Myra looked at the clock that had slowed down by dusk. It was time to recharge the batteries, but she let time pause for a while. She was in no mood to walk her dog or cook a meal that day. A long walk by herself, wrapped in snug silence whilst sniffing the weighty wintery air, seemed more like the downtime she needed. She looked around and noticed a fraction of the world, gathered around a water fountain that was about to spring to life with vivid colours and funky beats. Her eyes fell on the ripples rising steadily from the bottom of the pool as some of them began to throw coins, making a secret wish which the sacred water was assumed to decipher and fulfil. One-third of her life, and more, had slipped away worrying about a world of this kind. A world that stood at the feet of a monument, breathing life into it only to evoke their innate senses, lighting it with hues and melodies that tempered their longings. She came from a world that had constantly ingrained in her, the need to rise beyond her compass and spring towards a premeditated curve of normality or an oddly defined state of greatness, making her feel like she was some incurable black sheep.
‘Well! You could do more. Oh, dear! You must give more. Why don’t you care more?’ The slogans continued, more often within her own dubious mind that had failed to see, for most part of her adult life, how everyone desired to paint an ideal with an ombré from their lacklustre life. So, even when they fell in love, it was not with the person, but a possibility, a promise, a potential they hoped to unlock. Her myriad forms, some of which she had painfully manifested for the sake of an impossible love, feeding into souls that were perennially needy, stemming from people’s giant hope. She transformed into a cheerleader, a muse, a trusted advisor, sometimes a shrink, a jester, a handyman, and even a mother to a few. Myra had become the dreamcatcher they would turn to when their souls were battered or cursed, devoid of hunger and sleep. And yet, when her night was dark, she found herself trapped in one-way streets and the massive dead-ends, with no sign of light around her, catapulting her into a dreadful abyss, alone, broken and sore, sometimes taking years to heal.
And, for the first time in so many years, did she allow herself the time to pause, hibernate, rewind, recharge, and tune her mind to being in the adult. A mind-space free of early conditioning and the moral compass so often thrown at her. The cosy cocoon had opened up the frontiers of her mind, the one she had given away so freely and for no good reason. The whistling distance, she had chosen to stay within, had to be abandoned. She was finally learning to read her own thoughts before anyone else’s. And strangely, she began to see, as clear as a bolt of lightening amidst the poignant prussian blue, that every relationship easily fit into the same four quadrants. First quadrant was filled with Bewilderment, the not-so-sure stage and the final chance for a rain-check. From that point forward, came an unstoppable glide, the quadrant of Euphoria, pulsating every second with limitless ecstasy. Next came the quadrant of Familiarity, the only quadrant that kept expanding endlessly, eating into every other quadrant, till there was no room left for anything but the Fall Out – the last and the final quadrant. The start to a tragic end takes place in the third quadrant, a sacred and cursed space, that let them grow and eventually outgrow on each other. No matter how promising a relationship seemed at the beginning, the end was always the same, painstakingly predictable. The one-way streets and the dead-ends would eventually show up. And after four and a half hauntingly beautiful relationships, each leading her closer to the person she was meant to be, Myra had finally discovered a fifth quadrant. An exclusive space reserved for her own longings, laced on top of the four familiar boxes. Where she could colour her soul everyday, with infinite hues arching between a wide spectrum of the infra-red and the ultra-violet. ‘The Limited Edition’ she had metamorphosed into, exclusive, for people without one-way streets and dead-ends, had begun to unfold.