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Tell me how do I fight with my body, when there’s no fight left in my mind?

Understanding the diagnosis was hard, chemotherapy was harder, but honestly, becoming myself again was the hardest.
I spent countless hours, mulling over the meaning of my existence, reliving, in my thoughts, each experience that I had once cherished. It took some time for me to grasp hold of reality, to accept that my life had not ended as soon as the verdict on my condition had been passed. To not give up, or give in, to accept that these were the cards that fate had dealt me and that the outcome was still in my hands, no matter how powerless they seemed was an exhausting mental excercise.

My perception of my body shifted within a matter of seconds, and I subsequently spent hours figuring out how something foreign, something unwanted was allowed to grow inside of me, against my own will; and I kept staring at my hands as if they weren’t my own, As if I was held captive in my own body, as if I had lost all control.
When I saw the faces of those dear to me, all I could see was death staring back.

It was difficult, learning to accept their kind words with grace, and recognising sympathy instead of feeling pitied. Accepting that those who loved me were trying their best to be supportive, keeping me in their prayers.
Understanding what they were going through, how it felt to be with someone whose time in this world seemed limited, and to keep myself from leaving them to save them from pain of my soon-to-be death. On some days, it was so painful, that forcing myself to smile would bring tears to my eyes, and everything the doctors, motivational speakers, writers and my friends said sounded exactly the same.

How do you stay positive when everyone gets to age beautifully and i’m asked to lose all my hair just to survive till the next month? When my 4yr old daughter has to see her mother’s body pricked with needles, when my husband has to hold back my hair every night, watching the woman he loves, vomiting, lying on the bathroom floor, exhausted, crying? When I can’t get myself tell my dad, that he might see his daughter pass away before he does, because he might not survive losing me?
Tell me how do I fight with my body, when there’s no fight left in my mind?

Every waking minute seemed surreal, almost dream like and every morning I hoped to wake up from this nightmare.
Nothing felt important any longer, everything started to pale in comparison, but at the same time, the smallest things had never mattered to me more. The hope, the prayers,and the words of those who love me forced me to hold on for the sake of my life, even when there was nothing to hold onto,
and I spent the nights waiting, to emerge into a new dawn, a dawn
when the chemotherapy would have finally run it’s course, and the reports would sing a happy song.


happy, yet untrusting

In between nights filled with intriguing yet light hearted conversation and mornings with your charasmatically crooked smile, it was impossible to tell when you became mesmerized
with me, and I couldn’t believe that I was capable of making someone feel that way.
Despite the risk of sounding cliche, I admit that you taught me to be happy, and I was, with you, happy yet untrusting, and it’s become my greatest

Then why did I walk away? I ask myself this question often, the answer is because I was afraid that you’d grow tired. Tired of all the work you’d put in this relationship, all the soul you’d have to invest in me, and yet it didn’t keep me from wondering, rather, from being afraid that you wouldn’t think about what could’ve been. I know how horrribly selfish it sounds but weren’t you the one who taught me to be selfish, to ask you for whatever I wanted, and albeit my friends’s constant reminder that it’s your loss, my conscience tells me that it’s mine too.
I think a lot about that one midnight, when the words kept rolling off your tongue, “I was crazy about you.” you said, and it left me yearning in a way I didn’t think I ever would, it made the world start to spin, but what it didn’t do, was bring you back to our safe Haven.
I knew acceptance of what had been lost would come gradually, but in that instance, the realization of how I pushed you into the arms of the demons that haunt you now was definite, and all of the blame was upon me to shoulder.


He was, as simple as quantum physics.”

What was he like?
He was, as simple as quantum physics, he’d often say.
He could made you feel like you were crazy, and like he was crazy, but he also made you feel like you were genius, maybe because he was a genius.
I never dared to make sense of what made him; him, and quite frankly, he didn’t care about the opinions of this world, maybe not even mine. It was mediocrity that affected him, and that’s probably why he created sheer magic in everything he did. It’s like he celebrated his work, and we celebrated his brilliance. As he’d pour his heart and soul into whatever he’d pick up, he would remind me that it’s about quality, not vanity; never vanity.

He made his life more than just his career, and his accomplishments were multifold- he’d read Sartre, idiolise Nietzsche, study astronomy, learn stoicism. He could play the guitar, practise prose, write with his left hand and his right. He’d invest his time and his money in charities, or in science projects, or in innovations that were beyond the comprehension of both, you and me. Music, culture, art, stars, poetry, books, he gave them all to me, he gave me memories. His intelligence was beyond belief and yet he was the kind of person that touched every life he ever crossed paths with. Knowing him was loving him.

Was he whimsical? God, he’d turn his phone off and leave to fish or farm or whatever he’d fancy that week. He’d walk out of award parties, if he was bored, even if his own award hadn’t been called out yet. He wasn’t afraid to burn down metaphorical bridges that needed to be set on fire, and to use them to light his way.
He said he wasn’t made for this rat race, and i agreed because he already had his own kingdom. He was my fighter, smiling, as he broke every rule and made his own place in the sun. Happy being the outsider, never demanding to be let in into this society. No, he wasn’t shunned, he just rejected your lobbies, your small talk, and all the fake friends. You had to be so much more than a bloody trophy to hold his attention.
He taught me to care about saving the world, he made me want to go to Mars myself, he became my Mozart, a force of nature itself, my best friend.
If you couldn’t see him for what he really was, you might as well dont because he’s was just too good for you all.

inspiration: rohini iyer #justice4ssr