Not yet, not yet...

"Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colours. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving."

~ Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

I have called it home. In my heart. I let the sun go in and sometimes watered it too. Soon the warmth spread to the very core of my being. Sip by sip I drew from it, living and loving. Days passed, seasons went by and we hopped from place to place making and leaving many a friend in the way. And now it is time for the trailing spouse to trail back. To uproot my foreigner being and plant it back where it belongs to. The air and soil miles away from here, its real home.

With the first of our things gone on craigslist today, I feel a little shaken. A lot actually, to be honest. Suddenly there is a sense of inexplicable emptiness, even if it was only a music system that we hardly used. How could I help but not get attached? Five years is a long period of time. And I was never, ever good at the art of detachment.
As much thrilled as I am to return to everything my own, I just can't shrug off this strange sadness. So many 'what ifs' loom large as I make up my mind and heart. The most baffling of them is perhaps the fear of failing to fall back in the old and familiar ruts. Ironic, isn't it?! May be because this chunk of life we have lived here will end here. It won't come back again, even if we do. Because by then a lot must have added and subtracted. Because by then it would be a different wheel of life altogether.

But there is still time, or so I would like to think. The leaves are yet to fall and the wretched trees have yet to brave their cold bareness once again. Let spring knock on my door with pearly blossoms galore.
Till then, this maddening greenness is mine.

My green star

I had found you sitting abandoned, tucked away in the corner of a horticulture isle. You had no expectations, except the tag on your neck that read, "water once a week". This tempted me, your no strings attached demeanor. I brought you home and you seemed to love it. Sitting by the living room window, you feasted on plenty of unadulterated sun. The mountain air of the countryside suited you well. Plump and pretty, you soon outgrew your old container. Here's a guilty secret - I never really liked that brown thing much. So there you were, happy in your new home - green and transparent - just like you. Religiously, I would feed you, keep your home clean and photograph your blossoming loveliness. You were my green star.

They call you the 'lucky bamboo', the fate-driven mortals. But I had no expectations from you. I loved you in my own way, proud and attached. And every time we would leave you alone (sometimes for months) you proved my pride - you flourished and sang, all by yourself. With time you became self-sufficient and basked in the glory of a perpetual solitude, just like me. When we moved to a new place, I took you along and there you were, sleeping soundly in a zip-lock bag throughout the two-hour flight. Like me, you quickly adapted yourself to your new surroundings, irrespective of the jarring ugliness of the place. But there was the sun, and there was love. And they say love conquers all.

Then crept in the cruel winter with heaps of pompous snow. Undaunted, you kept a brave front and cheered me up every morning when the chill would seep into my bones, sawing them mercilessly. As all nomads must, we were on the move once again. And once again you battled the odds alone and thrived spectacularly.

Unfortunately, the winter was rather long and severe. This time when we returned, your smile had withered. You looked wasted, perhaps tired of keeping a constant vigil and being pretty at the same time. I don't blame you. To please, is a monstrous responsibility and one that often has wretched ends. But at the end of it I, too, had fallen into the smelly worldly trap of expectations. I hoped for miracles from you. Even when I left you deserted and alone, to rot in the filthy slimy water. How could one survive this continuous barrage of impossible expectations? You could, because you were mighty brave. Much more than I could ever be.

Thank you for everything, my faithful Greenness.