Pages From My Journal

5th October, 2020

Dear diary,

Its a weird feeling of absolute and incomprehensible satisfaction, truly being and embracing me. Like I know I'm this fiercely independent, headfast and determined girl, treasuring my liberty and freedom and solitude more than anything. More than a pair of shiny black red soled Christian Louboutins. I'm so obsessed with the idea of being a red helium balloon, someone never held back, so free, someone so, me. And I think I love that about myself. I hate the idea of tying myself to anyone, so passionately, that even the thought of being in a relationship that binds me to a person mentally and emotionally let alone physically or legally, is downright nauseating and sick. Like deep down in my stomach I feel disgusted.

Most nights, when I lay in bed at night, or just cuddle up in a chair reading another one of those dastardly romance novels, I think, will I ever feel the same way? And yes, my body might physically respond with a few delicious heated waves, but that's just the present. Then, I'm not envisioning the future. That, one day, if I do get tied to someone, who yes, I will love more than I loved myself maybe.. But I will never again lie alone in bed, I will never stay curled up in a chair reading a book and imagining the characters in it falling in love and being dreamy. Because, I will no longer be free to do that. My mind will directly take me to him. How utterly utterly disgusting will that be? To feel unsettled about dreaming beyond everything.

And that's when I remind myself of how fiercely in love I am, with me. With how I've deep down accepted that I'll never tie myself to another. Fall I will, with many, countless of them perhaps. But never one forever.

Marriage or relationships isn't just dal chawal for the rest of your life. Its having to live with the same smell, touch, feelings, behavior, attitude and most importantly person for too fucking long. Like fuck, if that isn't the most sickening thing.

I'll never experience the thrill of missing or wanting someone, because the chase is over. Some day you'll want to wake up alone, sleep alone, cook alone, watch TV alone, read alone, be alone and feel alone. But you're not. And I cherish being alone way too fucking much to ever give up that feeling.

Sometimes when I write my book and get to the part, where the characters fall in love and it comes to the confessing part, the part when they say the shit and seal the deal, I stop. I just cant type or think or process. Its just blank. I'm a sucker for happy endings and that's one of the never reasons I never completed The Fault in Our Stars. But the thought of writing a sweet sappy, nauseatingly perfect ending, well, I don't know, its weird. I'm going to do it, but fuck. Ew.

I don't know what my happy ending will be. If I'll still feel the same way 5 years down the line, but I'm open to that. I'm open to change and trying things. New experiences. Its just that, right now. I cant. I need my space and time and just being around me.

Love,
Chhavi