I’m Not Needy, Right?

And other titles for my autobiography. Inspired by this post by Mari Andrew. (Go look at it. Go. I’ll wait.)

• Apologising to luggage – A memoir
• Angst, ennui and liquid eyeliner
• 'Sorry I couldn’t make it' and other lies
• 'But first, Laundry' - A girl’s guide to procrastination
•  How to throw a tantrum to get out of yoga
• Panic (attacks) at the Supermarket
• 'I've already finished this jigsaw puzzle'
• 'Are you going to eat that?'
• Mum says I have other skills
• Tell me I’m not needy

The Truth Is a Cave in the Black Mountains.. (and other things)

Disclosure: The title is misleading. This post has nothing to do with Neil Gaiman. Or what I'm sure is a fantastic book. 

The other day I had a proper deep and meaningful convo with the most amazing lady. We were discussing shared life experiences and I said (*cough* complained *cough*) that one of the biggest challenges in losing a spouse when you’re 25, is that people your age have no idea how to deal with that information. So you learn to never talk about it, not even by accident. I said to her – “I hate that my ‘truth’ makes people uncomfortable and that I’ve had to craft a new ‘truth’. Something a little less intense, a little more palatable and less “feeling-y”.” And she said to me, “You know Sheryll, you cannot expect others to be comfortable with your ‘truth’ until you are comfortable with it yourself."

I really, really did not like hearing that. Because face it, I f*cking hate my truth.

Six years ago, I clung to the hope that by 2017, I would be a strong, confident woman who is comfortable with herself and aware of her self-worth. Someone who has a trailblazing career because she’s not afraid to take risks. Someone who let herself fall in love again because that’s what the truly brave do. Someone who is fit and healthy because she knows how short life can be. Someone with real depth and maturity who does not shy away from messy emotions.

Lol.

My stand-out achievement in the past year was today, when finally at age 31, I got the barista to spell my name correctly. (I’ve been going there every weekday for the past 6 months. And I spell my name out every single time. One time, they thought my name was “Shart”. It was a whole thing.)

Running away from my feelings is literally the only cardio I ever do. I actively move away from any memory of Rajeev (notice how it took me 4 paragraphs to even mention his name? That’s mad skillz, brah.) I don’t have any pictures of him around the house. I have a badge from a hen’s party I went to in 2014 that has “Hoochie mama” emblazoned in pink glitter, but not a single photograph of my dead husband. I have a job that I love but definitely does not require a two year Masters’ degree. My one goal for 2016 was to go on ONE date. Let’s just say, I have had to relax my timelines a little bit.

So yeah, my truth right now is a bit of a bummer. It’s not all bad, of course. There are some positives. But today is 6 years since he died and honestly, it’s ok if my truth is a garbage bin on a hot day. The first step to fixing a problem is acknowledging that you have one, right?

Man, I hope Step 2 has cupcakes.

Oh Hai

Hello my pretties.

It’s been a while. I know. I wasn’t planning on coming back either. But then I met an old friend over Christmas. She told me her story and another story which changed my mind.  In the 5 and half years since Rajeev, I never ever thought my blog would have any impact on anyone. I wrote for purely selfish reasons. Because I was tired of the blogs I found online. Because it helped me deal. Because I could.  But to learn that my self-indulgent streams of consciousness helped someone else deal with their losses? Wow. That is an honour and something I am so very, very grateful to have been able to do.  

I know it sounds super pretentious, but hear me out.

I find it difficult to read anything about loss and grief. Because the way you feel that loss is so specific. I HATE it when people say they know how I feel. Sure, they may have lost a loved one too- a spouse, a child, a pet, a hairbrush. And I am sure it must hurt. A lot. But to say that they know how I feel? That’s rich. Really? Do you know how it feels to slowly forget how your husband smelled? Do you know how it feels to know that you cannot replicate that combination of soap, hair mousse, Chapstick, cologne and Bangalore pollution? That it is something that is lost forever? That this smell, like so much of your past life, added up to much more than the sum of its parts? It’s hard to relate to another person’s loss. Because like I said, the loss is so specific. But also, that specificity is what makes your relationship special.

So, considering all of that, to know that something I wrote was in some way relatable to someone who is dealing with something similar, is just astounding. Dear anonymous friend. I hope you realise how much I treasure this.

