As Anjali and I drove off for a cup of coffee, I was thinking, "as I oft do nowadays," had I managed to mitigate the pain of the loss that showered on her when this guy had left her and the loss had left her shattered. But this had been a couple of years back and her countenance was much better now and she felt totally at ease with herself again, I could sense the relief writ large on her face, like a dam had burst sometime back and now was beginning to fill and drain the natural way. Humans are like gunny bags filled with sand, fill them too much and they burst, drain them periodically before you fill them up again and all would be well. I think Anjali had a third mechanism in place and that was that she had a small hole in the bottom of that sack now, so when the pressure was high on her gunny sack, this hole would leak and act like a safety valve.
As we walked into a cafe, I could hear the noises filtering outside, clanks of cutlery, the talk and chatter and the hiss of steam and music. It was wonderful to smell fresh coffee, "and I immediately told her so," she concurred and we sat down on an empty table besides the large window that overlooked a tree lined avenue. She wanted to talk, it was her time to empty her gunny sack, "and I loved to talk to her didn't I," we waited till the waiter had served us, Irish for me and regular for her and then I looked at her in wonder, she had come a long way, a mature woman comfortable with herself and her sexuality, she winked at the waiter and asked him for more sugar and I teased her about her weight. The coffee smell got my mind going and I asked her, "Do You Miss Him ?" "I don't," was the immediate reply as she stirred the sugar in the coffee, "and yet his thought is there in my mind even now."
Suddenly something triggered a stream of memories and words began to flow, "I had heard all about it before," and yet it was new to me, my memory unlike hers tended to forget sometimes and then remember in a lightening flash, so she still occasionally thought of this guy, however he had been a downright possessive and obsessive lover, "as most men are sometimes," however to be possessive is one thing and not to admit your own love to the person of your attention another. This absolute myopia had been hard to understand, "like the pigeon that refused to see the cat by shutting its eyes," and had been fraught with danger for both of them. He had managed to walk away unscathed by shouting and screaming his way through the relation, Anjali on the other hand had respected him too much to walk away unhurt, she had lived and relived those bitter sequences in her mind time and again and that had left her mind scathed.
Different people handle their emotional trauma differently, some just let go of everything, others fight their own emotions and still others are scared to admit to even to themselves their deepest fears. Anjali had survived because she was a survivor and the will to live had never left her, even when the deepest suicidal thoughts haunted her. Her inner self had refused to believe that there was something wrong with her that had forced her love to leave her, and as I was to find out later, after the relationship ended she had grown to be more in love with herself and spent more time stirring up her soul with her own personal stories and tales, self belief was a very strong part of her character.
I Was Born To Live.
As we walked into a cafe, I could hear the noises filtering outside, clanks of cutlery, the talk and chatter and the hiss of steam and music. It was wonderful to smell fresh coffee, "and I immediately told her so," she concurred and we sat down on an empty table besides the large window that overlooked a tree lined avenue. She wanted to talk, it was her time to empty her gunny sack, "and I loved to talk to her didn't I," we waited till the waiter had served us, Irish for me and regular for her and then I looked at her in wonder, she had come a long way, a mature woman comfortable with herself and her sexuality, she winked at the waiter and asked him for more sugar and I teased her about her weight. The coffee smell got my mind going and I asked her, "Do You Miss Him ?" "I don't," was the immediate reply as she stirred the sugar in the coffee, "and yet his thought is there in my mind even now."
Suddenly something triggered a stream of memories and words began to flow, "I had heard all about it before," and yet it was new to me, my memory unlike hers tended to forget sometimes and then remember in a lightening flash, so she still occasionally thought of this guy, however he had been a downright possessive and obsessive lover, "as most men are sometimes," however to be possessive is one thing and not to admit your own love to the person of your attention another. This absolute myopia had been hard to understand, "like the pigeon that refused to see the cat by shutting its eyes," and had been fraught with danger for both of them. He had managed to walk away unscathed by shouting and screaming his way through the relation, Anjali on the other hand had respected him too much to walk away unhurt, she had lived and relived those bitter sequences in her mind time and again and that had left her mind scathed.
Different people handle their emotional trauma differently, some just let go of everything, others fight their own emotions and still others are scared to admit to even to themselves their deepest fears. Anjali had survived because she was a survivor and the will to live had never left her, even when the deepest suicidal thoughts haunted her. Her inner self had refused to believe that there was something wrong with her that had forced her love to leave her, and as I was to find out later, after the relationship ended she had grown to be more in love with herself and spent more time stirring up her soul with her own personal stories and tales, self belief was a very strong part of her character.
I Was Born To Live.
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