Fortune. Destiny. Fate. Callings. God.
These secrets of the human race, those tantalizing tidbits that lie forever undiscovered.
These beliefs for which there can never be enough witnesses, never enough stories.
I heard it, they’ll say. I saw it with my own eyes.
But the what-ifs are always stronger.
. . .
Do you remember- those days when we told ourselves that if we wished for something hard enough, it would come true?
Those nights where we’d close our eyes, clasp our hands together, and murmur, again and again, this secret wish, willing it to life.
Or maybe pluck an eyelash, hold it against our thumbs, whisper a prayer with our breath.
Please, we might have said- to who, I’ll never know. I’ll do anything.
This silent desperation: I’ll do anything.
The world was simple then, a game of trade, an eye for an eye. If we did this mysterious ‘something’, plucked enough eyelashes, it was only fair- we reasoned- only fair to give us what we wanted.
Those countless conversations about what you could ask for, why some things work and others don’t, what we’ve done wrong.
The incessant questions, us bent over, trying to figure everything out, as if belief was just a puzzle, and if we shifted the pieces around enough times, everything would finally make sense.
The moments of hysteria, telling ourselves that it doesn’t matter; so, so close to giving up.
How long did it take us to understand? How many times did we have to be burnt?
. . .
And here we are today.
The inevitable shattered faith.
Maybe it happened in a single instant, a flash of light, eureka. I’ve had enough.
Or perhaps it was the cool receding of a wave, a void that stretches out further and further, until you realize the water’s all gone and it’s just your feet are steady on the sand again, free from the pull of the ocean.
Here we are, edging away from the fire, once burnt, forever shy. Some things just can’t be forgotten, can’t be forgiven.
Learning to rationalize, to justify, to reason.
Bred with well-thought-out opinions, cold facts and frigid certitude.
Bled out of all blind belief, all idealism.
We learn to forget, the magic of a faith in something that might not exist.
We learn to forget: that exquisite moment of the leap, not knowing whether you’ll come out the other side whole. But we were broken too many times.
. . .
Now: eyes wide open, opening doors with knives clutched behind our backs, sleep with daggers resting by our side.
Burn the bridges that have let us down so, so many times before.
We are level-headed, sober. Our feet steady on solid ground, in control.
Isn’t this what we’d wanted? Isn’t this safer, more prudent? Haven’t we finally figured it out, that there’s nothing worth trusting but ourselves?
But here’s what we’ll never tell you, here’s what we’ll never admit.
The jealousy, the sneaking doubt, it never truly leaves. When they say: I heard it. I saw it with my own eyes.
We’ll snub and dismiss, scorn and sneer. How naive, we might say. It’ll never last.
But inside, those flickers of doubt; singeing, searing doubt. Pretending the doubt doesn’t exist, as if it’ll disappear if we ignore it long enough.
The doubt, the what-ifs, the maybe’s, that eternal second of hesitation, that single leap into the void.
Belief. Tantalizing, taunting, tormenting belief.
Them, with their iron-clad blindness, leaping from the cliffs, coming back whole, euphoric. I saw it with my own eyes.
Us, with our memories, our scars, snickers and sneers.
Faith, this single, impenetrable divide, soaked in blood, brewed in death.
Faith. Belief. Trust.
I heard it. I saw it with my own eyes.
How long will it take for you to understand? How many times will you have to be burnt?
Fortune. Destiny. Fate. Callings. God.
Soaked in blood, limbs strewn all over, skulls lying discarded, forgotten.
Where’s your evidence?
Where’s your faith?
I don’t believe in you.
You, You, You.
Where is your faith?
. . .
In the past couple of months, I’ve been hearing from so many of you, asking me whether I could post more often on this page. I do try, but as a stubborn perfectionist, I’m not always able to get a piece out on time. I hope I can change that in the future.
But for now, if you’d like to read more from me, I’ve started to post shorter, 50-word pieces on my Facebook page, each day. Thoughts, musings, vignettes; it’s something that I hope will allow me to be less obsessed with elusive perfection, and become comfortable with the rawer, unpolished version of things.
I’ll still be publishing at least two posts a month on WordPress as well, though these will generally be longer pieces.
I don’t say this nearly enough, but thank you, thank you, thank you. You will never know how much this community has shaped me- as a writer, but also as an individual. How big of an impact you’ve had on my life.
People say ingratitude is an epidemic. It’s really the expression we get stuck on. Case in point, no matter how many times I edit a thank you note, it comes out sounding flat and formulaic.
But I need you to know that no matter how curt a ‘thank you’ can sound on the screen, I truly do appreciate it, every single note you send my way.
Faith doesn’t have to be religious.
For all those of you who’ve taken the time to read my work, give it a chance, give me a chance, offer a new perspective, feedback, praise, encouragement, you’ve given me faith.
In myself, in the world, in words, in art: you’ve made everything worth it.
What could I ever say to that?
PS In May 2019, I will be moving to a new web address. I’m shifting to a personal domain and I’m so, so excited for you to see it! Buying my domain is giving me so much more freedom for new features, design, and I can’t wait for you to get started there.
But on the downside, all those of you who’ve subscribed to my blog here WILL NOT be notified of new posts anymore. I’d hate for you to miss out just because I’ve shifted addresses, but WordPress doesn’t offer anything to straighten this out.
So to make sure the change is as smooth as possible, I’d be so grateful if you’d enter your email ID below so we can stay in touch. You can opt-out any time, no hard feelings. I hate spam and I’ll only be reaching out every two weeks or so for blog updates, I promise.
Thank you, again, for all your support.