So what have I been up to in the past few years? Let’s see. I graduated business school. Got a job. Hated job. Left that job. Got a new one that I still love even 2 years later. I’m renting a flat with my best friend with whom I get Thai food every Sunday and hi-five whenever we let out a particularly resonant burp (we’re classy that way). I own furniture that I actually like- namely, a sofa that is as ugly as it is comfortable (i.e. VERY) and a standing mirror that I painted neon orange because #yolo. I lost 15 kilos and went on exactly 4 dates. None of which went past the extremely awkward conversation stage, which taught me a very important lesson – That just because you ‘look’ better, doesn’t necessarily mean that you ARE better (more on that later). I gained those 15 kilos plus a few more, and took up the ukulele (because why not). I’ve become more assertive and yet somehow even more emotionally stunted. I get very weird and unpredictable around March (Rajeev’s birth-month), June (the month we got married) and July (the month he died). I still don’t know what sets me off and what calms me down. In some ways, I’m doing better and in some ways, I’m worse, but hey it’s all about balance, right?

Until next time.

XOXO

Things I know for sure... well, kinda

It’s 3 am on a Thursday night and I can’t sleep. So I decided to get out of bed and start writing. I haven’t really written for over a year so yeah, things are a bit rusty in this here cranium but hey, we all gotta start somewhere, right? 

Yes. So. It’s 2014. I’m 27 (and a half. Shut up Bob!). A lot happened in 2013 and yet it felt pretty uneventful.  365 days of change and yet somehow the ‘sum of my parts’ still feels the same (and no, this is not a fat joke). 

But oh well. The most I can say is that I learned quite a bit in the past few years. Some were monumental and others were trivial but they were all fairly nifty nevertheless. So in honour of nothing in particular, here are thirteen things I’m fairly certain about.  

1. It’s nice to have a passion. I haven’t found mine yet, but I suppose searching is half the fun.
2. It is nice to have a quest. Mine is to find the perfect macaron. I’m not slaying dragons or curing cancer, but I’m getting out of the house which, for right now, is pretty darn good enough.
3. Sometimes people are jerks. They can be mean-spirited, vindictive and spiteful. But not everyone and not all the time. 
4. And sometimes, just sometimes, YOU are the bad guy. But again, not to everyone and not all the time. 
5. Allowing yourself to unselfishly give and receive love is quite possibly the single best thing you can do for yourself. It may last a day, a year or a lifetime, but nothing beats knowing that you have the capacity to care. Sure, you’ll probably get your heart broken. So it’s a good thing that the heart is a muscle with some regenerative ability and not a delicate crystal bird hidden in a cage made of unicorn breath. That being said, I will also have to admit that it isn't easy. I don't know if I'll ever be able to really feel like that again (although I would like to). But whether I eventually do or not, it's nice to know that I once did. And it was worth it. 
6. It’s OK to make mistakes once in a while. You don’t need to have the perfect GPA, the perfect job or the perfect relationship. Perfection is fleeting, but perseverance and resilience? Those stick around. (Heh. Word play ftw! )
7. Don’t let anyone kid you- your past WILL influence your future. But the good thing is that you get to decide how. 
8. When in doubt, pee. You will rarely regret it. 
9. Faith, like love or patience, is not a fragile piece of glass or a well that can be emptied. It’s a muscle. So make like Britney and work... bitch. 
10. Gratitude. It helps. Sometimes when I’m really bummed out, like ‘it’s 2 am and I’m completely out of chocolate’ bummed out, I like to sit down and make a list of things I’m thankful for. Sometimes it’s barely half a page long and sometimes it goes on for pages and pages. I always, always feel better afterwards. 
11. It also helps to have a sense of humour. I don’t always, but I have found that the cringe-worthy times I was able to laugh at myself are the times I don’t mind remembering.
12. There is a fine line between taking yourself too seriously and taking yourself for granted. When you figure it out, call me. I may need a workshop or something. Seriously. 
13. And lastly, family comes first (Hah! Word play part deux!) No one will stand up for your or stick around like your ‘famille’, so cherish them. Plus they often come with cake. And everyone knows- Cake gooood.

One Day

One day I’ll forget how your first step in preparing for a road trip was setting up a decent playlist.

One day I’ll forget that I was the only one allowed to mess up your hair.

