The person I've become post-2015

I’ve been fucking up quite a bit in the last few weeks. Not in a major way. I’m still responsible. I ensure my safety in all situations. I associate with people I can trust. People I feel safe around. But there have been three or four times when I’ve forgotten to inform my mother about my whereabouts. This has resulted in her panicking, calling my father, and worrying about my safety.

Of course, once I explain what went on to my mother, she has accepted my words as the truth and I appreciate that. I appreciate the fact that I can tell her if I stay over at a male friend’s house. Or if I stay up all night talking to someone. I think the fact that I’m honest about my relationship with these people (it’s never romantic or sexual) puts her mind at ease but there still is a lot that is said and accepted based solely on trust.

And I’m grateful that I have a mother… that I have parents who trust that I will always do the right thing. Parents who will forgive me when I screw up. Parents who will listen and give me the time and space to explain myself.

Not everyone has this relationship with their parents, I’m realising. So Ammi and Thathee, I may not tell you this (assuming you are reading this) but I’m truly thankful that you don’t try to force me into a mould that you carved out for your daughter. Instead, you let me grow as a person. As an individual.

But this post in a blog I rarely update anymore is here for a different reason. During one of those recent fuck ups, my father sent me a message that went along the lines of “think about if Athamma would like it that you are going out so often.” And I’ve been thinking about that a lot today. What would Athamma think about the person I grew up to be during the past five years?

To take a short detour, there’s a reason why I’m thinking about this today. On the 1^st of March in 2015, Athamma, who was my entire life, passed away. We didn’t see it coming. I didn’t think she’d actually leave me. But she did. She died and it felt like a part of me was lost.

When people die, it feels like your life has been put on hold. It feels like you can’t move forward ever again. But life is strange that way, because even if you don’t move on and get over the loss of someone, life goes on. You find ways to get on with your days. Things to hold on to when you feel like you are drownings. Things to do when you can’t breathe. Maps to read when you are lost.

You find ways to survive, not because you want to but because you have to.

When Athamma died, I was a kid. I was 21, sure. I had a fulltime job. I had just started studying for a degree. I had a few close friends. I went out a bit. But I was immature. I was scared. I had no clue what kind of person I wanted to be.

So what she saw of me was someone who was rarely out past 9pm. Someone who had maybe had two cocktails in her entire life. Someone who had five or six friends. Someone who let their life be limited to work and home.

Then Athamma died and I carried on being this person for a few more months. Quit my job. Found another. And another. And another. Travelled, both with others and by myself. Made friends with people who didn’t belong to my usual work/school circles. Got to know more people.

And I slowly started becoming someone who did things they wanted to. Someone who knew what and who they liked and disliked. Someone who identified things they were comfortable with and situations that made them uneasy. Someone who built a safety net out of people that cared and loved.

And so I’m now a different person than the kid Athamma knew. And it breaks my heart sometimes that I’m not the same person. That I changed. That I am someone my grandmother isn’t here to see and know and love.

And I don’t know if she’ll like what I’ve become. I don’t know if I’ve become someone she can be proud of. But I hope that I’ve become some version of the person she hoped I would become. And I hope that if the universe had been kinder and let her live for a few more years that she would like this person I am now.

But here’s what I can tell her. Life has its massive downs. There are times when taking the next step takes more energy than I have. There are days when I withdraw from everyone and everything. When I can’t talk because I know I can’t do so without crying.

There are times when I long for company that my parents, brother, or cats can’t give me. When I seek the warmth of people I didn’t even know when my grandmother was alive.

But as bad and horrible as life can get, there is some good in it too. I’m coming out of my shell. I’ve met people I love with all my heart. People who take care of me. People who listen and understand and accept my truth without judgment. People who my grandmother would have loved.

And I’m making a life for myself. One that will have space for my parents’ expectations and dreams for me but is still what I want out of my time on this planet. And this life, it may take years and decades to build. Twig by twig, I will build it up. I won’t give up, even when the wind carries away those twigs. When other creatures scatter those twigs everywhere. Even when the rain washes everything away.

But in that life I eventually build for myself, there will always remain a part of the person you knew, Athamma. And my only hope is that if you ever do see me now or ten fifteen twenty years from now, that you are happy about the person I’ve become.

Because, please know this. I miss you terribly. I wish you didn’t have to leave me so soon. When I was so unprepared. But I’m finding my way in this world. I’m figuring out life without having you to run to when things get bad. And if you dig deep enough, you’ll see that beneath all of this, I’m happy. There’s joy and love in my life. And that’s all you can hope for, sometimes.