I found this quote by Zora Neale Hurston in a beautifully written book (The Yellow House) that I am reading:
"There are years that ask questions, and years that answer."
the last two years for me have melted away, often confused with each other, in a sticky blur. I kept rephrasing to myself what I was doing, as I slowly got more insight into what I wanted to do and what it felt like I was able to do. this year felt, even before it started, like it would finally bring some answers.
the year that began the questioning, however, was 2017. a year in which a lot happened - now in hindsight - without the impact of all that was happening finding its way into realization. we traveled together, I traveled alone pushing limits, I lost my job and realized I couldn't have received happier news, he finally quit his job he complained nearly daily about and found another where he's been happier, and of course we moved - a BIG move.
looking back, 2018 and 2019 have been more about finding myself in ways beyond those that I hoped it ever would. I tried other things, while growing surer of what I was doing, I grew up (the only texts on my tshirts now are brand names, and my wardrobe owns fewer tshirts now; these are just visible examples), I learned how to swim, I got to spend time with a grandmother before she left us, I also got to spend time with my sister while she was in bed after a torn ACL and reconstruction surgery, and I got to spend some time with my mom. I have also realized that I don't care how people I don't enjoy spending time with me think about me, and in these years for the very first time I started to have the courage to ignore or keep out unwanted people. I am now daily trying to replicate that wisdom, and the list of people grows as I move down my 'don't enjoy spending time with'-index. as a result, probably 2-3 weeks ago now, I uninstalled instagram and whatsapp from my phone. yes, there are conveniences lost, the biggest being free international calls and messages. but the very fact of free communication makes whatsapp a nuisance because people write and send much more than they would if there were a price to it. they begin to confuse between their free use of it, and their free use of my time. I have also stopped calling or visiting my mom-in-law unless there's an occasion, there's only so much bullshit I can tolerate or pointlessly argue against.
hardly anyone in these last two years understood me. he did though, and even defended me against 'well-intentioned' friends. a lot of people assumed a lot of reasons, and gave me a lot of unwanted advice that was counterproductive. while others got married, had kids, and withdrew into their ever-tired lives. some others became over-zealous in their religion/politics/nationality and thus became unpleasant company.
but still, we learned that we can go for walks 10 minutes away from home and sight foxes and neelgais. that between my classical indian and his rock/metal taste for music, we can meet at beautifully sung spanish folk songs accompanied by guitars. that I can shield him from stray dogs and he can me from lizards. that we can dance together although we are both horrible dancers. that coming back home and living a constrained life has made us a lil more humble, although we will always be snobs (that's what binds us together). and that we have learned to divide home chores more effectively according to our specialities and least cost/aversion natural allocation. and that we can order warm croissants on food delivery apps and wait as we shower together and then sit down over beetroot and carrot steaks home-cooked in coconut milk, broccoli made greener by stir-frying in olive oil, and the yummy 'desi' palak (I know not what its called in English; btw there's a great variety of fresh edible green leaves in Indian vegetable markets, especially those that are held weekly in neighborhoods) with red onions, also in olive oil, with warm croissants, for a weekend lunch. every relationship, every job, every hobby, is a means to understand life and our purpose in it, a lil better.