One day I’ll forget how handsome you looked in that sherwani.

One day I’ll forget our first ever phone conversation.

One day I’ll forget how excited you’d get by my domestic accomplishments.

One day I’ll forget how you made me listen to Dream Theatre for two continuous hours.

One day I’ll forget how long you’d take in the shower.

One day I’ll forget our mad dashes to Corner House for Death by Chocolate.

One day I’ll forget how we laughed uncontrollably that one night we got lost and missed our exit for the third time.

One day I’ll forget how silky your hair was.

One day I’ll forget that day when you were working from home and I called to ask you to buy curry leaves. It was a hot day so you bought Sprite. You decorated the dining table with the curry leaves, Sprite, and my favourite chocolate. And in the centre was the Bulgari perfume I had wanted for the longest time but didn’t ask because I thought it was too expensive.

One day I’ll forget how you’d stand in that S-shaped slouch.

One day I’ll forget how we both wore black and listened to old DT songs that day Mike Portnoy left Dream Theatre.

One day I’ll forget how much you laughed when you found that hideous dragon t-shirt of yours I was trying to hide in the lower shelves of your cupboard.

One day I’ll forget how you’d watch the Kardashian show with me even though you hated it.

One day I’ll forget how your eyes curved upwards at the ends, just a little, like your mother’s.

One day I’ll forget how much you loved that electronic drum kit and how frustrated you’d get with the lag.

One day I’ll forget how much fun it was to go grocery shopping with you.

One day I’ll forget how good you always smelled. Like a combination of soap, deo, hair gel, Chapstick and that perfume I got you for Christmas.

One day I’ll forget your tiny, tiny canine tooth that made your smile so perfect.

One day I’ll forget how we watched Pink Panther on your phone that Christmas in Pune, huddled on the most uncomfortable metal beds ever.

One day I’ll forget how you always carried Chapstick in your shirt pocket.

One day I’ll forget how much you laughed at my ‘Kabootar’ story.

One day I’ll forget how we’d slow dance to Foo Fighters.

One day I’ll forget how you pretended to be surprised with the birthday cake I baked at 6 that morning.

One day I’ll forget how we’d always forget to take sweaters to the airport and then huddle together for warmth.

One day I’ll forget how you always made the best tea and Nutella sandwiches.

One day I’ll forget how you believed that I could do anything.

One day I’ll forget how much you loved me.

One day I’ll forget how much I loved you.

But not today.

Not today.

Random Ramblings II

Hello my pretties.

Today’s exactly four months since I first arrived in Sydney. Sometimes I feel like I've been here forever and sometimes I feel like I've just landed. But it’s been a great 4 months. I never knew you could fall in love with a city, but I sure did. We have two weeks to go before the semester officially ends and our finals begin. Assignments, deadlines, and a general lack of income aside, college life is just grand.  Much has happened in the past months but it is 1:45 in the morning and I'm lazy. So here are some stray observations:

1. The weather in Sydney is crazy. It supposed to be spring now but I'm not really sure. It was 34 degrees on Sunday and then 9 degrees on Monday. It’s fun to see people be so stubborn about the weather though. Two months ago, in peak winter, 9 degree weather meant thick coats, stoles, boots, and cap. But this week, all we wore was a light jacket. (Coz its spring foo!)
2. The women here are GORGEOUS. Tall and slim with beautiful Blake Lively hair. It was first quite disconcerting to me especially since the best thing you can say about my looks is that I have a nice personality.  Then I chopped of my hair so now I look like crap on purpose. Wee.
3. The entrance to the Central Station tunnel smells like manure. Not pee. Not poo. Manure. I don’t understand. Are they trying to grow vegetables in there? 
4. I've started saying ‘Jeez’ a lot. I really should stop. It’s not pleasant when I suddenly blurt it out when I'm talking to people at church. These guys are really “on fire for the Lord”. I'm there for the free soup. 
5. Darling Harbour is quite literally my most favourite place on Earth. It’s barely a 1.5 Km walk from my place. My perfect evening involves walking to the Harbour and watching the sun set. I'm usually accompanied by a Starbucks Caramel Hot Chocolate (it tastes like liquid Quality Street chocolates!) and an awesome playlist. (In other news, I have not lost a single kilo.)
6. I have accidently ingested octopus. Note to readers: When asked about what’s in Takoyaki, do remember that people are more interested in the octopus part than the tofu part. I'm not the biggest fan of either. But I do like sushi. And of course, by sushi, I mean cooked tuna and avocado rolls.
7. In August, we had this Clubs Day, where different university clubs put up stalls and you could sign up for whatever you liked. I joined the Chocolate Society and Amnesty International. Mainly because they had a chocolate fountain and a goodie bag. I also joined the choir and the book club. Then I quit the choir. For now at least. 
8. Postgrad studies is not a joke. We have 3 hour lectures for each subject once a week. So with only 4 subjects a semester, you’d think this would be a breeze. But nooo. We have 16-30 page papers to read before each class and then we have 15-page essays to write for each subject. When we whined about our essay topics in class, our professor just said, “Welcome to post-graduate education”. It’s rough, but I love it. My favourite professor looks like Santa and swears like a sailor. On the plus side, I can now appreciate proper literature. On the other hand, I rarely have time to read anything.

