The Routine

I woke up restless from my sleep that day and went straight to the bathroom only to check my eyes in the mirror – swollen, shrunk and red from yesterday’s weeping. I couldn’t remember how long I’d been awake crying my soul out the previous night. I couldn’t think out loud anymore. I was numb. I was mourning over things which were out of my control. I was fighting the battle I’d lost ages ago. I was trying to figure out what was happening. I couldn’t find any answer. The more I got closer to my problems, the more intricate they would get.

I was still fighting the war in my head when I went over to the basin and splashed some cold water on my face to make sure nobody knew about the warfare that happened in my room last night. I immediately took a shower and got dressed for college. Maybe I should wear something different today, I thought or maybe not. I didn’t feel like dressing up. I didn’t feel like doing anything. “Oh, for God’s sake! Just get dressed. It doesn’t matter,” my mind echoed.

I went to the dining room to witness everyone chattering over breakfast. I had nothing to add on to their conversations and nothing to smile about and so, I stood like a motionless object in front of them. They paused not knowing what to tell me. I grabbed a sandwich from the plate, which then would be the food of the street dog near my building; kissed mumma a nice day and I left home before things could get any more awkward. A home which was full of unanswered questions about me. A home where those lively faces worried about this lost soul of mine every single day. It was their routine to agonise over me and it was my routine to increase their torture.

I would be hopelessly depressed everyday. My friends, my family, the people who loved me, cared about me were clueless about the trauma I was facing. Needless to say, even I didn’t have much idea. The daily ups and downs, struggles of my everyday life – local trains, crowded places, cramped up people everywhere, all these things didn’t bother me anymore. I hardly knew what was happening around. I was lost, lost in a world where light was like a ray of hope that I was searching for in the darkness of my soul.

I didn’t know how things would work out or if they ever would or if I ever wanted them to. I was in a mess and I was so used to it that I felt an incandescent warmth in the chaos as if my heart had found home in that turmoil. Remembering the number of times my soul was torn into pieces, I didn’t want to get back together anymore in the fear that it may just tear apart again some day. I was afraid to fall weak and shatter at the foot of life again.

I was a coward. I wanted to escape and hide myself in the shallow grounds of this earth or maybe, I was already there in my mind. My soul had already found its safe haven and it was in the frenzy of this world, in between the commotion of all this madness and in the tumult of the existing lives on this earth. My being had found the oasis of my soul in the incomprehensible routine of my life.

I don’t know when I fell asleep that day, only to wake up to another morning of my regime, my routine.

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10 thoughts on “The Routine

  1. You’ve written it beautifully. I want to hug you right now. *hugs*
    It’s very sad and dark, but the thoughts of the speaker show how beautiful the it’s mind is. Lovely.

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