It was nothing less than a veritable storm.
Amidst the howling wind and the cold rain, she trudged her way towards the
cliff. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ was all she had said. Was what she would say, every single time.
No one in their right minds would choose to
do so in such inclement weather. Then again, was she ever one of them?
(Times like these were when she was free to
imagine and envisage everything possible about herself, including the very distinct
possibility of being mad. You see, a thin line separates an oddball from a
lunatic.)
But she plodded on regardless, taking a
somewhat masochistic pleasure in the way the rain cut her to the bones and the
wind made her shiver all over. The idea of catching a cold (much less
pneumonia) was something she refused to entertain.
(Enough with the weather already, anyway)
The cliff looked over an ocean, equally
restive. Nonetheless, it broke away from the constricting woods, enough to give
one a semblance of a vast space. On a given day, it would be enough to remind
her of the immense universe that she could glimpse through the distant horizon.
Today, even the roaring waves seemed to make
her feel claustrophobic.
She
walked over to the very edge, barely ensconced by the low fence, broken in
various places. It was her wont to do, as perilous as it was – to stand at the
edge and peer down at the sea crashing against the jagged rocks. One would
think she was about to take her life…and sure enough, that would be the very thought
running through her head as she would stand there. However, each time, she came
back alive.
The point of this otherwise futile exercise
being - to reaffirm to herself that her life was in her hands…quite literally,
as long as she stood over the edge. That she was free to jump and put an abrupt
end to her existence (quite meaningless in her eyes, either way) but she
consciously chose to not do so.
That she further chose to get back to living,
for as long as she was meant to be.
The thought both sobered and enlivened her. This
little ritual, while not doing much to calm her demons, certainly reminded her
of her inability to hurt herself to such an extent. That she would snatch back
her power from others to whom she had unknowingly surrendered the same, from
time to time, only to be affronted by her destiny.
Only to be reminded of how her own creation
overpowered her. And so it was – the unceasing struggle, which she would try to
defer and avoid, but never quite coming close to ending it altogether.
For, perhaps, that was the only meaning worth
being pursued.
