By Sanjana Gunithi
It's strange, standing in this space between everything that was and everything that might be. I used to think I’d have it all figured out by now, like some grand blueprint of a life unfolding perfectly on course - study hard, set goals, perhaps find someone to share it with. But I am where I am, in a jumble of intertwining events, time in days that are but a whispered sigh and with thoughts of what has been and what ought to be in the dark. I am taking medicine as a profession, working towards aim, however, I can’t shake the feeling that I am in anticipation of something that is not coming.
At times, yes, I do think about love, but even that sounds such a pain. It is a labyrinth that I am not prepared to navigate, or perhaps a threshold that I am simply not ready to cross. There are indeed impressions, fantasies of love, of how love will be, how love ought to be. But then, all these questions arise – am I prepared for it and am I not simply trying to grasp it because it is a norm? I make no distinction as to whether the feeling is genuine or it’s another notion, another narrative I create to explain the absence of contentment in an area.
I take solitary walks sometimes, like that day when I went to the cafe on my own for the first time, just to feel that space around me, just to see if being alone felt different in a crowd. I could see everyone else moving with such purpose, while I drifted, trying to find my place in the noise, wondering if I even belonged in the world I was stepping into. I walk through familiar places with unfamiliar feelings, replaying conversations in my head, questioning if they were the right words or just the echoes I needed to say aloud to fill the silence.
Indeed, this is interesting, I am greeted with curious eyes when someone sees the image I choose to put before them, the image perhaps, of a smile or charming nod, “yes, fine thank you.” Others likewise, say, “young lady, you are still young; you are not in a hurry.” But they do not allow themselves the luxury of hearing the note in between words, the note that seems to be an unduly and an unwelcome visitor-care or perhaps expectations which I have not yet met. It grips me now, as if everything is a very deliberate and slow procession to some mysterious and impenetrable finality, which I am reminded of, time and again. A future that I should somehow endeavor to make meaningful.
The hours are full yet feel so empty. I study, I read, I try to focus on the task at hand, on all the goals I’ve set, sometimes without knowing what scene comes next. And in the rare moments of stillness, when the world fades out, I catch glimpses of who I am or at least who I think I am. But even that’s blurred, like looking through glass that’s been fogged by all the things I’m supposed to be, supposed to feel, supposed to achieve.
And so here I am, leaning into these thoughts of purpose, love, and the future I’m creating. I’m no longer waiting, I’m building, growing, trusting that each moment is leading me somewhere meaningful. I may not have all the answers yet, but I’m moving forward, one step at a time, toward the person I’m meant to become.
By Sanjana Gunithi
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