The last couple of days of "actual" Spring Break (though, nowadays, the days are bleeding together), I felt super lethargic. I slept a lot, but no matter how much I slept or what I did, there was a sense of inherent tiredness that I could not seem to shake off. I did not really want to do anything either. A couple days ago, I went running outside to run without my backpack and not because it was raining, cold, or because I was about to be late to something. Just, to purely run.
There were a lot of people considering the weather was cloudy. Any moment, it seemed like the clouds would burst like pricked water balloons. I did not know any of them. Who they were, why they were biking, walking, running. I wondered if they had felt as claustrophobic as I had felt. I wondered if they were also wondering how to spend their time. I wondered if this was their answer. The thing about running is-I am not very good at it, but maybe because I am not that good at it. I can't think about anything at all while I'm doing it. I'm too busy trying to figure out how to breathe. How to move my legs forward-one stride at a time.
It did start raining eventually. Refreshing droplets urging me to run faster so I didn't get trapped in the rain, but by the time I got back to my neighbourhood-I was tired. Recently, they added swings in our neighborhood playground. I've always loved swings. It's the closest you can get to flying while being tethered to the ground. As the rain poured, I kept swinging and listening to music. There was no one else in the park and no one outside ambling about. It was pretty much the same as inside my house where it felt like the world was disconnected and society was somewhere else. Each and every one of us in our own worlds living in parallel lines.
But, that moment in the rain, while I stretched my legs out as far as I could, swung higher and higher, raindrops streaking my face, and the music started to hit the chorus, I felt completely alive. More than I have in a while. Ah...the world is still going. Even though it seems like it has stopped. The world is still going. The earth is still turning. Regardless of me-if I stop living or keep living, or don't do anything at all. My actions are non-consequential. The world will still keep going like it has done as far as I can remember and history can recall with or without me. It was something I'd always known, but at that moment I felt it acutely in the form of reassurance.
There are places more affected and places that are still in relative calm. Everyone deals with crises differently. Fear and panic manifest through words and actions or lack of in everybody. Be kind to someone who is dealing with it differently then you are. Be understanding and continue to live your life to the best of your ability within the constrictions.
If you just want to talk to someone, please feel free to message me or video me on Facebook or Instagram or wherever :)
Right now, I'm trying to live like this:
"Everyone is given time, but the depth of time varies by a person" (Itaewon Class Ep4) [we may not all necessarily live the same amount of time, but what are we doing with the time that we have?]
"Gotta go insane to stay sane"(BTS-ON) [I interpreted this as you have got to go "insane" for something-pursue something insanely to stay sane otherwise there's always this emptiness, this why of what am I doing?]
I am trying to fulfill my time wisely for practical commitments but also doing things that make me smile for my own sanity.
Quaranteens Playlist:
I'm Coming Home-Skylar Grey
BTS- 00:00 (Zero O'Clock)
Itaewon Class OST [there are so many good songs, it is hard to choose one!]
If I had to definitively pick a “home”, I would not pick the
house in Houston.Out of the 15 or so
houses I’ve lived in so far, Houston has been the longest. There are many memories
attached to that house, but they are all from a very specific period in my
life. A time I’m glad I went through, but I would not want to return to. If I
did have to pick a time/house to return to, it would be, without a doubt, Balikpapan,
Indonesia or PMC (Pantai Mentari Compound).
But, what is home? And what makes a home, a home? I am a
strong believer in "people make the place" which is why I still retain fond
memories of Indonesia. But adhering to reality's timescale, Indonesia only covers a slice of my life that
would be less than half the size of my Houston slice.
The only place where I retain memories of any given time in
my life would be my grandparents’ respective houses in Kolkata. My mom’s side
shifted houses around 2002 and my dad’s side shifted in late 2004. I don’t
remember the previous house on my mom’s side at all, but my dad’s side I have
some vague memories supported with photographs and stories I’ve been told.
However, their current houses have definitely become constant fixtures in my
life where the variables are always changing. Every year I come to Kolkata in
the summer, sometimes we come twice a year, winter and summer.
And like every year, this summer, once again, I have traded
in the dry humidity of Houston for the sweltering monsoon humidity of Kolkata.
Everything and everyone feels stuck in time-myself included-in the city of joy (Kolkata).
It takes little to no effort to recall my younger self playing with my aunt’s
makeup on my grandma, rolling the dice for ludo or snakes and ladders, playing
chess, organizing the spice jars in the balcony cabinet, watching Power Rangers
or Galactik Football, standing between the handlebars on my grandpa’s
motorcycle and begging him to please let me drive it, or hearing stories about
clever and wise yet flawed animals and princesses and kings and carpenters, and
of course the unique food.
The food hasn’t changed while how I spend my time here has
gradually changed because of the inevitable consequence of time: age. I’ve
gotten older and it’s not like my grandparents have gotten younger and we are
meeting at a halfway point.
I don’t know which year it exactly happened, but one summer I
came and it just felt different. Suddenly, I wasn’t a kid anymore and I
couldn’t do kid things because there was no one to do it with and I didn’t know
how to talk to my grandparents otherwise. I didn’t know what to talk to them
about, however, they’d become sad if I didn’t spend time with them. For a
couple of years, the gap between what our relationship was and what it had become
was personally frustrating and it really hurt me because I was extremely close
to all 4 of them in my own way.
I thought the relationship between grandparents and
grandkids should be what we had before and I loved that “us” so much that when
our relationship changed, I liked coming to Kolkata less and less. Unlike my
parents, who grew up in Kolkata, went to school, then college, got married, and
then moved out, I don’t have that kind of deep attachment to this place where
certain roads and street shops fill me up with nostalgia. For me, the love of
this city was and always will be because of my grandparents. There was no one
my age in the summers at either apartment complex. Other family members live
scattered across the city or state or even the country, but I see them maybe once or twice during the summer. Day in and day out, I would spend time with my grandparents. There was no
one else to talk to, but as a kid, I didn’t mind it because it was so much fun.
As I grew older, that changed and I wasn’t as happy anymore and coming back "home" became a burden rather than something I anticipated.
At some point, I realized they were just happy that I was
spending time with them and I had to change. I had to take initiative for our
relationship to work. I had to talk to them first. If not, this home too would
become another house and we’d live our lives skating by each other without
getting to know each other all over again each summer. After all, each year, I
was the one who changed not them.
Hi everyone! How is everyone doing? I hope you enjoyed this post :)
(I wrote this post over the summer, but I ended up never posting)
Once again, I'm back with a Spring Vibes playlist