Of course, then there’s the guilt. That I am here because Rajeev never will. That part sucks. I miss him. I miss home. But if these past few months have been anything, it’s therapeutic. Here, where no one (or very few) knows what happened, I can be anyone. I can cry when I want to (and I have) and laugh when I want to (done that too) without having to think about how it would affect anyone else. This freedom is both exhilarating and terrifying. But I can’t explain how grateful I am for it. I can treat anniversaries of events as regular days instead of scary milestones. It doesn't always work though, I’ll admit. But as a friend told me recently- Every minute you dwell on the negative is 60 seconds of your life you’re never getting back. And that’s true. I do not want to repress any emotions. Not any more at least. But I've also begun to understand the need to strike that balance between suppressing your emotions and wallowing in them. Like all extremes, both are easy but neither is very  helpful. I need to remember that what happened in July 2011 was lousy but it was not the only thing that ever happened to me. Good things happened too. Like June 2010. Like the 365 days that followed. Like so many, many other days. I can’t let one event define who I am, even if it was the single worst thing I could have ever imagined, even if it is so darn easy to let it take over my life. I'm more than one event. 

There’s this one quote that my favourite professor often mentions. It’s by T.E. Lawrence, also known as Lawrence of Arabia, and I absolutely love it. Here goes:

“All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.”

P.S. Thanks to some wonderful suggestions from some wonderful people, I’m considering making a new blog about my “shenanigans” here in Sydney. With pictures and everything. Stay tuned! 

One Year Later

It’s the 27th of July. A year since Rajeev died. One whole year. And a day. Sometimes it feels like so long ago. And sometimes it feels like yesterday. To be honest, I don’t know which one is worse.


Most of Rajeev’s family and friends consider the 26th of July as the worst day of their lives. But not me.  Mine was the 29th of June. The day he got sick.  How do you describe that one moment when you realize that nothing is ever going to be the same again? That irrespective of how it turns out, you’ve still lost the man you married? As terrible as the past months have been, for me, they are still better than that one month he was sick. Sometimes I wish I was not so stubbornly optimistic then. At some point, I even stopped listening to the doctors because I was so convinced that Rajeev was going to get better. Even on the day he died, when the doctors lost all hope, when they called the pastor to anoint him, I was still convinced that he was going to wake up. I remember standing there, holding Raja’s hand, as the pastor anointed him.  And I was so angry with the pastor. “How can you anoint him??” I screamed in my head. “He’s going to wake up any moment now!” Like some lame-ass soccer mom, I was coaxing, encouraging, even daring God to make his miracle already. But then again, considering the extent of Rajeev’s brain damage, perhaps death was the miracle. 


It still sucks though. 


Today I’m literally half a world away from everything I know. I’m sitting at my desk in my apartment in central Sydney waiting for my family to come online to Skype. A lot has happened in the 13 months since Rajeev got sick. I often wonder what life would have been like if he never had that tumor. I can just picture us in the brand new apartment that we were so close to buying, with one maybe even two kids in tow. If nothing else, I wish I could just ruffle his hair. I was the only one who was allowed to mess with his hair and boy, did I abuse that right. He made my life so infinitely better. That one year we were married will always be the happiest year of my life. I know I spoke about wanting to be extraordinary and what not earlier, but truth is what I would really like, is just to be happy. Sometimes I wonder. Will I ever be that happy again?


