You live until you are a fully developed grown-up. And then you start asking questions.

Like, why do I believe in things that I believe in? All those things: love, society, religion, money, death?

Pause it for a sec. I was so smart, so carefree and so lucky, how did pain happen? No, seriously. To me? To me. No.

When my parents paraded their wounds and taught me that life was hard, I laughed. My life was easy, I knew all the answers. They warned me that I should get my head out of the clouds. I laughed.

I moved all the way across the ocean to get away from their gloom, their unfulfillment. Life is full of irony – I repeated many of their mistakes. I turned out to be their daughter.

And when I faced real fear and real loneliness (the type that doesn’t go away after you mutter “Om, Om goddamit!”), my parents’ fears were ever so happy to re-unite with my own. Then I understood.

Through pain, I learnt that everything came at a price. I learnt that my freedom was a very expensive thing. I should’ve known that it wasn’t just a metaphor.

So many things have happened since I ran away and into my future. My future has started a long time ago. A simple enumeration of my life’s facts reads like a Hollywood movie – as if I did it on purpose, and it freaks me out. I didn’t.  It was not supposed to be me. My life was supposed to be smooth and easy. Is it the way it works for… everyone?

Wait, God. Why did my parents parade their wounds? And my parents’ parents? And so on, like a Russian doll? From one generation to another, passing a bowl of poison with the best intentions in the world?

My parents… Were they happy when they were younger? Did they also assume that their lives were going to be different? I don’t even want to think about it. I know the answer and it is giving me chills.

“Break the spell,  – I whisper to my heart. -  I should be fearless. I should break free. I will bite, I will love, I will love and I will bite. Because without love, nothing makes sense. And if they try to steal my strength, I will bite like a street dog. ”

I am all worked up. You can unpause.

You live until you are a fully developed grown-up. And then you start asking questions.

Like, why do I believe in things that I believe in? All those things: love, society, religion, money, death?

And suddenly, facts hit you like a fist of steel.

You realize that most of the things that you have taken in with your mother’s milk, are a collection of folklore. Random approximations, inaccurate statements seeded with a possibility for love. Kali Yuga is not a joke.

Your heart is visibly bleeding as your perfect self is absolutely calm and unshakable. You look around. You keep a tally:

Religion: tampered with.

Society: a sum of individual dreams and fears. A drive for respect. Beautiful people. Largely clueless, and often envious.

Love: photoshopped.

Sex:  medicated.

And there you stand, agape and alone, as a thousand commercials for panaceas for broken people are trying to invite themselves to the party.

This is not good, you think. And you realize that you are your own god, in addition to the one above. But even that, even that – you have already heard that somewhere, and the privilege cost you $1,999 plus hotel.

The speaker was charming.

And you realize that you are your own god, in addition to the one above. That you are one, and you are all. That you know nothing and it’s a promise.

Photo credit: D. Sharon Pruitt

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