At some point during the night, he will roll over from his side of the bed in deep sleep and inch along the bed over to me, looking for my tired body. He then will cradle himself around me, throw an arm over somewhere around my waist looking for a curve he can anchor onto, and mutter a small peaceful sigh of contentment, while of course being immersed in deep slumber and snoring peacefully throughout this entire process. Really. He is completely asleep and will do this involuntarily.

At this point, my heart will shatter into a million pieces out of love longing and gratitude for this gently heaving chest stuck to my spine.

Alhamdolilah for him, Alhamdolilah a million times over.

Maybe Allah mian figured out that I was a lovelorn child on the inside, thirsting for love. I spent two decades fixing and gluing together the splinters of my parents relationship, who despite being great humans on their own, were not meant for each other. Or maybe were, that's how they were to survive, who knows?
Whatever the case, the constant refereeing and fixing and re re fixing had left me exhausted, hurt, battle weary....until I met him.
He gives me more hugs kisses and cuddles than I know what to do with..he picks me up when I'm tired, squeezes me for dear life till I can't breathe, kisses me until I'm laughing and breathless...and then stares at my eyes and tells me that its okay to be vulnerable and dependant, but I have to shine on my own and he will always have my back..I have no words but tears, and relief and the consolation my heart has yearned for all these years...
As I hug him back close to me, I realize that the little girl thirsting for love inside me is finally getting her fill..
MashAllah and mashAllah
And ya Allah, thank u, thank u so much for this.

when i look at other couples around me, ive been starting to build a sense of resentment. its horrible to admit it, even to myself, even in the privacy of this dead blog no one will read, but it's true.
i see where others have gotten in a year, two years of theri married lives, and i see myself still stuck in limbo, still hanging on the same old threads, not moving forward, not moving backward, just stuck in space, and it drives me INSANE.
for a person whose used to so much change in her life and to be with one of the most unmovable, stoic men of all time is very very frustrating. I used to push him to change, push him to finish his degree, or start a new one, get a certificate, look for a better job and get out of his dead-beat job that barely pays the bills, is an entry level job and has zero options for growth, but ive stopped. im tired out. he doesnt want to listen or may be he does, may be his shame and embarrassment at being stuck where he is drives him into this little hole where he is lost and utterly defensive about letting anyone else pull him out again.

the decision to not move out right away at the time we got married  was my WORST mistake ever. I thought that id be the sarasvati bahu (i dont even know what that means) and sacrifice myself on the alter of selflessness by first, getting to know the family and khidmat kaar-ing etc. what i forgot was that people get used to khidmat reaaaallllllyyyyyyyyy fast, and then they won't let you leave. In the meantime, the acquired sister left, then did the brother, and so we have to bear the brunt of keeping the family together because, well, someone needs to be there for the parents.

Is it horrible me thinking that? maybe. But let's get the facts straight. I'm stuck in a basement which has flooded 5 times since I got married, had four walls broken and repaired, had my kitchen thrown out and replaced, had the carpeting changed to flooring which me and my husband did ourselves, and had to share the bathroom with syed's grand parents, his brother, the laborer....let me know not even go into the details of the amount of pee stains and shit stains and paan stains i've wiped off the toilet bowl and the shower.
It gets old really fast, this whole selflessness thing.

The nights are long and cold but for when I see your face my heart explodes with sunbeams.

........
These are some tough times jaan, but for you,
A thousand times over.

(The beginning. Continued)

When I was finally ushered in, I found her standing, draped in chiffon (that lovely elegance), by the golden sunlight, still pale against her.
Maybe other eyes disagreed, her life had worn her down, but to me, she was as full of magical exuberance as when I had first seen her...so, so long ago.
Her voice arose, shattering the silence and my nerves.
'I do so love a good story...and hate a poor ending.'
Pause.
'What about endings you spend years toying with, but never quite find out about?'
'Well, those are just the absolute worst, aren't they?' She said, finally turning to face me.

Even in that millisecond, I knew that I still hated her, I could still hate her. After so long, I had envisioned her leaping to turn towards me at the creak of the door, the fall of my footstep or perhaps, perhaps composed herself just until the first syllable left my lips.

She had still resisted.
Even now, she wouldn't grant me the comfort of this small victory.

