I have always been resistant to change. I find it very challenging to accept change and start things from scratch.
And yet, it happens to me one too many times. Each time I resisted it with as much might as I can. But it was inevitable. Like the first movement from Kuwait to India. I had absolutely no idea of how life was going to be. I think I fared pretty well. Considering the fact that we were Gulf War refugees and had lost almost everything we had. The second movement came when I had to move back from India to a reconstructed, post-war Kuwait. I remember crying into my pillow worrying what awaited me. I even told my parents that I am willing to live separated from them but please will they let me stay back in India. Of course, that was not accepted.
Seven years later, I moved back to Delhi. It was a very different world. This time I had actually left home. Close to ten years were spent in Delhi. But that too with a lot of movement. I led a sheltered life in my first three years with cousins. Two years in the hostel. And finally, four years in my new house. And then one October evening, I flew out once again. I have spent a year in the US and not really realized it. I have already moved twice.
These were all physical movements. But what about the movement of my thoughts, my being? Philosophies have changed. Beliefs have changed. Friends have changed. Is change going to be the only surety as life goes on? Is this the only aspect in life that I will be able to rely on?
What am I in search of? I don’t know. But whatever it is, it is not here.
Maybe it is within me. Maybe I will realize that one day.