Re-inventing a Home

Sometimes things happen as synchronicity, there were just few more steps to the end of the journey, and the fear of the unknown just loomed ahead, having to live within the four walls of a house, with a spouse with whom let alone physical relationship conversation did not go beyond the grocery list.

The career she had was fairly good for but she somehow did not really give much credit to herself. Had she gone to the professional meets and caught up others maybe things would have been different, but it was just house, housework, clinic, and more housework, drop the kids, pick the kids somewhere she just slipped into the supermom cape. It was rather ridiculous, because if she had demanded from the universe then she would receive.

When she looked back, she saw herself as a dead weight someone who did not contribute to the economy of the house, there was sense of guilt and she was actually thankful whatever crumbs that were thrown her way. Either by her husband or by her parents.

Now it was reinvention time, and when is reinventing herself anywhere could be home, finding the tribe would mean finding home. But again, once she stepped out of the closet and accepted herself for who she is then the tribe would find her she would not have to chart unknown territory her job was to anchor firmly into who she was exactly where she was.

Making her recovery was her priority, but who would she recover or rather reclaim, the memory of who she was kind  had gone deep into her subconscious, there was this hazy memory of a girl who was free, who climbed the tree, yes, that was a memory that came up the memory of the house she called home, a garden in front of it, and the parijatha tree next to it better known as night jasmine (Nyctanthes Arbour-Tristis) the thrill of picking up the beautiful white flowers with its coral red stalk, then stringing it into the sticks that she picked from the broom. Then there were days when the maid Bhagi caught them pulling the stick from the stack and she would start a tirade against them, the cacophony made more terrifying my her grandmother.

When the cacophony subsided her mother would take over give her a good spanking and feel walk away with the air of someone who was martyred.

The thrill of picking the white and coral flowers definitely exceeded the discomfort of the spanking or vocal cacophony.

Then the sampige (Magnolia Champaca) next to it, it was easier to climb and even had a place where she could perch herself, the sounds were soft, birds and rustling of leaves.

It took a plunge into the ocean to awaken the sleeping beauty in her… the wobbling floating jetty with its orange and blue hexagon pattern, seem to take away the twenty kilos of extra weight she carried, the orbicularis oris muscle seem to relax, adrenaline rushed through the body lightened as she sprang right up from the jetty into the welcoming arms of the ocean.

MrD’s disapproval didn’t matter, the shocked look on the kids didn’t matter neither did the scars on her body it was sheer re-awakening. After failed attempts at suicide this was her first grapple with the energy to live, to fly unfettered, of course she was ready to re-invent herself and when one is reinventing herself anywhere could be home.

About me: Dentist, Hypnotherapist, Public health educator, Theatre Activist, Blogger I juggle these hats between being a mother, and daughter.





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