A troubled soul, Facebook and three agony aunts

If this world is really a stage, my role is very much of the troubled character.

This time, an indescribable trapping of my own mind, had me caught unaware. I had braced up for the final moment of truth. Reminding that the nature of certain relationships is to find joy in the momentary togetherness. And not looking beyond the end.

Remember just the good old times, I had bolstered up. But in vain.

Memories can be soothing as well as torturous. It can make or break your day. Sadly, the latter ruled my circumstances.

As it might appear, easier said than done, the heart triumphed over rationale. And I slumped into depression. Loneliness. The pain of missing her. The vacuum created by her absence. The objects that kept reminding me of her. The feeling that you do not belong anywhere but to her. My heart was troubled. Very much.

For the sake of distraction, I logged into Facebook, the social networking site that has given a new leash of life to people who are bored. My status: down with a heartburn!

And as usual, good Samaritan friends, ever helpful, with loads of free-of-cost advices thronged my way. I was touched. So many of them came and dropped feel-good words.

At least three of them left behind a piece of their philosophy pie for me to chew.

Buddhism can be a huge relief but not in this context. She, my dear friend, is an avid student of Buddhist philosophies. Although she is doing her masters in some techno-engineering stuff, lately she has realized that Buddhism is the calling of her life. Her next stop-enlightenment!

“You are sad because of insecurity. That insecurity arises from the reason that you cannot live without that person. You are dependent on her, emotionally and physically. You are absolutely attached to the idea that she is almost everything to you,” she said, in a matter-of-fact air.

“You have to give up this myth, and believe that everything is impermanent. You will find happiness when you come to terms with reality-that dying, partying, sickness, and aging-is just the order of the nature,” she added, before swiftly leaving Facebook saying she had some guests coming for dinner.

Romanticism still lives in the books. And of course in the mind of one of my friends. A self declared romantic, who is pursuing her masters in journalism, was quicker enough to term my condition ‘the beautiful pain’ of loving and missing some one.

That way, it was just to feel what I was going through. I was lovelorn. I better start writing poetry. How, thou changed my life?

But my friend was herself quite unsure. She wished if she could also feel the same beautiful pain like me. It seemed love had left a bad taste on her. However, Nicholas Sparks’ novel was helping her find the lost chords.

The next friend, who listened carefully, was equally if not more, hurt by my pain. Sympathetic words streamed out one after another
“…….but you know right…this is life…” she said and left.

I changed my face book status from ‘down with a heartburn’ to "Silabi! (Spell check)."