Few days ago, when I left my young one at her grandparents’ house for the vacation, I was perplexed at the mixed emotions. On one hand there was the freedom, which I have been so longing for, allowing me to fly away and do things which were restricted by the presence of a young child, but there was also the guilt that I am keeping a young child away from her mother.
Hours later, I was proved totally wrong, when she called on my mobile phone, to let us know of her busy schedule throughout the day. Not hearing an inkling of even a tiny bit of missing from her part, the reality dawned onto me slowly, that its us parents who long for the children than vice versa.
I could slowly sense the shaken feeling of every mother whose child has flown away from her nest or has a grown up child. The mere existence and meanings of life are pondered about in seconds, when we recenter ourselves and allow the dust to settle again at the bottom.
There was always a backup plan of doing freelance writing once N joined full time school, but never knew it would arrive so soon. Dealing with sore throat and other health issues which rains as an aftermath of travels, I try convincing myself to embark on a reinventing journey armed with all the insecurities of an innocent fresher.
But every nook and corner of this house reminds me of her invisible presence, her hugs, her smiles, her love you’s, her repeated calls burdening my heart with a deep sigh, and leaving my eyes moist.
As I compose myself, I am left with the truth that as much as I ran away from myself all these years, and hide under the pretext of being a wife and mother and other roles, there comes a time, when you have to face it all alone to take a stand for ourselves. To decode the answers for myself seeking an identity…
Who am I?
