Confession – Echoes of the fearless

Gallery of trying. Graveyard of hopes. Hall of hopes. Library of longings. Canvas of perseverance. Frame of failures. Battlefield of regret.  Call it what you will, but when your heart houses pain as a rent-free tenant, your mind pays the price with your confidence, strength, patience, rest, and sense of self. 

For 25 long years, I have gone broke, not in cash, but in courage. I’ve emptied my pockets of patience, scraped the bottom of my spirit, and still the void yawned wider. Yet, the pain lingers like a money-hungry capitalist. It doesn’t take days off. It hoards your joy, invests in your insecurities, and profits from your past. 

Since forever, I thought I have to carry the pain like a part of me, but as I got a better, clearer understanding of who I was outside my own mental prison, it hit me that the void doesn’t always need to be filled. Sometimes, it just needs to be understood. That happiness doesn’t arrive like a lightning bolt; it grows slowly, in quiet moments, in the space you make for it.

With time, I learnt to separate the heaviness of the hurt from myself and treat it as an annoying, oddly familiar, recurring yet homely childhood friend who knows how to get the best of me. At the same time, I also started accepting the light waves of healing and happiness as the sweet person who keeps attempting to woo me. They didn’t force their way in. They just lingered patiently, like someone waiting with a cup of tea and a soft smile, hoping I’d sit with them, even for a moment. With time, I found the balance to become frenemies with both these visitors, opening the door more often. Eventually, I found the balance to become frenemies with both these visitors — opening the door more often, sitting at the table with each of them in turn. One reminding me of where I’ve been, the other nudging me toward where I could go.

Truth be told, some days when existing feels like a chore, I feel like giving myself up to let the pain consume me entirely and take over my identity. But I can’t let the happiness in me become homeless and seek refuge somewhere else. So even on the days when I feel like giving up, I hold on. Not for the sake of strength, but for the sake of balance. For the quiet joy that still calls this body home. For the healing that waits — patiently and eternally. 

And that’s enough reason to stay. To keep going. To try again and again. As long as it takes.