Storms, clouds and some sunshine…

I was cleaning my cupboard last evening with a dogged resolve that I would finish with this torment without postponing it even further. I was also simultaneously washing clothes and cooking to break the monotony of dusting, cleaning and changing papers.

As I reached the fourth level of my cupboard where I stack books, I managed to very successfully topple the whole lot onto the floor very clumsily. Between loud sneezes and clatter of vessels (Yeah, I managed to tumble them as well, I SO hate that Murphy guy), I tried rearranging them hurriedly, when my eyes rested on a very insignificant looking brown-paper covered notebook, that was left behind in the general noise and clutter. I picked the book up uncertainly and started reading it. It was my long -forgotten diary.

As I journeyed through my college days that I had enjoyed with reckless abandon, my books and vessels lay forgotten around me. My first friends, trivial incidents that broke my heart, failure, guilt, victory, anger, ecstasy, sadness...

The day I bunked a class, got yelled at by a teacher for forgetting my assignment, the day my best friend cried and all I could do was look on, the taste of hard failure, meeting with a celebrity for an interview, my first award from college , new buddies, the day I truly realized my worth, and...The day I finally cried.

Ups and down at home, squabbles with cousins, uncle’s birthday bash, family vacation, and many more incidents that ripped, tore, mended my heart. And before even I could realize - I was crying. Tears streaked my face in an inconsolable stream. All the pent up emotions, frustrations and agonies resurfaced. I was ashamed. I was ashamed of crying. Still, I cried with all the strength I could muster. I cried with gratitude, I cried in pain, I cried for others. I cried until I went to bed.

I woke up with a sore throat, still dazed and realized that the diary which was so much a part of me had been forgotten. I hastily flipped to the last entry. It was dated August 14th. Exactly a week before something in me died. Forever.

But all the bawling I did certainly made me feel lighter. Though I hate to admit it –it does feel good to let out emotions once in a while. Maybe there is still hope.