Back in London, from 32 degrees C to 12, from the warm cocoon of close family to a cold and dark house, from sumptuous wholesome homemade meals to an empty refrigerator, from warm sunshine to grey skies, from a safe distance from bitter-sweet memories to bang in the midst of them, from loud Bollywood music to BBC Radio 4, from not having anything on my “To do” list to having 21 things on it, from comfort of one kind to comfort of another. A whole mixed bag of stuff. Missing my folks back home while delighted to be re-united with our two gorgeous cats, our home, our neighbourhood and our city.
Once again the lines between dreams and reality are blurred. Was the past a dream? Is this a reality? Is the nightmare a part of the dream or the reality? Are these two separate entities? Where does one end and the other begin? Is there a deep gorge between the two that has a craggy old rope bridge across it that sways wildly in the wind – the bridge I often walk across , holding on to the flimsy bits of cord in the blizzard bringing heavy rain with it, with all the strength I have?
I need to remind myself about keeping my happiness on top of my list at all times, irrespective of my surroundings. He would want that. The colours of the world seem faded but I am grateful I can still see them. The fragrances of the flowers are very faint now but I do somewhat recognize them. All the muscles in my body are fatigued but I can still smile. My dreams have died a quiet death but I do have beautiful wreaths of memories to embellish their graves with. So many riches! Lucky me. 🙂