the love you dream of

Writing does not come easier nowadays maybe because i’ve been trying too hard. Feeling comes more honest than noting down all the ways in which I could ask myself to feel. There is no destination to get to, only the scattered pieces of self being rediscovered into molding a whole.

Lately, all my days go by dreaming, envisioning new ways of being and becoming - a new life for myself. I am endlessly coping with a broken heart. There is a certain melancholy that doesn't seem to leave me. There is gratitude for being able to spend my days alone in silence. Awareness as practice. A period of reflection my body doesn’t only need but my spirit demands of me.

I visualise the person who I have loved in my mind’s eye and cannot help but acknowledge how beautiful they are. I do not need to hesitate. I’ve long forgotten what they look like but am still aware of the fact that they are capable of holding so much - and this makes them beautiful. I know they carry mountains of grief within themself. I know they are learning how to love. I understand that being a caretaker, the eldest child often means that you’re born into sacrifice of god’s nature. I see the god in them.

I dream of us everyday. Can you blame me? I am a witness to my own self-sacrifice, praying that my heart stops waiting for something that isn’t to come.

Everyday, I wake up to my childhood unfolding in spirals through the lens of an adult who wasn’t taught how to love. In this timeline, I’m being called to hold back because that is the lesson. “Do not effort” my online friend advised me last week when i shared with her how none of my effort (in most areas of my life) seemed to be equating to results of any kind.

I wasn’t taught when or how to stop giving.

These days, my evenings are spent disassociating from suffering and towards the life I have yet to live. The life that is waiting because it’s already mine. Another friend reminds me to “Indulge in association. Do not go seeking it out. Live the passage. Wait for it to come to you as if it’s yours, because it is.” I think I’ve lost the way to the starting line. My mother and I have not been speaking to each other since two weeks. There have been multiple fallouts over the past month and a half, and the last one was the heaviest one we’ve had in a while.

Separation of any kind leaves imprints on the soul. Sometimes, we are emotionally distant even when we live together. Sometimes, your father leaves you, or he was never there to begin with. Sometimes, the physical distance finally catches up to the emotional one and you grow up confusing love with fear. Sometimes, your parents aren’t equipped to hold you.

Sometimes, you are the only proof of the love you dream of.

Being born into a South asian family means generational trauma seeps through you effortlessly. Loving people means being confronted with their inability to love you in ways you need. Recognising it, holding this truth in your own two palms like a ball of fire that has potential to either burn you out or set you free. Loving people despite their inability to show up for you is the same as loving the world that has caused you suffering. That has promoted isolation as connection, self indulgence as community, love as grief. Persistent and repetitive. Cyclical. Exhausting.

I want a love that brings me joy.

Choosing to believe in change, in revolution, in heart-centered living is faith sourced within the divine. This cannot be taught, and is always felt.

Sometimes, the abandon is self inflicted and sometimes, it’s taught. Sometimes, you wish you did more - asked for rainbows and galaxies filled with stars because you cannot seem to find them inside you. Sometimes, you wish someone would light the way forward because you’re tired of always having to figure it out yourself. Sometimes, you do not want to self love your way out - you only desire to be witnessed while you learn how to love yourself.

Everyday is a cycle of death recurring within the same moment. This sadness is bulldozing. The joy is ever-expansive. There is nowhere to put any of this but to spill it across the ocean of my own creation. To partake in such rituals of release, of loving however you are capable of in your body, through your heart - of witnessing people for who they truly are and making peace with that. To not run after external change but to embody it within yourself first. To let go of what you cannot change. To live with what you can.

“Give to someone only as much of you they are able to receive. If their vessel isn’t spacious enough to hold all of you, there will only be an overflow of rejection.” mentioned a psychic in a podcast episode I was listening to, as if speaking directly to those who’re forever labelled as over-givers, anxious, too attached or anxiously attached.

Everyday is a surrender to divine timing. A lessen in learning how to honor the spaces in-between. To cherish the aimless slow walks towards life as much as receiving what you want, if not more.

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hi, my loves. it’s been so long. I hope you are well. thank you for receiving me. I launched my website a few days ago and want to share this joy with you: a love like this. here are also a few pictures of the art mails i’ve been sending out every month! this month’s is very cute. you can find all the info regarding these on the site under “artist patreon.” once again, I am deeply grateful for your time. <3

with love, m

💌 december's mail 💌