A Room Of One’s Own
Unlike most people, I had a place of my own until I moved out. Surprised?! Don’t be. I’ll tell you why.
As long as I lived with my parents, things were taken care of. All I had to do was live, love and let live; all other things happening at home were taken care of, be it the laundry or the cooking. I didn’t even have to exert myself. Of course, I HAD to excel in studies, career whatever it was that I took up (that was considered my contribution) and I had no qualms about it as long as I didn’t have to do household jobs!
I had a place of my own, my den which defined me and my desires, a tiny area which reflected my aspirations, my identity, my secrets, everything. My family also respected my space as long as I kept the room clean and tidy.
And then, I found my mate, got married and moved out to make another place my own. And since, my in-laws lived elsewhere, in another city, I had to take the trouble of starting from scratch, literally!
Every place at home was supposed to be my own now. I had to groom each room. No favouritism here as every place represented my work and skill. And love maybe!?
So, where was that room of my own? Wherever I sat became my room. Those relaxed extended non-committal moments of solitude which I enjoyed as a youngster in my parents’ home was a beautiful dream of my past! Sigh!
I did have my table, my study to which I withdrew whenever my muse called out to me. But, it was merely my workplace, not a world where I could withdraw into myself, secure my thoughts, floating in emotion!
Fortunately for me, we moved often so I always had a new home to fill with new vibrations. I was blessed to share my existence and emotions with strangers and relatives, work and Nature. And, I became a better person because of it all.
Today, years later, yet in another home, as I pause to put pen on paper in a corona infected environment across the globe, I long for that room of my own. I long for a place where I can let go, absolve myself of all commitments if only for a few moments and float in a state of nothingness.
I am searching for something that I know is lying dormant within me. I am not being philosophical or spiritual. I just know that my knocks on the door of my mind and soul are not loud enough. That is why sometimes, I don’t recognize the messages that the Universe gives to me.
But, I understand that I need to carry on. Maybe, that ‘room of my own’ is more symbolic than literal?! Until I am comfortable with this symbolic room of my own, I am going to miss my mom and my room.
Anyone amongst you having such longings? I would love to hear about it!