Maybe not. 


Maybe.


I believe that happiness is more a choice than a circumstance. I’m grateful that it’s a choice and I’m grateful that it’s a choice I am able to make. I know that the way I have been in this past year hasn’t been very widow-y. I haven’t been curled up in some corner waiting for the Dementors to arrive. I’ve done more new and different things in the past year than I have in my entire life. That’s gone over well with some. Not so much with some others. But then I remember something my dad told me just after Rajeev died. He said that while Rajeev was super close to a LOT of people, no one is going through what I am going through. (Which, of course, does not mean that what the others may be going through is in any way better or worse than what I am, it just means that it’s different.)  It’s a wildly liberating concept, I tell you. It pretty much changed my life. And then I saw this TED talk about a snowboarder named Amy Purdy.  She got sick and had to have both her legs amputated and then had to get prosthetics. After months and months of depression, she suddenly realized, “Hey. I can have any size shoe I want!” It made me think. “Hey. I can have ANY life I want!” And so here I am. One year later. Halfway around the world. Waiting for my MBA classes to start. 


In this past year, I’ve read a lot about how people handle grief. But the best one I’ve seen so far is from Genesis 43: 30-31 “Deeply moved on seeing his brother and about to burst into tears, Joseph hurried out into another room and had a good cry. Then he washed his face, got a grip on himself, and said, "Let's eat.”


At the risk of sounding super corny, all I can say is that Jesus did not die so that I become a victim. 


I will always miss Rajeev. And I will always love him. And yes, I will always feel awful when I think of what could have been. But when I do feel sad, I (like Joseph) will hurry into another room, have a good cry, wash my face, get a grip, and move the heck on. 

Tada!

Guess who's moving to Australia in two months??

Well, for two years at least.

Just goes to show ya... sometimes life may have to suck but sometimes, it gets better. 

Random Ramblings

Sometimes, when I’m feeling blue, I go online and read blogs of other women who lost their husbands. Most of these blogs are about 3-4 years old and I like that because I imagine that it would be me 3 to 4 years down the line. Some of the ladies have children, some do not. Some of the ladies are now in new functional relationships, some are not. It’s a diverse crowd out there but the one common thread is they are still sad, still angry, still depressed. And I think “Aww Hell No!”  I understand that the blog is not a reflection of every minute of every day of their lives and that it is an outlet for that one moment in their day when everything seems hopeless. But it can get discouraging for us newbies.
But here’s the thing- it’s not hopeless. It’s NEVER hopeless. What’s the thing that Dr. Seuss once said? “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose…..”?

‘Course I don’t always feel that way.Sometimes, just like that, out of the blue, I remember that I am a widow. And instantly, I feel like such a fraud. What the heck am I doing singing and organizing church events? How can I laugh or goof around?  Shouldn’t I be sitting in some corner somewhere bemoaning my fate? How can I be painting my nails or dancing in my car? In that instant, everything I do feels so wrong and horribly disgraceful. But then I realize- I may be a widow, but I am not JUST a widow. I may be Rajeev’s wife. But I am also Sampson’s and Leena’s daughter. I am also Shivonne’s big sister. And Swilin’s and Sherlin’s little sister. I love my husband and I will never ever forget him- not the way he’d say “Yeayaah!” when he was excited about stuff, not his ridiculous love for Structure jeans, and definitely not that he remembered what I was wearing that Sabbath in July 2008 when we met for the very, very first time (almost a whole year and a half before our parents thought about matching us up).I will never ever forget how much I love him or how much he loved me. But I will also never forget that I am more than just a sad, depressed shell of a human being. I’m alive. And I’m kicking. And I’ll be damned if I don’t let that work for me.

Another Long Post

March 18th, 2012 would have been Rajeev’s 33rd birthday. I would have made it a big deal because, in addition to my husband, I also love palindromes and multiples of 3. But mostly, I would have made it a big deal because I love my husband.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle that day. As the day approached, I felt more and more panicky. Until one day, my sister Shivonne finally got fed up of my shenanigans and told me, “Sher, get it together! It’s just ONE day!” But it was just one day in the same way Hitler was just one dude. But she’s right. It was just one day. So instead of wallowing in self-pity, I faced a few fears and then pampered myself with a pedicure and a trashy novel. It wasn’t stellar, but it was deal-able. And for now, deal-able is quite enough.

