For as long as I remember, I’ve been terrified of death. If I let myself think about it, I’d be drowned in tears and would refuse to sleep the whole night.
I’ve tried speaking about it to my friends but what I needed to do most, was speak to myself about it. And so, here I am.
I’ve always viewed life as something that would happen to me when I was out there living on my own. And that until then, I would just survive. I wasn’t who I wanted to be and couldn’t do the things that called out to me. I was this real life Rapunzel who was barely allowed outside. And no, this is no millennial exaggeration. My definition of going out was not parties or dates or anything of that sort, I just wanted to walk to my grandmas house or cycle and explore places around me. I was also told who to speak to, what to wear and every small decision that I could make was made for me. I only dreamed of one thing. Living in a small space with myself, a lot of books and a cute cycle.
7 years later, that dream hasn’t changed. I am so so very close to getting there, that it seems surreal. Everything I’ve spent years living for is right here.
But before I get there, I wanted to tell myself that while I focused on surviving when inside my house, I was thriving outside. As I near 20, I can’t help but look back.
Sometime around 10 years ago, I came back from St. Louis to Thrissur, my hometown. The first year back was filled with mosquitoes, exploring my house and relearning Hindi and Malayalam. I clearly remember asking my dad for mosquito spray. I still suffer from those assholes, but I’m slightly more tolerant now. I also remember feeling slightly alone and being the ostrich in class. But things took a turn for the better.
I’ll continue this train of thought in my next post. I have 9 years left to summarize. But for now, I’m working on living, not surviving.
A fourth grade Ammu.
PS, I’m the one in the hella cool glasses.