i want to write rain

we could talk about depression

Andre and I talk sometimes about our respective states of mind. I call it depression. He calls it his lows. Today, he said he tried for a number of years to "drown in wine and women" to get out of that state of mind, until he finally woke up one morning and realized that hurting others wasn't going to help him. He needed to sort his mind out first. And so he did that.
I'm curious which side of the bed one has to wake up on to just wake up to a resolution like that.
Anyway.
When we were having this conversation today, he was talking to me between baking stuffed croissants and shallow-frying meat-balls, and nursing his son, who's down with flu.
When we were having this conversation, I was sitting at home, like I do most Sundays, feeling bloated and allowing the weighing machine to make me feel worse about myself.
The only similarity between his state and mine was that we were both home today. Him, taking care of his children. And me, hanging with my dog and my nephew, and my ageing parents...all children in a sense.
I don't know if this is what it means to arrive at middle-age. You fret over your graying hair, the changing measurement of your waist-line and worry about a mind that doesn't seem as hip as the rest of the world on social media does.
Andre always tries to make me feel better when I'm feeling 'low'. He tells me I'm one of the most intelligent and attractive women he's ever met. And I feel like he's merely being generous with his use of adjectives because he feels like I need help.  There goes my cynicism!
For me, the core struggle comes from having to face the world. I have no courage. And it takes everything out of me to try everyday. I could only begin to think of who I am, once I've managed to get myself out there. 
This has always been my everyday.
  

Yearender yearender

Dear blog,
It's nice to be back on your page. I've always felt like this was my place to hide. although, it has also been my place to be. I came to you in my years of turmoil, when the only way to get it out of my system was to write.
I no longer write.
And I think I might if I kept you closer.
Today, as a tradition of writing yearenders, I felt like I owed you my annual visit. To say thank you. And along with you, so say thank you to every single person who has loved me and let me be. I've been very lucky in friendships. Never lucky in love. But I guess we can never have everything we want.
I hope to keep coming back to your pages in the new year.
Love,
P

frozen

Today, someone showed us a video on bullying and for a few minutes, I felt like I had frozen. It all builds up.

dearest

you have me reminded of who we used to be. i went to your blog today and was pleasantly surprised by how you have managed to stay intact. i've been away, far too long, i think. i forget what it is like to be a girl. i forget how it feels to spread our my arms wide and soak it all in. but you're still out there doing that. taking it all in. be it sleeplessness or other things. you've stayed beautiful through it all, Sumi.

Stop this madness

Madness is a distant dream
that I wanted to touch
like it were something
tangible.
I was thinking
it was going to be
of flesh and bones
warm here
cool there,

soft-supple-firm

just like you

but madness,
is only make-believe

Lame new year post

This year will be new. I've decided.
Last year, I made no decisions to begin with. But changes happened.
I quit a job I had worked over a decade at. I ventured into fresh territories without thinking much about consequences.
I let new friends warm my heart. I allowed new loves to approach me.
In all of this, my heart grieved what I had lost. Refused to budge. So, for now, the heart will have to be calm and wait for this to pass. Everything passes in time. Maybe heartbreaks do, too. And maybe they turn into calluses-- thick and deep and unforgiving.
But we are about fresh starts today. We shall do things that make us stronger and happier.