14th Sept
majorly overwhelmed, or in S’s language: restive pro max — tired of being so tired; tired of affirming myself that i am not tired
W said something I will be thinking about for a long time: “kabhi khud ko iss qaabil samjha hi nahi k waqt dein”
(hence the lack of journal entries this month)
everything has an incremental effect— whatever you do, the longing to do it more increases.
increasing access —> highest form of kindness
for someone who loves solitude too much, you’d think i figured out how to spend time alone.
maintaining balance, by definition and language, is not a one time struggle, rather, an active, long-term battle & effort.
when you lose hope, you preclude the right of the other person & yourself to be transformed. transformation is a long-time process. all good things require nurturance + patience. always believe in the ability of any individual, any time to be transformed. it is all poetry is written about.
8th Oct, 5:23pm
such is my commitment to what touches me that my pain never leaves. discovering my own body’s vulnerability and inhibitions is long, arduous and often exhausting process but also a rewarding one: my cysts do not like to be touched.
i want to have faith in moving, in letting the body change — it is not just importance, but imperative.
15th Oct, 2020
your body, despite the chronic pain it endures and with zero effort, still is pretty flexible.
10:24pm 26th Oct
every so often, i have to learn how to be alone + happy. i enjoy this silence, and in its absence, i even enjoy craving it. today, i enjoyed the noise of the laminating machine in an otherwise perfectly hot, silent library. i went out to read, and enjoyed the silence of the campus except for this little bird, and when she stopped, i enjoyed the cricket of the insects. at my window, while i write, i enjoy the traffic going and the swish that cars make on DHA roads…
…why must i see all of the sky? i am the least good of people. each day here also feels heavy, empty.. like a reminder of everything that used to be but isn’t. the gardens aren’t all that beautiful, it feels too much trouble to go out, breakfasts don’t seem appealing.
It is also a beautiful tragedy that i would still want to be—one year from now when this has all changed— in a room of my own, able to write.