The Habit of Us

 Here I am, writing about us, which once started with writing only about you. The poems, the random things I have written, though nothing was done “randomly”, it was all out of either overflowing emotions or just mere aggression or the urge to hold on my feelings for too long. I still remember the day I fell ill, a day spent in tears, yet paradoxically filled with inspiration. I wrote 7 poems that day, all born from the “random” gush of feelings that came and went soon after I penned them down.  

As if, those feelings were desperate to jump out of me to release on the paper just to give a voice to themselves.

I thought it will be easier for me to write about you. But here I am, looking at the cursor while it flashes, thinking about the most appropriate word to start my next sentence with. Ah! The urge to sound sensible. I feel like I am at a stage of conflict between intention and execution. I thought writing about someone so dear would be easier, straightforward and something that will not take much of my mental energy, thus I find myself in a common misconception that expressing deep emotions is easy. Isn’t it true that talking about our habits has always been seen as the most automatic way to connect, where we reveal the patterns of our daily lives while often masking the deeper, unspoken truths that lie beneath the surface?

I have been banging the table and humming the song ramaiya vasta vaiya, ramaiya vasta vaiya, maine dil tujhko diya... from the last 5 minutes, torn between the decision to get up and connect the charger or just wait for the battery saver mode to turn on. Should I shut down the laptop and surrender to sleep? The urgency to pen down every random thought won’t let me sleep otherwise. You know sometimes, it is okay to fantasize a certain scenario but when you fall back in the reality that’s when it starts to hit you and make you realize how your mind works against your heart.

One thing which is undeniably clear is that the heart often craves connection and expression, while the mind wrestles with practicality and exhaustion. The more I stumbled upon your presence on social media, the more I found myself wanting to connect with you again. Yet, as we both grow into well-organized individuals, that desire has begun to wane. It’s as if the very familiarity that once drew us together has now become a reminder of the distance that has formed between us. In this mix of wanting to reconnect and figuring out who we are, I understand that connection isn’t just about trying to revive old friendships; it’s also about exploring the new paths we’re each taking in our lives.

Hence, I find myself indifferent to the echoes of our past. Each habit feels more like a faint and distanced memory than a connection, and your presence no longer stirs anything within me. I’ve cultivated a garden of self-reliance, where your absence holds no weight, and the silence sings a melody of independence. 

As I stand unbothered by the traces of our connection, I have learned to embrace the solitude that nurtures my soul, leaving behind the lingering traces of the habit of us.