Skip to main content

Farther Away

I wonder about you 
Sometimes

I miss your poetry
Sometimes

I long to hear you 
Sometimes

I crave for completion
Sometimes

Only
Sometimes


Comments

  1. Anonymous1 December 2010 at 23:38

    Sometimes it happens like this: What we fall for is our own idealized version of the person (and the not the person, as he/she is, actually). This is not a result of our oblivion, but instead a result of our need - at the time.

    Other times, the person MAKES US fall for them, by manifesting (wilfully) the person that we need to see the most. Paradoxically, this results not from our need, but our oblivion.

    Which one do you think is easier to get over?

    - ASnonymous

    ReplyDelete
  2. Unknown2 December 2010 at 00:33

    @ASnonymous- That's perfectly put.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Dead Man Walking2 December 2010 at 20:54

    Zoya, you have to find your self first. Only then the centre of your universe is you. When this centre shifts from within to out, life becomes scattered and meaningless.

    Living, loving and longing - Life has knack of giving us all the opportunity to savour all of these.

    Smile. Enjoy.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Unknown2 December 2010 at 21:44

    @ AS - definitely the second case. Because, when reality hits you, most people see sense and move on. In the first case, until you have that 'need' it can be very hard to let go off that image in your head!

    @Dead Man - First, its a funny thing to call someone a dead man... Whats your name? Second, refer to my latest post (What Next?) and you'll know that my center is safely within me :)!

    @ Everyone in general - This is not about a boy... Just so we are clear :P

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Could I have imagined you?

Every year, I think about you. Not too many times, but consistently, a few times. And each time I am not sure how I should feel. There is a vague sense of loss, a subtle tinge of abandonment, a painful realisation of independence. But mostly, there is just a numb nothingness.   Who were you? I am not even sure I remember your face. Your smile, yes. Your eyes, too. But in pieces, in context. I can't imagine your reaction in a new situation. I can't see you as you may have become. I can only see the frozen moments that I have embalmed in my head.   I wonder if you feel the need to see me. If you imagine what it may feel like to talk to me now. If you wish you had known me all this time. If I am even a real person to you. If you have convinced yourself that I don't exist.   Perhaps it isn't as simple as moving on, as erasing, as avoiding. Maybe it's an intense removal, a complete denial. I don't hate you. I don't love you. It's an absence of anything ta
25 comments
Read more

Birthing Rumi - Part 1

The next many blog posts will chronicle my most significant journey yet - of becoming and being Rumi's mama. I considered starting a separate blog but then decided against it. While there is a lot to be said, my identity as his mom is not separate from the rest of me. In being his mama, I have become more of me. And in embracing this with the rest of me, and finding and resolving the contradictions, I have felt more myself than ever before. So I chose to put this here. Where the rest of my life and memories live.   “This is pressure, not pain.” A simple mantra I kept repeating as I went through labour. My waters broke at 3.30 am as Loi (the father to be) and I binge watched Bridgerton. I was one week overdue at this point. We had tried nearly every trick in the book to get baby out. The latest was eating a spicy labour inducing burger (yep, there is such a thing), taking a bumpy ride and eating extremely spicy daal. I had been having contractions (false/real who knows?) for weeks. 
13 comments
Read more

Well kept secrets - Part 3

Why am I writing all this? What is the point of saying these things aloud? For many reasons. One, to remember. So I can always go back and re-experience the first joys of motherhood. Second to heal, forgive and forget. For those moments that were traumatic - to be able to let go. Third, to inspire more sharing. Pregnancy and labour came with so much advice and so many stories - from every woman I knew. In contrast, the weeks and days and hours after the baby arrived seemed like an empty vacuum. It's almost as if all this is a well kept secret. (I am not sure if its just me that this was a secret from, but I was caught by surprise by the first few weeks of Rumi.) And so, as I dealt with all my emotions, and physical sensations, I decided to break the silence in my own tiny way. RCH was different from Peace Arch. In many, many ways. Among these was that they didn't allow our 'Doula' to stay with us at night. And in a way we thought it was okay. There was only one couch
6 comments
Read more