The Secret Me.

Everyone has secrets. I think. And probably it’s not worth it to live otherwise. Because our most guarded secrets are sometimes our richest experiences. I have had many in my life. And so I know I have had many, many experiences. Some good, some bad. Some I guarded carefully for many years and then decided to let out. Some, I still hide and let grow inside me.

I never thought about it like this before. I knew it always made a difference to who I am, but hold me back? I think I knew, but I let it anyway. I still do. But I have this urge at the moment to confront it. To say it out aloud and bring it up with myself. And then to some more, whoever cares to read this.

There’s a secret I have been keeping. And that one secret alone is making me hold back, everything else.

I have been asking myself over the past few weeks why am I suddenly unable to write. Having just lived a part of lifelong dream...why I am unable to put the pen to the paper? Knowing myself, my heart is bubbling right now with new experiences imprinted on it…then why am I just so unable to simply say all those things? Why am I unable to bring myself to it?

And it just struck me now. Just now.

It’s because of a secret that I have been holding so close to my heart…that it has become like a rite of passage to my heart. That I have to pass through it, acknowledge it, every time I want to reach and acknowledge myself. And since I have been busy carefully guarding it for so long... I just have to go around it now. It’s because of this that I can’t bring myself out any longer. It’s because I this that I can’t put myself out there any longer. Every time I scrape the surface, it comes forth. No matter which way, in which manner. It just does. And so…I stuff it all back in. And then, I don’t write.

Has anyone ever had such an experience? Something that is so attached to your very core that everything else about you seems attached to it? Everything. And no matter however many strides forward you make in life, there is this one connection that never breaks. And breaking up with that feels like breaking up with yourself. I sometimes find that I am unable to reach myself without holding on to it. It might sound crazy, but in all honesty, that is how it is. The inability to deny it. To deny that part of yourself.

And so I find this part of me, having a constant conversation inside me, unknown to myself. That sound crazy? I won’t blame you. I placate my own self with a maybe. Maybe that’s what they call the subconscious. Maybe, what some people call the soul. I don’t know exactly. But what I do know is that it exists. And if I don’t like what it says, it survives anyway, without my acknowledgment if need be. It’s entirely up to me to tap into it. I choose to ignore it of course. But sometimes, just sometimes, I see those fragments and I wake up to them, as if out of a slumber, to realize that I was actually living in a dream. The truth, lies in those paths I refuse to trudge. And that any path I take, inexplicably merges itself with it at some point.

And when i wake up to it, I struggle with an awe of it…and a fear of it.

And it is this fear that doesn't let me write. The secrets that I keep from myself, those that I keep to myself. For then, I’ll have to acknowledge it and accept it. I find it difficult to do it in person. So maybe, here. This is, an attempt.

No matter what I do with it, a question lingers in me…am I complete without it? This part of me, inexplicable but essential.

I hope I have said what I wanted to say. And hope someone’s heard me. And I hope that that part of me, that is keeping the secret, is listening. I hope, the two of us, meet somewhere.

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