Wyvern

Shotglasses & Suitcases
“And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation”
- Khalil Girbran

I had read this quote 7-8 years ago, in the book The Prophet, and it was not until recently that I actually experienced & fully understood what he meant. When I left for Melbourne approx. 6.5 years ago, I thought I understood, sadly – not quite! Maybe in the back of my head I always knew I’d be back.

Early this year I made it a point to make the most of life, seize the opportunity, take plunge etc. It helped me put things in better perspective. Life itself seemed so much simpler and less complicated. After my travels to Sydney, London & Paris earlier this year, I found myself at the crossroads again. The flight from London to Melbourne got me thinking. High above the clouds I got nothing to do but TH!NK. 23hr fucking flight, I can’t sleep, what else is expected? So here I am on the flight, attempting to weigh out my options, knowing that I have already made my decision. I knew it was time.

When I started telling my friends that I was headed back home in 3 months, I got mixed responses. Some were happy for me, a few were jealous that I could do it and few were annoyed. Over the months that I followed, I started to wrap things up, going to my fav bars, restaurants, pubs etc. Amongst all the chaos of emotions I simply chose to fixate on the fear of driving at home Manual Cars (I’m used to driving only automatics). Guess it was easy to fixate on something irrelevant rather than something substantial, I know I can adapt anywhere. As I drew closer to my departure date, I began to fear that whether I wouldn’t fit in again - with my friends back home. It had been way too long, even though we remained to stay in touch over the years with facebook, orkut etc. Would they accept for who I am now, rather than who I was before I left. Times change, people change – I’ve always known that. This again was another attempt to keep distracted from the real fear, which didn’t hit me until a couple of weeks after being home. The fear of all those friends I had left behind. The ones I took for granted, seemed to matter the most. They accepted me for who I was and didn’t attempt to change me or be cynical. Then there were those, who I pretty much put on a pedestal, with whom, I was not willing to accept the fact that we were barely had much in common anymore but we still held on to that last strand of a hyperbole relationship. Maybe that’s what life really is, a hyperbole of all relationships to help us feel comfortable!