Of letting go..

Our life is an amalgamation of experiences – a beautifully intricate collage where routines serve as fillers while important events provide character and colour and soul.

These experiences -  each moment, every smell, the little things you obsessed about, pure childlike excitement, the anger, the relief, the sleepless nights…  scarlet, magenta, orange, indigo,…  all come together in form of a complex design that you create. You know the glossed over bits, the imperfections, the exaggerations, the corners you cheated, the sections that mirror you… mirror you so that only you could spot the similarities. You produce your piece of art; one event at a time, unique to your interaction with the universe.

 And you've taken time out of your life to validate these seemingly insignificant bits and pieces, with the hope of providing a soul to something larger than yourself. Time, that you could have spent doing less engaging activities, those that would be assigned the browns, the neutrals and the static.  

Now Stop.

Stop.

And start over.

Does it feel like you dis-own a part of you… trivialize an important part of your life? Disregarding what it feels like to be human and letting your head bully your heart, once again, into believing that it’s the grown up thing to do. You wonder if you’re trying to cheat fate… but there’s so much more you wanted to do with that design.

Because letting go is like giving in.  Like resigning to a stereotype that’s been conferred upon you; because according to the social order it’s the right thing to do. So you do. You stop. The paint is left to dry, the colours soak in. And as the colours soak in you realize that those shades and mixes can hardly be recreated, not with the same innocence and excitement from the first time. Not with the same exhilaration you felt when you first saw it, when it was most perfect. You can only imagine it. But you can never, really, start over.