A Journey of Self-Discovery
After my last entry (Life before and after Ray), some people approached me, thinking I was sad. I suppose I was, but not in a negative sense—more in the way of realising I had to bid farewell to the person I once was. It wasn't a casual "maybe I'll be you again" type of goodbye. It was more akin to trying to squeeze into a dress I owned as a child, only to realise I couldn't fit into those clothes, no matter how much I altered my habits or appearance.
It dawned on me that the person I was before Ray's passing also departed along with him, and even more so after my sister's passing. It's like transitioning from toddlerhood to adolescence, and then from adolescence to adulthood—those years can mould an entirely different individual. As you reach adulthood, you feel a sense of solidity; you believe you can wear the same clothes for the rest of your life if you maintain your body well and still like the clothes. But death... It throws you back into those moments in life where wearing the same clothes is just not feasible due to your growth, your stride, and you're forced to purchase an entirely new wardrobe.
That's what I came to realise, and that's why I felt compelled to share. The extent of such tragedies is profound; they alter your entire being without your full awareness, because you're still expected to be present and active. Life goes on because the world doesn't stop, and you don't want to be left behind. So, you soldier on, not fully comprehending what's happening in your mind, simply continuing to exist.
At times, you pause and notice the change, but unlike the clothing analogy I've employed, you can't perceive it as clearly; you just feel different. Things that were once acceptable no longer are, people whom you once got along with, you no longer do. All the patience you once possessed now seems directed elsewhere. You resist for a while because it's familiar and comfortable, but when you can't resist anymore, you make excuses and seek reasons. It's simply that you've outgrown the person you once were.
A little boy I saw on Instagram concisely put it to his mother, "I am not your baby anymore. That baby," pointing at a picture of himself as an infant, "is gone. It's me here now." That's what I realised that day. That "Bose" is gone. It's me here right now... still called Bose, but different.
Now, I have to acquaint myself with this new version of me and be kinder and gentler in the process because she's a toddler relearning herself again. And you know what? I might forever be in a state of transformation, and I'm okay with that. Transformation is a positive thing. If I have to keep breaking out of my shell every time it's needed, I'll be grateful for the opportunity to do so.
Love Bose. xxxx