Broken hearted
Disappointed
Incredulous
Trapped trapped trapped
Alone
No supporter no shield
Bare
Suffocating
Defeated
Bitter
Want to escape
Every attempt at transient hiatus wreaks chaos havoc
Swallowing
Drowning
Choking
Pushed into a corner
Made to feel small insignificant pathetic
Pathetic
Non entity
Nobody

Broken hearted
Disappointed
Incredulous
Trapped trapped trapped
Alone
No supporter no shield
Bare
Suffocating
Defeated
Bitter
Want to escape
Every attempt at transient hiatus wreaks chaos havoc
Swallowing
Drowning
Choking
Pushed into a corner
Made to feel small insignificant pathetic
Pathetic
Non entity
Nobody

an exercise in self-destruction.

is life.

i always used to look at broken, defeated women..and would prescribe them doses of youth, independence and happiness which they listened to with starry eyes and a well-molded fake zeal. I wondered how it could be so, and what defeats us in the long tiring process that is marriage, that causes us to age so.
it never made much sense to me frankly.

........

Kaisi teri khudgarzi.....

kuch/chup

bohot kuch.

andar sub phansa hua hai, in a way that when i speak there's barely any sound, and when i smile, my face remains static.

i have to start somewhere.

i know that this is repetitive. it happens once in a blue moon when the emotional exhaustion overwhelms me and i retreat so far into my shell that none can reach. when i wasn't married, i had the liberty of escaping on a self-imposed hiatus....buses to nowhere, sipping on coffees and staring at mountains...or walks at 4 am, through bleary morning half-hearted drizzle.

i can't do that anymore. there's routine and people  and expectations

It all starts with expectations really.

expectation to be treated a certain way. to be looked at, appreciated, celebrated. to be taken out on dinners, and to have conversations with...easy flowing conversations where i'm not always initiating. expectations of maybe-we-should've-had-our-honeymoon-by-now (14 months of being married later), expectations of finally-moving-out, expectations of just a two-day vacation where him and me are finally finally finally alone.
i cant remember the last time him and me were truly alone, in a space where his and my family, our obligations, our responsibilities, our schedules did not intervene. In a space we could truly leave all these things at the door, and just be.

That's how we were i remember...now the pervasiveness of it all has crippled me, and my patience is wearing thin. im so so so tired of everything. money issues i cant seem to figure out, family issues with his perpetually jealous and perpetually angry-at-me for goodness-knows-what sister, this house that is toobig and toosmall for us at the same time, three generations under one roof. how the hell do i explain all of this to him? how should i say that this wasn't part of the dream, part of the ex-pec-god-damn-it-tation i had envisioned? promises that this was all temporary and would change now fast turning into a concrete reality where i'm left to fend for his family. and my goodness, my bleeding heart conscience won't permit me to complain, whimper, protest...

no matter how much i tell him i need to get away he doesn't understand. the urgency. i thought i made it clear that i would only ever make a demand if it came to a point where i really couldnt take it anymore, and it has. and it's not over the top, it's not a 5 star vacation to europe kind of request. it's a take me to jersey and let's stay in a run down motel for a night but let's please just have some us time kind of request. he can't comply. i don't know why, but he doesn't comply. the frustration is tearing me apart and there's nothing i can say or do.

i keep it bottled in for fear of angering him, God, embarrassing myself in my own eyes, the guilt from which i may never return, embarrassed to admit my human limitations that have worn thin.

i used to tell myself that i'd never allow myself to get in a place i felt trapped. i would always have plan B, i'd be a little selfish and find my own way like i always have..somehow, this isn't Vancouver or Toronto and I haven't been able to find my way, or myself. New York is swallowing me in, like it swallows everyone in, and spews out a tangled, flummoxed version of yourself even you yourself can't recognize.

it might be the horror at the sight of this forlorn adult me, or maybe the weight of everything that's compressing my vocal chords shut, or maybe its New York itself, swallowing me whole....i just can't seem to find my voice. I can't seem to vocalize any of this. I'm just, quiet. silent. mumbling.
mind rut.

chup.

-eeda

there are mysteries id like to solve.
he's the biggest one of all.

-eeda

(the beginning)

yellow wilting petals between hurried feet, the swish of a red pallu. white marble tiles and blue sky.
there was golden sunlight playing with the green in her eyes, i recall. she was smiling at me. fiesty, always so.

no, not feisty, tempestuous.she was the summer storm in all its glory, twirling and twirling amid red chiffon and yelloworange marigolds, threading themselves feebly through her toes in an effort to
become the Joy that was her.

