Retrospection

I held that roughly painted stone in my hand. And as I held it, a warm, familiar sensation ran up my fingers. I felt it flow through every inch of me, piping lukewarm emotions coupled with bitter sweet nostalgia.

And then, I sensed that little girl again. That little girl that took such great efforts to fashion the tiny piece of stone that she held so many million years ago. That little girl that I, one day used to be..

It brought back everything. Every feeling that made me for the tiny person I was. Every fragment that was left back with the erosion of life and age. I found her. And for that fraction of a second, I became whole. Whole with who I am, with who I used to be.

A grin, a glint in the eye, and a whole rush of nostalgia. I relived it again. Every little bit of it. And alongside, so did she. She came back to life. Back with her sack of innocence, with her catch of naive ness. With the sole objective to paint the stone in the most esthetic way possible. Why? I ask her today. She doesn’t know. Just for the heck of it, she says.

And then it dawned on me. When was the last time I did something for the heck of it? I am still thinking. Trying to rummage through my memory. For something. Desperately. To reassure myself that I have not lost her entirely. That she’s still an obscure part of me. The child that I so loved to be. The child that was dying to grow up. That finally did.

Its funny how time plays with your mind. How childhood seems so much more appealing when you grow up. And yet, not so much. If given the chance, I would not want to be a child again. Not really. But I would trade in anything for that sense and feel of childhood. The raw, brut atmosphere that was a part of me. That still is. But not in that quantity.

She’s still a part of me. Its indispensable. She made me for the person I am today. She’ll never leave me. I would never let that happen. I won’t deny it, she did go through a reasonable amount of change. But that was a given. Vital. Someone once said 'Il faut que la Jeunesse passe', It is crucial to leave behind our childhood. But what part of it? They didn’t care to explain that now did they?

But I can guess. Cause I experience it. I sense a child in me. Not wanting to get out in the open, but a child that needs suppression more than once in a while ;) . and that’s probably the reason that I don’t want to go back to being a child. That’s cause I never really stopped being one. The little girl was there all along. The memory and the nostalgia that the stone jogged just made her come alive in my conscious. To spot her. To recognize her. To remember to always be a host to her.

And thus, I still hold the stone in my hand. The wonderful sensation that dashed through my body as I held it has disappeared. Probably never to be back again. The stone has accomplished what it had to. It reunited me with something that was a significant part of me. That still is a significant part of me. And now I know, would always be a significant part of me.

Life from Death..

What must he be thinking? Feeling? Would he still be hurting inside? Is he even still alive or did his inner being die with the attempted suicide?

We would never know. At least I wouldn’t. I, who stands in front of this middle aged, balding man, who looks absolutely worn out, but somehow still manages a slight smile and a hand shake. But what lies beneath this ambiguous twitch of the lips is what left me pondering.

Il felt surreal to be sharing space with someone who had no desire left to occupy any space, however negligible be it, with the living world and with someone who had sought solace and escape in the cold arms of death.

I felt uncomfortable, as I always do every time I find myself incapable of contemplating my behavior in a situation. Should I be comforting? Melancholic? Glad? Relieved? How should I face someone who, at one point or maybe even at this instant, was so vulnerable that he had to be pulled back and made to live a life that he intended to end?

Questions!! A torrent of unanswered questions! How I wish I knew what he was feeling! Or, is he feeling anything at all? Is he still capable of feeling like I do? Would he ever be? His life altering decision separated him from the rest of the world. Isolating him in a corner where it would be difficult to reach out to him. Understand him. Relate to him. In a world where immortality is celebrated, welcomed, desired greatly, there exists a survivor. A survivor who preferred death over prolonged Existence.

Majority would have difficulty in comprehending. But I can understand. I can empathize. Sometimes, death does seem more of a better option.

However I somehow hope that he would be glad one day that he survived. Survived an ordeal that he chose, that he put himself through. And yet again, what if he never does? what if, even after attempting to live through this new life, he regrets that he was never re-born again? What if he still prefers Death over this meaningless hell hole?

For his sake, and partly for mine [ as this concerns me as well, to a certain extent ] I hope he finds a reason to live again. However superficial it may be, I hope he finds something to hold on to. I hope somewhere in that Pandora’s Box, he would be able to unearth a small tiny fragment of Hope.