It was a misty, dreary morning. There was something off about the day. The cook had called in sick at the last moment. I had an article submission deadline to meet. And then my periods arrived just in time, as if to fan the flames. As I tried to gather the scattered ‘me’, my few months short 5-year-old spilled a bottle of juice on the floor, inadvertently of course.
That empty feeling has become a part of me. Indispensable to my existence. It gives me the fuel to keep running through the mundane. I do not feel exhausted anymore because there is nothing remaining to get drained out from within.
The moment someone starts filling the gaps and voids, I begin to feel uneasy, unsettled, sometimes even anxious. This unknown space is deceptive. I know the bliss is temporary. Which is why I dash into the emptiness again – that feeling of nothing, but a comfortable nothing.