If there ever was a natural bend for a human to be something, creative, analytical, social; I have realized what mine is. I was meant to be discovering. Maybe even thinking that I am there, rejoicing a victory, but still, in the end, discovering it. One day, long back, I discovered joy, and I have still not stopped writing about it. I walked out of numbness and have not stopped preaching to feel. I tell friends to not be scared of feelings. I open my heart to them. On buses, trains, bar stools, lake banks, and college terraces, rebelliously.
But when I go back to my room, I discover that I am worried. I cover up everything I opened, the fresh vulnerability with extra bandages so if they come to stab, it will show a little less. I always brace for impact. I discover hence, how people commit violence out of vulnerability. I opened my heart to a stranger sitting on a staircase drinking hot chocolate. How brave I felt, I discovered; bravery melts into sobs at night at the fear of being realized an impostor. I put my book in the fridge. The book deserved better for making me feel attachment, pain, fear, longing, and plain rock-solid loneliness.
My mind, as it does, ran to distractions, opened Youtube. We watched angry George Carlin before we stumbled upon, or should I say the video of Phil Kay stumbled upon me and I felt, again. Sitting in front of a piece of paper I got him to write his favorite word on. ‘Unencumbered’, he wrote. And unencumbered, I discovered I could feel.