It has been quite a great day, I finally unpacked my suitcases and got quite a bit of my work done. I had been procrastinating so much to do this these last few days. My mother had to quite literally push me to my suitcase, and make me get my work done. But the good part is, once I start something I have to finish it. It plagues my mind otherwise, and I would be left with a lot of frustration until I got it finished. So I started, after five minutes, to spite my mother, I went and sat in front of the TV and watched a video for half an hour. I made my mom really angry, on purpose, because she was making me work, no matter how fair it was.
But after my half an hour was over, I could not sit still and I went back to my room to get all the clothes put away neatly, and suitcases too. I started and I kept on going, I just could not stop once I started. When I was done, there was this feeling of accomplishment and extreme relief, I cannot possibly justifiably explain the feeling. It was great, to feel that way after quite a bad time and space. To finally feel like some part of my life was back in my control, it could be managed, handled, worked with. Then I took out a broom and swept my whole room, neatly, and finally sprayed the whole place with room freshener. I felt like I could finally be in that room, feel at home there and for me, that was very important. Coming here was already a huge change, but to shift houses as soon as I came here meant that the one small thing I was familiar with here was also being changed. It became imperative for me to find some semblance of control, coming from a horrible semester and these changes.
This new house actually reminds of my older house, it is quite a beautiful apartment in a main part of town, extremely accessible to shops and to the train station and bus stop. It is quite a sweet little place, and I feel more at home here. But nonetheless, when I got this work done, it felt reassuring. This place would become home soon, that’s what my brain was feeding me, and I was eagerly eating it up. It is quite funny, actually, how much I did not think that my suitcases and litter in the room was affecting me this badly and that they had such a strong link to stuff from my past. I think that is the beauty of writing, we always make more connections when we are writing down what we’re feeling, it allows us that space I believe. I am glad that this blog has worked as that space for me so far.
But all this setting-up business reminds me of the many times we have shifted houses before. It was actually quite funny, I can recall almost all of the shifts but not much of the actual house setting-up. The only house setting-ups I properly remember are our previous house, which we moved into when I was in seventh standard, and the house before that, which we moved into when I was in sixth standard. We had been in our own house before shifting when I was in sixth standard, we sold that house to buy the other one, and for a year, while it was in construction, we stayed in a rented house. I remember that house quite vividly because it was in a great locality that was also green and quite beautiful. The added perk was that it really close to my school, I could cycle there easily, and in just 5 minutes, which meant I got extra time to get ready in the morning. Well, it also meant I got extra overconfident and reached school really late quite a few times.
I remember that house because that was where I had my first dream about getting my period. I was in sixth standard, so many of my friends and classmates were getting their periods, it had become quite a common sight for my classmates to ask for pads from each other and to suddenly leave home in the middle of the day because they got their first period. I kept on getting these dreams that I would go to the toilet, and that I got my period, and I would wake up terrified. Check myself with bated breath, put off going to the toilet for as much as possible, as if I could stop my period by not going to the toilet to relieve myself.
It was a superstition I held (and still hold, to a lot lesser extent I guess) that dreams that came during the wee hours of the morning were dreams that would come true. I would wake up and try to remember when I got the dream, and I would be terrified because they would all occur during the early morning time. The house had two bathrooms, and I made a conscious decision not to use the bathroom where it happened as much as possible. I also did not wear the undergarment I saw in my dream for a very long time. I tried to tell myself that I could somehow control and manipulate my fate that way. As I keep telling, with me, there has always been a need to be in control and this was no different.
Well, I guess something must have helped me because I did not get my period till I finished eighth standard, and went to my grandmother’s place for the summer break. I finally got it when I was in a place I had never dreamt of (pun intended). Turns out dreams don’t come true, especially things that are apparently ‘supposed’ to come true, if you manipulate it enough. I like to think that my meddling, and cautiousness was what caused the whole thing to happen in my grandmother’s place. It was like, you expect me in all these places so I’ll knock on the door you most definitely did not expect me to knock, and I will catch you off guard. My period did play its turn quite brilliantly, it continues to do so.
I guess that one of the things I learnt from this whole experience was that I could be in control of my situation, to a small extent. But in the larger scheme of things (like biological imperatives and inevitables, like periods), no matter of manipulation could work completely. It will catch you in some other place, it is quite brilliant at that. Two lessons learnt from this experience, it adds quite a bit of value to it. Of course, I don’t mean that lessons learnt is a reasonable and only acceptable way of adding value, even if I might not be able to find some value, each experience has something to be valued in it. I think that’s a reasonable place to leave this memory at, right?
And that’s my memory for the day.
The Memory Of A Storyteller 