But not always. Sometimes there just aren’t enough pedicures or trashy novels. Sometimes I just don’t know how to deal. Sometimes it hurts so bad that I almost wish I had never met Rajeev.

Almost.

Sometimes.

Anyone who knew Rajeev, knew that he was passionate about music. He was also alarmingly attached to his iPad. I used to joke that if the iPad and I were trapped in a burning building, he’d probably save the iPad. “What about your wife?” – I’d ask. His response? “I hear there’s an app for that”. Hmph.

But I digress. Yes. So. The one thing that Rajeev was truly, truly passionate about, was music. And he was terrified about the possibilities of ending up with a girl who wasn’t. I remember the first time he ever called me up. It was the first time we really spoke actually. We were so terribly nervous. See, when I get nervous, I get super chatty and friendly. I may even drop a couple of swear words in my desperate attempt to seem cool. But Rajeev was the exact opposite. He used to get super formal and business-like. The first 10 minutes felt like an interview and he used douche-y words like “horizon” and “paradigm-shift”. It was super awkward until we started talking about music. I still remember his answer when I asked him what kind of music he liked – “I like everything from Madonna to Metallica.” To which I replied “Which Madonna. Coz if you say ‘Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina”, I’m hanging up right now.” And then he laughed. And then we were fraaands. But despite his love for hard rock and his hopes to find a girl who understood it, Rajeev also wanted a fairly traditional kinda gal. Someone who was independent yet liked to take care of a home and family. In fact, one of the first questions he ever asked me was if I knew how to make dal.

Growing up, I did not have too many friends who shared my tastes in music. It is hard to meet other girls whose idea of a perfect solitary afternoon was decorating cupcakes while listening to Wolfmother. I wasn’t edgy enough for the rocker chicks and I wasn’t homey enough for the domest(ch)ics. It bothered me. I thought I was weird because I did not fit into a stereotype. It was years before I became comfortable with myself. Well… comparatively at least.

People would often comment on how well Rajeev and I suited each other. We had such similar tastes in music! Oh what a happy coincidence!

But there’s more.

As a kid, my entire world about music revolved around my big sister. She’d come home for the holidays and she’d bring us bags and bags of Mad Comic books, Civic lip gloss, and yes, lots of brand new music. She was the one who introduced me to Roxette and Def Leppard (and, in a moment of weakness, Ace of Base). I started listening to music pretty much because of her. At that time, she used to study in Pune, along with Rajeev’s sister. And sometimes, on weekends, she’d even crash at their place. And guess who was on hand to introduce her to all that awesome new music?

See, I wasn’t meant to fit into stereotypes. I was meant for Rajeev. I can moan and groan about why this had to happen to me. And some days I don’t even want to get out of bed. But it’s gratifying to know that Raja’s and my story is so much bigger than just the two of us.

It’s hard though. Sometimes I feel like I’m becoming the exact opposite of the person Rajeev loved. I was never known for my saccharine goodness, but I was never suspicious and cynical either. I know that I cannot afford to be the naïve, trusting person that I used to be, but I really, really don’t want to end up this shriveled up ball of bitterness. Oh what a waste of life that would be. I want to be happy. Genuinely, unashamedly happy. And not because it’s “what Rajeev would have wanted”. Because as much as I’d hate to admit it, “what Rajeev would have wanted” doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t let it. As much as I love and miss him, Rajeev can only be a chapter. Not my whole story. And hopefully one day, I’ll stop feeling so guilty for thinking that way.

My sister told me the other day that I WILL get through this. And I thought “No. I AM getting through this.” My way may not conform to everyone else’s idea of how I should deal with this. I will not cry in front of random visitors who I know mean well. I will get monumentally pissed of whenever anyone, not biologically related to me, brings up the topic of remarriage (Seriously. What the what!). I will laugh. I will sing. I will joke. And when I feel really sad, I will cry. (‘cause face it, crying can only help you so much. I read this the other day- “Crying doesn’t indicate that you’re weak. But it doesn’t always solve your problems either.”)

So yeah, I will not get through this. I AM getting through this. I am. I am. I am.

I think.

A Very Long Post

Hello my pretties. (Plural because now I have conclusive proof that there are more than two of you out there. Evelyn Anandam, Nisreen, Mehj, Deena, and my fraaands in New Zealand, you make my heart smile.)

