“It’s possible to miss what you’ve never had, to mourn for it.”
(Most days I am a completely rational human being. Maybe overly rational even. I tend to overthink and overanalyze things. I am always trying to figure out why things work the way they do. Why people and things are the way they are, and not in some other way. Some days, however, my emotional side, which is usually dormant and lazy like I am, decides to take over the reins. It wakes up from a deep slumber, rubs its eyes, and lets out a loud annoying yawn and gets ready to party. And by party I mean, turn me into a useless, sappy, emotional piece of junk. Let’s just cut the bullshit and say it is a hopeless romantic. I’m talking John Keats level shit here. Over the years, I have learned that it is useless to fight it. I always lose anyway. It has its own personality. It has its favorite hang-out places, songs, movies, and even sleeping positions. It’s got its own attitude. So Instead of fighting it, I embrace it. I welcome it with a cup of coffee. I stroke its ego nicely so that it can talk. Boy, can it talk! When this happens, I often write down all the embarrassing shit that comes out of its mouth before it disappears. Because amid all the corny gibberish, there is some sense. I just need to labor for hours to find it.
Today is one of those days.
Today, I woke up and the first thing I saw was you. I see you in many places. Abstract places. But they are real to me.
I saw you in the white ceiling as my eyes opened. And the white curtains, gently teasing the morning breeze coming through the window. I saw you in the orange rays of the morning sun slanting in, turning everything into gold. I see you in Julia Roberts in The Pelican Brief. I see you in Kristen Stewart flicks. I see you in the stranger in the crowds. I see you in that lonely pretty girl sitting in the restaurant window, sipping a drink absent-mindedly, dreaming about abstract people, or real people. What’s more perfect than strangers right? Not knowing their baggage and their flaws. Perfect worlds. What’s more comforting than them?
I often imagine waking up to a humming sound and a child’s musical laughter. I open my eyes and I see you sitting out on the porch, amidst the white-washed walls. Curled up in a chair, lost in a book. I imagine it is something old fashioned. A classic. Naipaul perhaps. Or Bronte. You are humming the words underneath your breath. Biting your nails. A cup of coffee in hand. Hair tied up neatly in a bun. Wearing an oversized gray sweater and striped socks. That ugly sweater of mine that somehow looks heavenly on you. I imagine our little one sitting on the floor next to you, making doodles. Maybe not an animal or her favorite doll. But something a little creepy for her age. She’s weird. Well, we know she didn’t get that from you. She’s got my inquisitiveness. That’s at least, one good thing. But she’s pretty, just like you. Thank God she doesn’t have my crooked teeth! Oh, and thank heavens she does not have my big head! Instead, she has all your delicate features. She has your stubbornness too.
In my imagination, I lie there for a long time. Lost in the moment. Watching you take a sip, adjust your glasses, and stare into the distance. Trying to take in the story. Feeling what the character is feeling. Completely gone.
I can only wonder what I did to deserve this.
Most times, I come across as an emotionless cyborg. But you know my intense side. You know a few things appeal to my emotions. A good book. A deep, steady track. Springsteen. John Mayer. There are other things. Anjeera. And you. Not necessarily in any order of importance. Of course. Before you roll your eyes. Although anjeera could give you a run for the top spot!
You appeal to my dormant side with so much ease. All it will take is that sweater and a smile. Just like that, all my defences will crumble. I could never say no to you.
You calm my nerves and worries. You remind me that it is ok for things not to be perfect. That I shouldn’t have to overthink stuff and not doubt myself. You understand me and you know me, not because you have to, but because you want to.You embrace my annoying habits, like the way I can’t remember to locate anything or how I take long to finish the food. Or my idiotic sense of humor that make you question what you ever saw in me.
You teach me every day about how to treat a woman. You challenge my beliefs and thoughts. You teach me to be compassionate to others. That I should not just care about their thoughts and what makes them tick. But because they matter. You make me not to have to search for the meaning of love. There is something off about love: it is not a science. But you just make it make sense. You speak its language.
You look around and you see me staring. You smile.
Your image takes my breath away.
You make me think about happiness. Often, people live their lives in a constant search of perfection. And some ideal happiness. Mostly, it involves material things. A house on the hill. A full garage. A fat check for a salary. And, maybe, people. Love is never the main thing. These are all good things. No doubt.
For me, that image of you is all I would want. It is perfect. Not because it is perfect, but because I think it is perfect. You are beautiful, not just because you are, but because you don’t know you are, and because I find you beautiful. You are beautiful because you are not just a wife, sitting around waiting for a man to love you, bored and distracting yourself, but someone with her own life to live and dreams to follow. Someone who has her place in the world. You are beautiful because you know you can’t find happiness in others if you can’t find it within you. You are beautiful, with all your previous lives. All the heartbreaks. All the people who have disappointed you, who misunderstood you, and took you for granted. All the scars, the pain, the joy. All your thoughts, ideas, fear, and hopes. All of you.
Because of you, I know that one cannot make homes out of people, but they can make homes out of the right people.
I hope you are well.
Image source: magic4walls.com