I can't believe I'm doing it again. When I relocated for the first time, I was expecting a new life, full of opportunities and some happiness, and of course, solace. I cannot believe this is happening again. Again. Is life really ad or is it just me who was born with a stroke of luck like this?
Do you ever get that feeling, when you know something is about to end badly, but you cannot stop yourself midway because the thrill has gotten the best of you and you end up in a place you least expected, or maybe even dead? Dead, well, not really, but close. Do you ever hear your voice which keeps telling you to quit what you're doing and retrace your claws but yo stubborn self will no succumb to those wise words and will continue to lay on the path of eternal stupidity? Yeah, it's not a wise thing to d. Take it from me.
I feel it in the fabric of my clothes. I feel it in the air around me. I feel it all- this hurt, this disdain, this heartache- all of it. I feel it with every breath I take, which at this point, I wish I wasn't breathing.
Isn't it funny, like, really funny, when you imagine your coming days to be full of happiness that you never could have imagined with someone who was supposed to stay with you- your partner, your soul-mate, you better-half; your everything? The person who you thought could never possibly hurt you, not even unintentionally. But then reality strikes you and you can no longer sense ay ray of being happy in your life and everything is engulfing and dark, into the pits of sadness, to the very core of your soul.
How do you go back to living your life the way you did before they came along and showed you the colours between your black and gray shades? Come to think of it, maybe gray and black and white were never really bad but now you're nothing but a small part in the universe, left longing for the colours which filled your heart but now have drained the life of you, completely?
The streets of Mumbai never looked scarier, darker and haunted. The city was supposed to fulfil all my dreams and goals and ambitions. But a wrong step from my end and now I'm on a hideout for two weeks. Finally, good riddance, Mumbai. I hope I don't see you again anytime soon.
I will thoroughly miss my friends, my apartment, and my family, my everything. I am leaving behind everything. My identity is what it has cost me.
I used to crave long walks by the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing along the shore was smooth. So smooth that it would magically crease any crack I had in my heart, my brain or me. I want to walk by the ocean, but only to walk right into the ocean.
I'd always known, I would give up everything for love. Everything! I would light myself up if it meant keeping him warm. I would do it so discreetly that nobody would ever figure. Because I never wanted to be labelled as someone doing it just to show the world. Cause it doesn't work like that. It is special. I want to do everything in my power to keep him happy. Even after all this, I still do. only for him. Only!
But when I imagined that, never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd need to give up on my identity, like that?
Life isn't going to be the same after this. This night, I can't even bring myself to look up at the sky from the glassy airport walls. The sky I used to admire, and the moon I used to talk to, my constant companion. Because I have nothing left to say. What do I say? How do I form words? The sky is dark. A pitch black. But even in this pitch-black canvas, there are shimmers and glitter, the jitter of the stars and the moonlit world. My side of the world, at least. I don't know where he is. I don't know what is he doing, I don't know anything. I just don't know. And it hurts to not know.
It hurts to not know even the most important details about the person who used to know about everything. From what they had for breakfast to what they brought from the supermarket for snacks to the new phone case and the new pair of shades. Everything. How do I be okay about not knowing?
Sometimes, I all but think, maybe this is it. Maybe this is how I know I should move on for good. But was my love so weak that I'd give up so easily? Never!
Standing in the cue, I wait for my turn to get through the immigration department. I am nervous. Heck, I'm shaking. I'm afraid I will fumble during the interrogation. God, this is worse than I expected. There are two more people ahead of me. My turn in the next 5 to 7 minutes.
I have no idea how this new city, country will turn out to be. Whatever it has to offer, I'm sure will be better than what I went through in Mumbai.
Istanbul.
I'd always wanted to visit Istanbul, but not like this. I'd wanted to explore the creases and the canvas of the city, wearing a sundress, and clicking pictures. But from the way things unfolded for me, looks like I will have to stay out of the radar for a long time now. Barely making it out there through my savings, I have no clue about how I will survive in an unknown land.
"Please come, miss," finally, my turn.
I walk over to the immigration counter, nervous. I am sure she noticed the look on my face but didn't say much about it.
"Istanbul? Work or leisure?" she asks, the routine questions. Okay, I can do this. Yes, I can.
"Leisure. I've been very curious about their history and their culture," I answer, hoping she'll buy it and not question any further. I am a trembling mess at this point. I have to be quick. The more time it takes the more chances of them finding me. I cannot bear to be caught. I cannot go back to that hell.
Funny how you'd think a place like an airport is something called safe. But it's only safe for people with money and people who have nothing to hide. And unfortunately, I unfit both the cases.
"Hotel reservations?"
"Oh, yes, Backpackers Hub in Taksim, here are the booking." I offer her my booking papers. Of course, I do not plan on staying there.