I am sitting on the heart of this city
Letting it teach me how to say goodbye
Tucking myself into the folds of its hills,
And it feels like crawling into bed with someone who is grumpy in the morning but still loves the shape of your thighs.
When I try to stuff my pockets with keepsakes,
It is only because I am trying to remember the exact street corners where I met every version
Of the self I am trying to become.
post-grad and an unbearable lightness.
I woke up today and made a list.
- Do the laundry
- Clean out the fridge
- Organize the closet
- Clean the kitchen
A very simple list with four very simple tasks.
I graduated college yesterday. The people that I’ve loved and laughed and cried with are long gone, driving and flying further away from this wonderful little life that we created for ourselves, weighed down by possessions and memories accumulated over the past four years. But I, I feel light as a feather – with nothing to do and no one to call in a city that no longer feels like home.
“So this is freedom” - my first thought when I woke up.
“It is unbearable” - my second.
That’s how I would describe post-grad life - an unbearable lightness. There is nothing and no one to tie me down to this place anymore.
So I made a list. A list with bullet points in the hope that those four bullet points would tether me to reality, stop me from floating away to a place of lightness and nothingness and emptiness and that terrible, nagging question – what was it all for?
If you know, please tell me.
i am swimming in a sea of black hefty, trash bags dotted with islands of spiral-bound graph notebooks, index cards, old papers and exams.
3 years. 8 months. 16 days. and all i am left with are garbage bags filled with old papers and a tissue box that we stole from the medical school for “inspiration”, the rose that you gave me that night when we danced in the festival of lights, a chunk of the white marble wall from the village entrance that we dropped off the roof of our freshman dorm.
how do you fit 3 years, 8 months, and 16 days into thirty hefty garbage bags?
and do you ever wonder what it’s all for if it all comes to an end anyway?
Note to Self:
On letting go.
Being in love with someone may not even be a question but that doesn’t make it an answer either.