New Address

I was climbing uphill while dragging my giant trolley bag; the American Tourister backpack on my back trying to wrestle me down in favour of gravity. One porter was following me with packing boxes on her back. This was the third round. I was shifting to my new apartment. Yes, no more cooked food for me on time. No more packed lunch. No more coming back to my one room paying guest home after a whole day of roaming about with my ‘so many male friends’ and clicking ‘so many selfies’. I am literally on my own now. I was dragging my luggage while my lungs were screaming inside my chest; and bits and pieces of words were flashing inside my hypersensitive (allegedly BPD’ed) mind. How I had been compared with some fuckall spoilt woman who had chosen to be a housewife over a medical career (and how proud her family is of her ‘goodness’ and ‘sacrifice’) and how much better she was than me, the rebellious, petulant woman who allegedly uses feminism as an excuse to escape responsibilities. Now you see, I am not a ‘good girl’. If people try to bullshit me, I kick their asses. Apparently that makes me a mentally unstable person. So all the gods of the Himalayas knew this very well – I was not busting my petite ass on a weekday morning in order to seek validation from some people who had done shit for me when I really had counted on them and on their fair judgment. But it was time. It was time I really grew up. It was time I had a place of my own. It was time to mess it all up and bask in the glory of my mistakes. Because unless you risk it 100%, you are never going to make your life an epic journey. And I guess when I am old my life will look much better in retrospect than some spoilt housewife who never earned a dime to support herself, let alone someone else.

Somehow over the years I have developed a special sixth sense. A sixth sense that tells me if I try to do something for a good cause the universe will always send support on my way. And basically you are truly ready for it when you are driven by a will that comes straight out of your soul, but not fake excuses. I was done seeking validation. But I was also done living life of a parasite. The last step was probably stepping out of my paying guest home. I did not wish for my freedom in order to enjoy the reckless side of it. Again the gods know I am done with that bullshit too. I needed this for myself. My lack of confidence, my social anxiety – everything must leave now. And it was about time I stopped blaming fate and partly my parents for all those shortcomings. It was time I owned up to my flaws and took a step. Some judgmental ass had suggested meditation camp. To be very honest, I did actually consider it too. But even after two attempts in less than two months when that plan got cancelled I felt maybe the universe had another way for me in store. Maybe a ten days spiritual course was too easy a way for me. Or maybe I already am a much aware and sensitive person.

While packing my stuff I was feeling how much attached I had become of my paying guest home where I stayed for less than three months. I am going to miss even the annoying little kid. Habit is a dangerous thing. Although Darjeeling is a small town and they live only ten minutes away so I will see them whenever I feel like. Life is hard for hypersensitive people like us. We get attached too fast and our heart bleeds way too much. So maybe this is best for me. Staying all alone. No attachment. Not to mention the pure adrenaline rush while setting up my own place. I am feeling like Diane Lane from Under the Tuscan Sun. Only difference is, she was a divorced woman who bought a villa in Tuscany and I am just a single boring bureaucrat that rented a one bhk apartment for her tenure in a little hill station within the same state.

And maybe I am finally going to stop using feminism as an excuse to escape responsibilities, eh?