.............

i play images like a disc on repeat, images like a vintage song of old. and almost magically, almost out of lovelorn nostalgia,...i can still smell the summer sticky heat, and the crushed marigolds of the gardens.
i keep playing.... looking for that infinitesimal moment somewhere between us that has lead to this; me, clawing at wispy memories, swishes of an uncontrollable breeze.

i smile wryly, thinking...how could it be that i grasp that moment?
it is, after all, impossible to capture the storm in an outstretched palm.

And then, to capture her?

.........
Such an exercise in futility..

Dil mein dard dard dard....

Kaisi paheli hai yeh, kaisi paheli
Zindagani ....

udhero na

People always say that packing is the hardest thing to do, but I digress; those people probably didn't follow up all that packing with all the unpacking that follows.

When you're unpacking, you're not just putting away clothes and accessories...you're taking out emotions and memories out of suitcases and carry-ons and handbags and wallets.... and then packing them back neatly into drawers, closets..little jewellery boxes..in between fingers.
It's the hardest thing to do.

It's knowing that the adventure is over, the memories you made have already reached their upper constant, that no more new memories will be added to the experiences you've just had.
It's knowing that while you have returned to the mundane...the banal, the boring, in the parallel universe you left behind, there is another You who could still be having fun, (and probably still is, unawares to you) lazing around summer days in the back patio over conversation, shisha and Jones.
It's heartbreaking really.
It's the reason why my suitcases are still packed, three days later, after having returned from Canada.
Yesterday I very feebly unpacked my toiletries case. The resulting emotional overwhelming-ness had me withdrawn and quiet the rest of the evening.
Sigh. Pity.
This isn't quite normal, and it isn't quite me. I feel though that what they say about marriage is quite true; there are many many things you learn simply after being married. Like the value and comfort of family and your own blood, no matter how dysfunctional they are. There's always an empty socket in that narrative you can just go and snuggle right back into...it's not a space you have to create, it's just always there. Coming out of that socket hole obviously results in much cramping, of both muscles and heart; ripped out of their fixations in their places of familiarity.
Kher.
This is the reason why I don't want to unpack. The brooding and the self analysis and wallowing in the memories and the humdrum of busy Toronto life and mental images of baba laughing and ammi singing and deeju giggling and nijjo puffing out shisha smoke in rings rings rings comes outpouring out of every shirt, pants, heart.... everything I own.
Mein phir se thap ho ker baith jatee hoon.

Soooo, in conclusion,
I'll just resort to watching the twentieth rerun of Transformers 2 on TV; an important task in itself I assure you.
Really.
Much more important than other things in life....
(like say, clearing the mess of suitcases that is the guest room right now).
Dont ask dont tell.

ankhon mein silay huey ho.....udhero na.

-eeda

I'm having this weird pins-and-needles feeling like i need to write, but i don't know of what.
There was something my mind was muttering last night, the beginnings of a poetic ramble, but it was lost somewhere between an all-consuming desire to fall asleep, and S's arms. the former because of the latter perhaps.
besides, in the hold I'm in, i can barely find an inch to squeeze out a finger to type with.

It must've been something to do with Belonging. Fitting into shells carved out in another's soul, meant for you. Empty spaces we keep locked up inside, afraid to show the cocoons that might just be the Cinderella's-shoe to someone else's hurting soul. Slip inside to remedies, comfort, protection...whatever it is you're looking for.

I find acceptances and answers in weird places. TV stations with maulvis I find questionable at best. The revelations make me cry, affirm that the cocoon I easily fit into every night was perhaps, the very best choice for me. An intangible sort of forgiveness and acceptance, of following down the right path becomes perhaps just a little tangible...in stories narrated from souls down generations, we find peace in other's words and make that our peace. Balm the questions and turn question marks into full stops, finality.
Peace.

What is inner peace? Is it inside yourself or inside the cocoon within another? Every time I see him with heartbreaking vulnerability and an ache deep inside my soul, I find my inner peace is inside him. Maybe that's why they call it 'inner', and don't attach pronouns with it..Inner could be inside anyone, not necessarily yourself.

Home is where the heart is. Peace is where you fit. Or maybe, who you fit. Maybe they're all one and the same thing. Maybe Plato was right when he said what he did about soul-mates.

Maybe.


(admitting to your vulnerability when so much of it resides in someone else can be a very difficult thing)

lessons learnt in time.
-eeda