326 of 365

When I started this writing challenge, I didn’t think some things through.

I didn’t imagine that my heart would ache so much that I wouldn’t want to write about anything else. I didn’t think that I couldn’t mask my pain. It was a really stupid assumption. My writing, today and always, has been my constant outlet. Things I couldn’t whisper even came out effortlessly in words. To the paper, screen and keyboard, I made myself vulnerable. I didn’t ever make those words public before. They were private battles fought in closed rooms. Maybe I preferred it that way.

As signs of it emerge in my writing, I am uncomfortable. I find I am being sentimental. I am struggling to embrace that I cannot always be happy, cheerful or even wearing a perfect mask. I am learning to not be uncomfortable by others knowing of my sadness, even momentarily. I am trying to stop pretending.

299 of 365

I hate the word normal. I didn’t realise how much I hated it until I heard it too many times. And, till it was pointed out to me of course. It is an ordinary word that really, truly means nothing. What is normal for me is hardly normal for others? Coincidentally, one might find people who’s ‘normal’ radars fall on along similar lines. But that doesn’t happen often, I assume.

Normal doesn’t cut it. Normal doesn’t fit it. It is a loose word thrown around that means nothing. From being indifferent about it, I have realised I need to be cautious about its random usage. Normalising any behaviour leaves space for negligence and callousness. Neither I wish to entertain. At this point.

Somehow ordinary doesn’t make me half as agitated. Though it has a similar ring to it. An undertone of acceptance and submission clouds both the words. But normal fares worse. Much worse.