They say that there is a small line between life and death.

But in reality there is no line.

Every waking day,

Every choice,

Everything you do,

tips the scale further,

towards death, or towards life.

Death toys with life, giving it hope,

and for a while there is peace,

But then death lean over,

and the weight slips,

and the pressure won't release

It may be slow,

It may be instant,

But death bores easily,

so the outcome is always the same.

And once the scale has tip

your life is death's to claim

This relationship is a toxic one,

Life can barely breathe

Death leaves poisonous kisses

Slowly spreading his disease.

Alright, I first thought of returning with an explanation for my frequent disappearances. Then, I thought an apology would be a better idea. But then, I realised that I wanted this post to have a positive tone. So, here we are!

I am not going to explain all the reasons that kept me away because, it's a bit complicated. And the reasons were different almost every other day, so I think it would be a colossal, massive waste of time. But I can assure you that if there was a way, I would have made it here the very next moment. Maybe, I had a way, but I got too caught up, and I am horrible in time management. If I had figured everything out sooner, I would have been here way earlier. This little place is too important for me now.

That's when I thought of a pardon. I owe it to this place. I cannot simply take off, and leave someone else confused. That's not fair. And it's a wrong thing to do. I am really sorry for that. But the more I thought about it, I felt it was worthless. My apologies are worthless. I am afraid I had been using them as more of an excuse rather than a pardon. Maybe, I didn't mean to, but does that change anything? I am sure it doesn't.

But I am sorry. I know I have come off as a disappointment to many of you in more than one occasion during the past few weeks. It wasn't what I wished for, but it was what I had to do. Or at least, that's what I believed so. And I can't run against time and do something different, so I guess the best thing I can do is to apologise. I was an idiot. I am sorry, and I will try not to do this again.

And that's another thing I am going to change now. Every time I use the word 'try' in an assurance, it seems like my mind always opts the weaker alternative. And I think I might have hurt someone with that word, no matter how much I meant and wished for those to come true. I am sorry, buddy. I will not do this again.

Well, it turns out that the post was not as positive as I thought it would be. That's on me. I am sorry about that. I will do my best to return to the always-energetic, way too talkative, mostly silly late teen as soon as I can. Hopefully, from the very next second. Wish me luck (: And slap me in the face if you ever see me do this again. I deserve that!

Lots of love,

Chacko Stephen

#nonfiction

writing is listening to a story yet untold

you don't exactly create it,

no , instead you just watch the movie that plays out in your head

as the fingers lead the way, typing out something that desperately wants to get out

let it

I can see

my veins

rainbows hurtling

through space

trees with

cracked spines

the rotten crevices

like a blackness

clouds circling

the whiteness

clinging to mortality

nature as an

enchantress

the longer we survive

the more it becomes

entwined

in our destructive minds

Flying high in the sky

Gliding by

Tranquility abides

Down below

The people flow

How bout no

I smile and dance

In a trance

Im going to France

All you need is

one ray of light

to help you see

more clearly.

All you need is

one smile from a stranger

to help you walk

more lightly.

All you need

is the laugh from one baby

to put a smile

on your face.

All you need

is one cheer from a friend

to help you

finish the race.

All you need is

one cup of coffee

to help you

through your day.

So look out for that thing,

that one small thing

and you’ll always be okay.

I wonder how many men walk into a barber shop or dentist or Uber and are immediately asked if they have kids. Seriously – I want to know; I’m taking an informal poll.

It seems like no matter where you go, if you’re a woman of a certain age, you get asked this question as part of small talk that also includes musings on the weather and reality TV. I’m about to be 35, and what I can tell you is that my husband of the same age has never been asked that question by a stranger. In a modern world of increased inclusivity and general “wokeness,” how is it still the case that women are not only more often associated with parenthood than men, but still face a stigma – ranging from general bewilderment to downright indignance – about the decision to remain childfree?

But who will take care of you when you’re old?

You better freeze your eggs!

Only selfish people don’t have kids.

You’ll never know what it feels like to be a “real” woman.

Listen, I get that women are built for childrearing and some might argue this makes the topic fair game, but does anyone ask the men they meet if they’ve killed any predators lately? No. As a result of biology and evolution our bodies are capable of a lot, but that doesn’t mean it makes for polite conversation. And if you’re really set on talking about these meat bags we walk around in, why not stick to harmless fun facts? Did you know that every human being you’ve ever seen literally glows? It turns out that our bodies emit a small amount of light every day. So shine on, my friends, but stop asking me if I’ve pushed an entire child through a hole in my body the size of a strawberry.

I, myself, have never really felt an instinctive pull toward motherhood. As a child, I talked about it in the abstract with my friends – as most young girls did in those days. We shared what our kids’ names would be, discussed what they’d be like as people and wondered whether they’d be friends like us. But now, as many of these friends have actually become parents, I still haven’t felt my ovaries screaming, “Join them! Join them!” (And for the record, no one made good on promises to have Pacey Witter father their children). Motherhood continues to be a nice thing to envision but not act upon for now. I imagine our children – tiny carbon copies of ourselves – playing together in the backyard while we sip good wine and marvel at how our lives have come full circle. Conspicuously absent from those daydreams, however, is the lack of sleep, privacy and time that comes with child-rearing. Also, nothing is sticky.

For quite a while, I agonized over feeling this way. I told myself I was defective and that life would be so much easier if I could just be normal and get on with having kids. The whole go to college, get married, have children trajectory was coded into my DNA long ago, and I’m pretty sure at least half of that indoctrination took place while watching Disney movies. And even though I know there are all sorts of ways to live a fulfilling life, and that this formula is based on institutions and cultural expectations that are fundamentally flawed in unending ways, it can be hard to fight what’s in your blood. Plus, it would make my mom happy.

To talk myself into it, I used to think about how dumb people are and yet, they still manage to procreate and keep their kids alive. Mere survival of your offspring is admittedly a low bar to meet, but still, thoughts of their success gave me confidence I could handle it too. And as for the more adept members of the human race, I found myself thinking that there must be something amazing about parenthood I just can’t fully know until I do it. Is it more amazing than going on a spur of the moment trip to Bali because flights are cheap or waking up at 10 AM on a Sunday with absolutely nothing I need to do? I was and remain suspicious, but can’t help but wonder…

Luckily, last year I was privileged enough to have a therapist and find a silver-lining of the Covid-19 crisis. I had uninterrupted time to ponder the motherhood question, less distracted by tricky commutes to work, less bombarded by baby showers and more willing to listen to myself in the quiet instead of judging my feelings as indicative of something deeply wrong with me. It also gave me insight into my own resilience and capacity for creating peace in my life. When stripped away of the things I thought I needed to be happy, I was still able to find contentment, and even thrive – just in different ways, some of which I hope to keep up long after the dust of the pandemic has settled. I found a new normal, and I suspect motherhood would be a lot like that, though hopefully significantly less depressing.

That said, if I am the source of my own joy, motherhood can’t make me happy any more than being childfree or being rich could (though I won’t turn down money if anyone wants to make a donation). As much as I thought a good life meant achieving a constant state of bliss, it turns out that’s all wrong. Life isn’t a flat road. There are hills, potholes and confusing signs that cause you to miss your exit – and this will be true whether I have kids or not. Without all that, in fact, life’s joyful moments wouldn’t feel like joy at all. Being alive is about embracing the discomfort in this realization and choosing to keep going anyway. And if someday I feel like a change of scenery, that’s okay - my bag’s already packed.