Familiarity breeds contempt. I was more or less someone that ardently believed in that. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more I questioned if that belief stemmed from experience or fear. Was it the people I grew close to who disappointed me, or was it my inability to reconcile who they truly were with who I wanted them to be? In all those brief as well as long lasting associations of mine I always wondered if contempt was just a façade that shrouded my own skewed perception that failed to accept the imperfections and flaws that are associated with being a human being. 

Maybe deep down, it wasn’t the familiarity that disconcerted me, maybe it ran deeper than that, maybe it was my own fantastical expectations built on a rickety foundation that were crumbling under the weight of reality, like a feeble breeze bringing down a house of cards. I have always been someone that likes building castles in the air whether it’s about a person or about a happy future. The idea of which I so closely guard in the innermost parts of my heart, I nurture it with some highly romanticised and farfetched additions like a bee building a nest, each hope and each thought adding a tiny layer to the grand design. Each imaginary structure that I build are carefully collected fragments of small moments, fleeting images. 

When I say I guard these, I mean obsessively almost tethering on the verge of madness, I feed these fragments with so much pretense that I end up creating something that is utterly absurd - something much larger than reality itself. And as it is fabricated entirely with make believe nonsense, it is built on utterly delicate threads that could unravel with the slightest disruption. And as the grand castle chips and cracks, everything turns to smithereens, leaving in its wake nothing but dregs of despair, death of dreams, —a funeral of hope from where there is no coming back. With each fragment whispering a sorrow so deep, a true loss that no one but me can mourn. 

And although I fail to grasp the gravity of it all for a fleeting moment, eventually my mind corners me in the most brutal way. And it is in those moments that I see myself standing in front of vast, limitless void, a feeling so haunting that it threatens to suffocate me. Finally, the weight of everything that I have been ignoring for so long comes crashing down all at once. An epiphany. The problem wasn’t them. It was me. 

It has been me all along. My plain mind that likes to segregate things into stark contrasts leaving no room for diluted parts leaving me at a loss for comprehending the complexity of their humanity. All this makes me wonder how often I have judged someone harshly which doesn’t always stem from who they are, but because they fell short of the pedestal I had knowingly and unknowingly placed them on. 

If I were to draw an inference, the sense of betrayal that I smeared my mind and heart with wasn’t theirs, but mine. The illusion of glory and civility that I created was nothing but a travesty- a farce. So now, I must sit with the weight of it all, the mute cries of my own truths, the ones that I have ignored for far too long. 

Sometimes I marvel at the fact, almost tethering on the edge of envy, at people who live in reality. These are the ones that have a life that does not vanish like a dream. It's as if their lives are eternally renewing with each new experience they have. Even the moments they experience differ from one another, perpetually changing - evolving.

On the other end of the spectrum are the dreamers, people who like to concoct a kingdom of dreams that they so carefully wrap around themselves, in the end, these incorporeal figments of imagination and fantasy collapse without a trace or sound, leaving in their wake an air of despondency. But there are moments that give way to new dreams, stoking your imagination, giving you hope like a sliver of sunlight glistening through thick clouds on a gloomy winter day.

Although I bask in the dull, prosaic daily life as it gives me a sense of inexplicable security, there are days when I long for the big outdoors. Such days make me realize that everything is not a fragment of my imagination, that it's not a mirage but real and tangible. As I set foot on the marshy ground punctuated by stunted, fawn-coloured grass, I feel my breathing becoming labored. As I walk towards the distant vista, drawing me in with its plaintive voice that harbored hope, albeit a remote one, I feel my spirit tremble with ecstasy. It is the kind of happiness you experience as a school kid when you steal apples from orchards on your way back home, the kind of lull you shift into on a hot summer's day.

I lose track of time, as if one minute spent there has turned into eternity, as if everything has come to a grand halt. You see, these are the moments that I feel make you outgrow yourself, breaking the principles you held into smithereens, and so with each fragment, you can build a new life.

As absurd as it sounds, I have a safe place inside my head where I keep all these moments intact. I add all the necessary details, making it as exhaustive as possible. And when I am back in my familiar environment, my spirit sluggish, weary, and utterly wretched, I rake through my treasure of memories, spending hours examining them and adding more details along the way. This sole activity helps rekindle the warmth in my heart that has grown cold and dimmed by the cobwebs of frenzied thoughts, like soot sticking to a grimy wall.