A very random beginning

I am in denial. The last three months that I spent away from home has been my escape. Escape from myself and my memories.

Every night for last four years, when I picked up a book ( always fiction set in non-indian setting) it was an attempt to flee from what I faced every day. Bickering family, non-happening career, zero social life and non existent love life. It was comforting to know in those pages that there were far weightier issues than those present in my life. It had become a ritual and the only thought that used to come to me while drifting to sleeps were those characters, their lives and their problems. It was my comfort.

Since last three months, though I got a few books assiduously with me for my sleep, I haven't touched them. They were not required. In fact, I did not have to think of an imaginary world in order to get away from my present. I was living in it.

I did not have to run away.

Every morning when I would open my eyes half asleep, I would look around think about what I had to do for the day. I had perhaps imagined myself always like this since it does not feel unreal. Unreal it is. This is not my life. This is not me. Yet, I feel there is so much of me in the role I am playing now. Just like my past life was a dream, a bad dream.

But all good things must come to an end. These three months have been unreal. I escaped from myself which I think it did me a lot of good. I did not ruminate over my life and it's travails. I was damaged. It healed me.

Now, I am good to go forward.

or so I think!!

p.s. New years never make any difference to any one, so I will save you the obligatory wishes.