Sunday, August 20, 2017


By Sunaina Patnaik at Sunday, August 20, 2017

I sit on this barely lit rooftop, fiddling with my phone, wanting to tell you things, and holding myself back. I can see the city lights, and in that light, people walking in the comfort of their homes, lights being turned on and off in several rooms, men smoking under streetlights, and almost strangers getting drunk on heavy conversations of love and loss. I am here, but I am not here. I am at calm, but I am restless. I am ashore, but my mind is lost in tumultuous waves. Sometimes, struggles feel a lot like a dark tunnel or a dark alley. I'm talking about the ones that have no light at the end, and you don't feel infinite when you're crossing them. Ever wondered why it feels like this? I do, and I know I don't have to make this silly, pointless struggle as one of the central parts of my life's agenda. But this has turned pathological now and it has to go. At the moment, it's as messed up at this roof I'm sitting on, with broken pots, dying plants, old newspapers, and red mud strewed across the sides of the walking path. It's difficult walking here, but the view is worth all of this. Just like the struggle that's worth you.



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