It’s been a while, no? For some time, it was on purpose. See for me, writing is all about feelings and I was quite fed up of all the feelings of the past few months. So I decided, with my ridiculously finite wisdom, that I was going to quit writing for a while and start focusing on something more “outward” like photography or cooking.

Therefore, in the past month, I baked exactly one batch of brownies and took a grand total of two photographs. Here is the one I am less ashamed of.

(It looked better on my phone.)

I took a month-long vacation last month. To explore the world, find my life’s calling, you know, to eat, pray and love. Oh, who am I kidding? I spent all of last month sleeping, eating junk, wasting time on 9gag.com, and watching every episode of 30 Rock known to man.

It was glorious.

I also used that month to think. And I thought about a lot of things.

I thought about change.

• About how I went from having a lot of free time to having no free time to having a lot of free time.
• About how I went from being super-brave to Courage the Cowardly Dog. I was the official lizard exterminator of the family. In fact, it was one of the first “Most Important Conversations” that Rajeev and I had while we were still dating. I asked him “Rajeev, do you promise to protect me from all worm-like creatures?” and he said “I do”. And then he asked me,” Sheryll, do you promise to protect me from all lizard-like reptiles?” and I said “I do”. (No wonder we were so chilled out during our wedding ceremony. We had already exchanged the vows that mattered.) These days, even my ringtone scares me.
• About how, for one full glorious year, my entire life revolved around doing my best impression of Martha Stewart. I was cooking and cleaning and doing laundry. I look back now and think “Who IS that person??”
• About how ridiculously short my hair is now. I went to the hairdressers the other day to get my hair trimmed. Once I got there, I decided to throw caution to the wind and get a brand new hairstyle. I wanted a slightly longish pixie cut, but my hairdresser, Peter, wanted me to get a bob. So we compromised and did it his way. I now look like Maria Von Trapp if she was a 1920’s flapper.

I thought about life and death.

Well, mostly death. I remember that the one thing my family was totally freaked out by was the possibility that I may continue to internalize all my feelings and then one day, do something drastic and irreversible. I get it. I can understand why they would think that. And truth be told, I’d understand if someone else in a similar situation would have done that. But I don’t think I would. For at least two very important reasons:

1. I’m a total wuss. Really. I don’t even eat chili bajjis. Forget that. I did not even eat green peppers till I was almost 20 years old. Why? Because they looked like giant green chilies and I was afraid they they’d be too spicy and burn my mouth. (Somewhere out there, the god of Telugu cuisine is weeping.)
2. I know it’s not “proper” considering my circumstances, but I just can’t help but be curious and excited about what the future has in store for me. Think about it. It can only get better, right? It’s like something I said to my mom the other day. That the best thing about this world is that no matter what you do or how much power you have, a day will only have 24 hours. And no matter how long that day feels like, it will get over. And a new day will begin. And it will go on and on until the sun burns out.

I thought about God.

God and I have been having a bit of a complicated relationship these days. Do I think God could have healed Rajeev? Without a doubt. Am I angry that God did not? More than you can imagine. Do I think that God did not heal him on purpose? Yes.

But that’s the thing you see. I do believe that God let this happen on purpose. And my logic dictates that to do something on purpose, you need to first have a reason. And that is what gives me hope. Sure, right now, no reason is going to be good enough. But who knows what the future holds. I know that my atheist friends will have a ton of things to say about all this, but I have to say that the one thing that keeps me going is my faith in a supernatural being who made me. For a purpose. A faith that there is a heaven, that there is someone out there who can see the big picture. It makes me believe that extraordinary lives are made of extraordinary events- whether it is extraordinary happiness or extraordinary sadness. I’m thankful that I got to have both.

I know my life is not going to be normal and ordinary. And of course, I’d pick having a normal, ordinary life building a happy home with Rajeev over having an extraordinary life any second of any day. But I can’t do that. I may not have THAT option but I DO have two other options. I can choose to spend the rest of my life wallowing in sadness and think about what could have been and how “unlucky” I am to not have that. Or I can choose to take what I have, do something with it, and be extraordinary.

I'm going to choose extraordinary... after I have this cookie.

