I look at my face. It looks clean, without any mystery. I am losing the trait I used to nourish and cherish – the ability to jump out of my safety net once in a while, to cross the boundaries, to live, to gape at the moon after midnight and let the wind touch my skin at an hour when others were afraid even to peep out of their windows. I used to dance on the dew struck grass with yoga poses at dawn – now I am scared of catching cold or breaking a muscle. But my heart is shredding instead, slowly giving in to stability, flat lines with no impulsive spikes to counter, no fires to extinguish and no scars to cover up.
Is it aging? Is it PMS? Or is it natural to conform to walking after injuring your knees while sprinting through life? What is up with being cautious all the time? I don’t know but I miss the unknown pizazz in me. I don’t miss the unexpected but I miss my ability to cope with it, to secretly smile at the event of things and to add a feather of accomplishment to my hat of experience. I wonder what my face used to look like in those days – unclean with a twisted, hoarse smile with deep sparkles settled in my eyes? I recall I used to look at the mirror and was unable to take my eyes off the mystic persona in the reflection. I used to forget about the concrete grey settled in between the dark tar of my hair and the budding wrinkles by the side of my lips and eyes. As a matter of fact, I used to find them exotic – adding layers of drama to my skin. Now, I find them annoying. I try hard to get rid of them. Though, I realize that youth isn’t just about appearance; it is about vibrancy and spontaneity to go beyond without fear.
Today, I am searching for my lost streaks of impulse; I am looking for my cursing tongue; I am removing cobwebs of time from my carefree attitude.
To hell with playing safe all the time, I speak aloud – I am looking for me!