I have thus far been a long-time lurker on your work (as I tend to be on most online media), enjoying and appreciating your words. But this one particularly moved me to comment, because it resonated with me so much.
I fell in love for the first time in my twenties— over two years ago now— and was with the woman I fell in love with for only a couple of months (which were no less magical, despite the short duration). It was a curious mix of the giddiness of adolescent love, and the revelation that comes from a more mature partnership. But when it ended, I found myself alone in my grief— here was something that had transformed me so profoundly that I would never be the same again, and yet I relished this changed self of mine like I hadn't any that came before it. (In this vein, a particularly resonant line from your writing: "... I won’t build with the steady relief that all of this intention and love has a resting place beyond the self.")
But I found my grief so summarily dismissed because this love had been my first, and so apparently short. You can imagine, then, what joy it has brought me to see your own kindred words, words that wouldn't have dismissed the grief I felt then.
When you wrote, "I grieve this woman who momentarily swayed her way through me, a passionate whirl of desire, wisdom, and grit. God, she was magnificent"— I felt it profoundly, for it's the kind of thing I would have said about my ex-partner. This line is probably going to live rent-free in my head, and I thank you for writing these words and sharing them.
I hope that you're able to work through this grief in your own time, and that the spring is more a source of comfort, of new and growing things that were once hidden but blossoming again anew.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and to share everything that you have. I hold your story and your heart in mine as I write this. Please know that you aren't alone in feeling all the feelings fully, and for letting them transform you.
I deeply resonate with the truth of someone you knew and loved for a short duration changing your life, and that of feeling unseen in the veracity of that grief. I think that's been a running theme through most of my life. At some point, we just have to learn to take ourselves seriously enough for all the people who won't be able to, noe? At least, that's been my journey.
Know that your words have brought me comfort, and your presence here is cherished. 💗
I love how your brain works. I love learning about you and from you. The trees in Bangalore sound magical, what thought, planning in dedication. I would love to see them. The freedom of a haircut knows no comparison in my opinion and your new style lights you up.
Spring is a hard time, a strange time for grieving but I’ve learned over the many years, the longer you live you will find all seasons are filled with all things; including grief.
We are still under a blanket of snow, though the warmth graces us more often and the sky lightens for much longer already. Soon the first shoots of grass and the delicate wild crocus blooms will appear to remind me that in middle of grief, there is still birth, like and new possibilities. Thank you for your words, your lessons and your friendship.
Soumya,
I have thus far been a long-time lurker on your work (as I tend to be on most online media), enjoying and appreciating your words. But this one particularly moved me to comment, because it resonated with me so much.
I fell in love for the first time in my twenties— over two years ago now— and was with the woman I fell in love with for only a couple of months (which were no less magical, despite the short duration). It was a curious mix of the giddiness of adolescent love, and the revelation that comes from a more mature partnership. But when it ended, I found myself alone in my grief— here was something that had transformed me so profoundly that I would never be the same again, and yet I relished this changed self of mine like I hadn't any that came before it. (In this vein, a particularly resonant line from your writing: "... I won’t build with the steady relief that all of this intention and love has a resting place beyond the self.")
But I found my grief so summarily dismissed because this love had been my first, and so apparently short. You can imagine, then, what joy it has brought me to see your own kindred words, words that wouldn't have dismissed the grief I felt then.
When you wrote, "I grieve this woman who momentarily swayed her way through me, a passionate whirl of desire, wisdom, and grit. God, she was magnificent"— I felt it profoundly, for it's the kind of thing I would have said about my ex-partner. This line is probably going to live rent-free in my head, and I thank you for writing these words and sharing them.
I hope that you're able to work through this grief in your own time, and that the spring is more a source of comfort, of new and growing things that were once hidden but blossoming again anew.
Dearest Malavika,
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and to share everything that you have. I hold your story and your heart in mine as I write this. Please know that you aren't alone in feeling all the feelings fully, and for letting them transform you.
I deeply resonate with the truth of someone you knew and loved for a short duration changing your life, and that of feeling unseen in the veracity of that grief. I think that's been a running theme through most of my life. At some point, we just have to learn to take ourselves seriously enough for all the people who won't be able to, noe? At least, that's been my journey.
Know that your words have brought me comfort, and your presence here is cherished. 💗
X
S
I love how your brain works. I love learning about you and from you. The trees in Bangalore sound magical, what thought, planning in dedication. I would love to see them. The freedom of a haircut knows no comparison in my opinion and your new style lights you up.
Spring is a hard time, a strange time for grieving but I’ve learned over the many years, the longer you live you will find all seasons are filled with all things; including grief.
We are still under a blanket of snow, though the warmth graces us more often and the sky lightens for much longer already. Soon the first shoots of grass and the delicate wild crocus blooms will appear to remind me that in middle of grief, there is still birth, like and new possibilities. Thank you for your words, your lessons and your friendship.
Thank you for this, Jewel. Visiting Saskatchewan is certainly on my list, for so many reasons including meeting you. 💓
All seasons are filled with all things — I'm going to hold on to that.
I can’t wait to sit together with tea and our thoughts ❤️