, “Thank you, it’s been beautiful. I’d like to see you again someday. Perhaps in the mirror, perhaps in the eyes of another. When I do, I may not know it. Don’t forget to say, ‘Hi, it’s me.'”