Hope

The oddest things give me hope- the sayings on the T-shirts at mentalfloss.com, Mumford and Sons songs, watching a bridegroom feed a slice of wedding cake to his bride, bagels with hummus, the stuff at whenparentstext.com, pictures of nicely decorated rooms in Good Housekeeping-style magazines, gummy bears, the smell of bookstores, fuchsia pink anything,

These things make me realize that there is still happiness in this world. And love. And beauty. And laughter. And fun. They make me realize that even though today may not be that great, tomorrow could be awesome. And that while good times don’t last, bad times don’t either.

Avatars

Growing up, I went through a lot of different phases- I was a fearless tomboy between the ages of 1 and 4, boring asthmatic nerd, boring nerd, happy semi-nerd, angry teenager, depressed college student, psychotically cheerful wife, etc, etc. But of all my “avatars”, I like this one the least. And not just because of the lousy circumstances. I just don’t particularly like this new Sheryll.

Old Sheryll believed in the inherent goodness of people. She trusted easily, never questioned motives and was hardly ever suspicious. New Sheryll? Not so much. Old Sheryll believed that if she was genuine, others would be genuine too, so much that her husband used to worry about how she’d survive in the real world. Old Sheryll did not care. Why did she have to worry? Her husband would protect her anyway. New Sheryll does not believe she has that luxury. Old Sheryll was badass and was only scared of caterpillars. New Sheryll freaks out every time her phone rings. New Sheryll is very self-absorbed and doesn’t like many people. New Sheryll doesn’t really like New Sheryll either.

So what spurred this rambling, incoherent rant of mine? Well, here goes. Rajeev and I used to go to a church in a nearby town where his parents lived. I haven’t been to that church since his funeral. Anyways, so a few weeks ago, there was some special program happening in my current church and a bunch of people came here from that other church. I’ve never felt more judged in my entire life. Suddenly I felt like my sari was too transparent (it wasn’t) and my makeup was inches thick (obviously not). Then over that weekend, there was this sudden onslaught of people from that town calling home to ask about “my well-being”.

Old Sheryll would not have used double-quotes.

Old Sheryll would have smiled and said hello to these people. Old Sheryll would not have felt so judged because Old Sheryll would not have thought that they had any reason to judge.

Maybe they WERE judging me for being able to smile and laugh so soon after my husband’s death. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe they just did not know how to talk to me. Maybe it’s all just in my head. I don’t know. And it shouldn’t matter to me either. Because really, how I deal with losing Rajeev is personal. I have a wonderful circle of family and friends who are there for me. I’ll cry when I want to and laugh when I want to. And it’s nobody’s damn business but mine.

But if there’s one thing I learned in these past few months, it’s that it is so easy to hate, SO easy to become bitter and mean and angry. It’s so easy to dwell on the negatives for so long that it’s all you can think about. To allow these emotions to control you till you can feel nothing else. The scary part is that It. Is. Just. So. Easy.

I also learned that it’s a choice.

I learned that I can choose to be all Miss Havisham-like and rot away with my memories, or I can just choose to be happy. I can choose to live, happily, not just survive from day to day. I learned that yes, I do live forever, in my eyes at least, because I’ll be alive for as long as I’m living and when I’m dead, it won’t matter because I won’t know anything anyway. (I don’t know if that made any sense. But it did to me. In my defense, I’m very sleep deprived.) Yeah, so I’m going to live. I might as well live happily. Right? And I believe I will. Someday.

So what if Rajeev and I never formed that husband-wife rock band along the lines of the White Stripes? I’m still alive. I can still sing. So what if we never got to visit a foreign country? I still have my passport. The world is my oyster. And one day I’ll stop believing that thinking these things makes me a bad person. One day I’ll realize that how happy I decide to be is not inversely proportional to how much I love my husband. One day, I’ll smile and mean it. And I’ll be happy. You just watch me.

If I Were Fearless

I wish I were fearless. Imagine what I’d do then.

Actually, I do know what I’d do. I’d laugh. And joke. And grin. And smile. All without worrying about whether other people would consider it “inappropriate widow behavior”. I’d realize that I’m the one who has to deal with losing the love of my life. That I’m the one who has to go to sleep alone. Not them. And that it’s my right to decide how I want to deal with it. I’d realize that I could choose to be anything in the world. So I might as well choose to be happy.

Yeah. If I were fearless, that’s what I’d do.