It took me two whole months and 3 extra days to finally pick up my typewriter -mode on. It’s been two months and 3 days since I moved to Bangalore-the city of… well, the city of depression. Took me two weeks to get over my home-sickness after which, I finally opened up myself to a bunch of people, at work. It was the toughest thing I’d ever done, to open up myself to new people with a whole life full of possibilites ahead of us, knowing full well that nothing ever lasts forever.

We had our moments, to be honest. We did lose a few too. I wish to forget everything that has ever happened here, but I can’t. Was it my mistake to let myself care a little too much about people I knew were about to leave my life sooner than later? Of course it was. But it was a conscious choice that I made, to remain true to myself no matter what. To feel different kinds of pains at the same places or to feel the same kind of pain from different experiences. As I grow older, I realise, the fear of falling never stopped me from cycling on highways. Likewise, I’ve made-up my head to open my heart to the possibility of getting hurt by anyone. Or so I thought.

Here I am, a year after all the pain and misery from one, four years from a trauma I don’t think will ever stop scarring me, getting hurt all over again. It feels like I keep going back to the same place no matter which route I take. Why does this have to be so hard? But then, if everything went the way someone wanted it to, would that life peak at the satisfaction of all the lessons that they missed?

This is just a rant. I’m doing fine now. Needed to get this off my chest. My experience in Bangalore is now getting much better. I’m exploring the city, made a new “Tiny” friend and I’ve learnt to ignore things that hurt me.

– Shreyy, who is warming up to the Garden city.