STITCHES

I lean against the railing on the roof, my hair dangling seven floors above the ground. The Sun is setting over the horizon, painting the sky stark with orange and red streaks. A hollowness in my chest aches for the sensation of warmth and joy, but my mind does not comply. I blink, almost straining to keep my eyes focused. My fingers dig deeper into my arms, and I shake a little with the sudden sharp sensation of nails pressed against skin. My throat feels heavy, my mouth parched, making it hard to swallow.

The Sun has sunk completely now. The birds have quietened down, retiring to their nests for the night. The trees stand still, and for a second, it is quieter than a funeral. A wave of blues and dusk falls.

As I grow older, the charm of New Year’s Eve is ebbing away. 11:59, December 31 and 00:00, January 1 are not magically different, except that the new calendar, gifted by a family friend, begins to itch to be hung on the wall.

The transition of 2020 to 2021 was different. There was nervous, excited, nearly wild, apprehension for the cursed year to end. When it did, for the first time in ages, I felt hope. Hope. It is a blanket in the cold, a sip of water in a desert, a spark in a dark room. It activates you. You want to hold onto it, because letting go of hope translates to giving up on everything.

Running high on this newfound optimism, I decided to have a New Year’s Resolution. The running joke with this, is that many hardly ever follow through with what they decided. I know 2021 has been bestowed with unrealistic expectations, and I did not want to add to it. So, I promised myself one thing: this year, I will heal and be happy.

Numerous individuals have lost something in 2020, and the wounds have been cast deep, opened raw and bled dry. The emotional exhaustion that has been experienced is scarring. It is tempting to ask for an increase in earnings, a betterment in living conditions, the admission to one’s dream college. It appears the solution to every bad thing that took place. However, all this will give joy only briefly, because trauma induced pain does not go away easily.

Therefore, I want to ask for time to heal. Getting out of the damage caused by what happened last year will not be an overnight process. I need time to get better. You need time to get better. Every single one of us does.

If anybody believes that adversity is over, because we had more than a lifetime’s worth in one year, then they are living in a bubble that will burst open and drop them down quite painfully back to reality. Hard times will come, and we will have to deal with it. Right now, we are not ready to. To be, the fifty-two weeks to come must be earmarked for rehabilitation.

I control nothing of your life, but I can advise you. Give yourself that buffer. That space between one hardship and another to become better. Not to wallow in pity, but to channelize your emotions towards something that makes you feel at peace. Granted, it will take time to feel happy again, to smile and have it reach your eyes, but until then, nurse yourself back to health. It is important, more than anything else, right now.

The stars slowly twinkle into existence. The crescent Moon, reflecting light that its celestial significant other emits, shines brightly. Leaves glitter all around the street, like tiny jewels of nature. There are no cars whizzing past each other on the streets, no sounds of drilling from the construction in the neighborhood, no abusive husband shouting at his wife and children. For once, there is tranquility. A sensation of comfort, almost a motherly touch, spreads throughout my body. My eyelids flicker wide open, taking in the dimly lit surroundings, a place where I can laugh, cry, fume, despair, freely. A small smile traces itself across my lips, as I continue to stare at the scene, preparing myself to fight another day, taking in the brief moment of respite until the cracks of dawn appear again.