Yet Untitled 122 - Going away / Coming back
A matter of fact pooch's perspective
Dearest Yet Untitler,
I’m entering the home I grew up in. As I enter I see that the dog in the garden has aged since I last saw him. He doesn’t welcome me, as if it’s a matter of fact that I’ve finally returned. It’s Diwali after all.
Walking in, I experience a familiar physiological reaction. I feel like dropping onto a bed and sleeping. I’m aware that this only happens in the homes of those I refer to as my elders. I have a diverse collection of them, these elders. In their presence, I loosen my grip on myself, allowing myself to feel protected rather than continuing being the protector I have grown into.
In the hours that follow, my daughter cries complaining that she felt ugly, triggered by who knows what. No matter how much we try to convince her otherwise, it has no effect. I try to placate her by telling her a little secret - that at that moment I too was feeling ugly, but was hiding it. The truth is that I wasn’t hiding it so well. I’ve been in a foul mood, and this worsens as I became aware of the irony as I lecture my child about being grateful for the wonderful bodies we have et all, et al.
Just a day ago I had been reprimanding her for lying.
That urge to sleep is growing stronger, but I fight it, because my time in this place is always short.
What was my daughter looking for when she came crying to me? I know that she’s a realist who found out the truth behind the tooth fairy recently. She knows that her body won’t change in that moment, no matter what I told her.
So, what was she looking for?
What am I looking for in that sleep that’s calling me? An answer?
No, that doesn’t sound right. The questions that my fears ask have no reasonable answers, so I know better than to go looking for them.
Rather than answers, I was looking for comfort. Just as my daughter was, when she came crying to me.
This comfort that we both seek - it’s not a hollow thing. Like me, my daughter can catch a lie. This comfort needs to feel convincing enough; to be right enough so that anything the rest of the world says feels wrong. It’s a comfort that’s immune even to all my moments of bad judgment that invariably lead me to doubt myself. It’s a comfort that doesn’t need to lean on my crumbs of confidence gathered from moments of good judgment. It’s a thing in itself, separate from me.
It’s for me. It’s for mine. For her.
I look at my daughter from across the dining table where I eat the food that was always prepared to comfort me when I returned from the uncomfortable places I went away to. Eating it reminds me that even though leaving always felt inevitable and dreadful, returning was thankfully plentiful and consistently soothing.
I look at my daughter and realise that I am to her what this place is to me. How wonderful - to be such a person to anyone.
Later, I look around.
I pick up this and that. I consider carrying a book back with me when I leave, but then I return it to the gap left on the shelf, acknowledging that it felt right to let it remain in its place.
I consider the fact that, after a point, it didn’t feel right to me that I remained in this place.
One day, my daughters will negotiate these questions for themselves.
They will leave. But they’ll return.
When they do, they’ll find me older, like the dog who didn’t welcome me but saw my return as a matter of fact.
The dog’s perspective on returning: it’s a comfort that’ll suffice for now.
You’re not ugly my girl. Neither am I. Let’s rest awhile in that thought before it’s time to leave again.
Thank you for listening. Love you all. You’re the best.
Happy Diwali 🪔!
V
P.S. Did this instalment evoke something about home? About going away and coming back? If yes, hit me up. I’d love to know. If no, hit me up anyway and say hi:).
Hearing back from you keeps me going; and it’s the only currency from this enterprise whose jangle feels satisfying in my pockets.
So relatable! The avalanche of home food and drowsiness, the need to leave in search of uncomfortable places and the consistent comfort of returning home every time :,) Lucky we get to share so much even in different timelines <3
Love how honest the writing felt! Also, the way of describing a scene and the thoughts going on was powerful