Feminism, Freedom, and We
“Punarapi jananam punarapi maranam, Punarapi janani jatare sayanam, Iha samsaare khalu dusthare, Krupayaa pare pahi murare.” These words transmogrified my life. But why did it take so long? From the detritus of life, can one resurrect a castle? The words spoken twenty years before hung like spider webs, the orb weaver’s, shiny and decorative from outside; however, can one forget it was a trap…after all. The oxygen cylinder shows 20 minutes of supply left. It is futile hustling for another breath; I don't want one. Twenty minutes is enough time to write one apology to her in the hope that she forgives and my soul can depart sans the virus that afflicted me years back. For as long as I remember, I have been dissatisfied with wherever I was, whatever I was doing, and whomever I was with, and that is pretty much the obituary of my life. Too bad? It is what it is. I changed lipsticks and accessories, armchairs and recliners, careers, and houses with ease and elan
