And then there was me.

It would be crazy and stupid to expect someone to observe me. Silently. Unless, of course, I am in a hospital bed or coma. In life, I mean, it would be crazy to expect someone to observe me and not speak a word or express concern or speak behind me or discuss me or ridicule me or praise me. Hence, after a lot of thought and accepting defeat in finding someone outside of me, I decided to observe me.

I was inevitably in hate and a complete dislike had covered me from all possible angles when I started as an observer. I could find tons and thousands of flaws and I could never reason my behaviour. Who triggered what and why it get triggered and not that and how was I to know and what was I to act or not act.. I found myself drowning in a pool of uncertainty about being me.

I gave up. So much so for being an observer; I thought well let me be the one in the crowd and let people judge. I don’t need to observe me. I couldn’t sustain.

I had to come back to observe me. This time I decided not to pass any judgement, not to mingle with the thoughts and not to speak. I would simply observe.

I was the best of writers one day. I was the worst of friend the other day. I was the best student one day. I was the worst daughter the next. I was the beautiful partner one evening and I was the worst companion the next. I oscillated.

The space stayed the same. Just as I discovered my capabilities to scream my heart out at someone, I discovered my unique abilities to love. I discovered that I could sustain anger to a point of revenge and I could love to a point of suffocation. I learnt that as much as I enjoyed reading, I did hesitate to share. I also discovered that I had no problems in holding onto my own biases in the face of threat.

As the months turned into years, the observer got a chair. The comfort of an observers’ chair just knew to love, to laugh and to accept. I, then, was left with just a plain and simple choice of living the life being me. Being the observer me 😊

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